Page 21 of Knot on the Menu
The memory of her hand in mine flashes through my mind—cold, trembling, fragile. I want to be the one who warms her up. I want to be the one who chases away the rain scent with vanilla and burnt sugar.
I check the dough. It’s already puffing up, growing in the bowl.
“Come on,” I whisper to the empty room. “Come on, Amber.”
I’m not usually one to beg. But for a taste of that smile again, for the chance to see those hazel eyes light up without tears in them? I might just consider it.
I settle in to wait, watching the yeast work its magic, hoping that the same magic can work on her.
CHAPTER FIVE
Amber
The house smellslike hickory smoke and searing meat, a savory, heavy aroma that clings to the furniture and the curtains. Jude is manning the grill on the back porch, even though it’s freezing, because he insists that snow adds a certain smokiness to the burgers you just can’t get indoors.
Through the sliding glass door, I can see him flipping patties with a focused intensity, his breath clouding around him.
Inside, the living room is a picture of domestic bliss that makes my chest feel tight. Ryker is sprawled on the sofa, his long legs taking up most of the coffee table space, with Norah tucked into his side.
She’s got her feet up on a pillow, a throw blanket draped over her lap, and Rufus is snoring loudly on the rug. Dorian isn’t here; he’s still at his mother’s, helping her navigate a new physical therapy routine after her check-up.
“...and then Ms. Gable said we have to pick a state for the geography project,” Maisie is saying, sitting at the kitchen island with her colored pencils spread out like a fan. “I was thinking Alaska, because of the snow, but Leo wants to do Florida because of Disney World. I told him Disney World isn’t the capital city, but he wouldn’t listen.”
I stand near the sink, rinsing off plates, but my attention is fractured. My eyes keep darting to the clock on the microwave.
7:12 p.m.
It’s late. Later than I intended to stay home. A nervous flutter beats against my ribs, fast and insistent. I feel like a teenager again, sneaking out of her bedroom window to meet a boy behind the bleachers, terrified of getting caught but exhilarated by the possibility.
I haven’t been able to think about anything else all day. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Eli’s face.
Those dark-rimmed glasses sliding down his nose, the way his brown eyes softened when he looked at me, the gentle authority in his voice when he insisted on bandaging my hand.
He was so handsome, but it wasn’t just that. It was the way he looked at me—like I was something worth noticing, worth caring for.
After Luke’s call this morning, after being told I was the problem and that he was moving on to build a perfect family without me… I needed that. I needed to be seen.
“You okay, Amber?” Jude’s voice cuts through my thoughts as he comes inside, bringing a platter of burgers that smell incredible. “You’ve been staring at that spatula like it insulted our mother.”
“I’m fine,” I say quickly, turning off the water. “Just zoned out.”
Dinner is a loud, messy affair. Maisie talks animatedly about the difference between igloos and regular houses, while Ryker feeds Norah french fries one by one. I pick at my burger, the taste delicious but my stomach twisted in knots.
By 7:45, Maisie is fading. The adrenaline of the school day is wearing off, leaving her heavy-lidded and sluggish.
“Homework first, bug,” I tell her gently, steering her toward her room.
We sit cross-legged on her bedroom floor, the Harry Potter book open between us. I help her navigate a math worksheet involving fractions, my mind drifting back to the parking lot of the market.I can make a batch for you. As compensation.
“Mom?” Maisie asks, tapping my hand with her pencil. “You missed number four.”
“Sorry, sweetie. I’m distracted.”
“Thinking about the flowers?” she asks wisely.
“Something like that,” I lie.
By 8:15, Maisie is asleep, her glasses folded on the nightstand and Frida the rabbit tucked under her arm. I press a kiss to her forehead and creep out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.
