Page 45 of Between the Lines

Was this a bad idea? I don’t want Fia to get the wrong impression.

I invited her over because she needs to eat dinner, it’s the neighborly thing to do.

“It’s the neighborly thing to do?” I repeat aloud, shaking my head.

I open the cabinets and stare at the stoneware dish set. A set of eight heavy dishes stare back at me. I’ve only ever used the top dish.

That’s fucking depressing.

With plates and silverware in my arms, I look at the kitchen table. I always eat at the island or on the sofa, but I do own a dining table. Should probably use it.

I peer out the window towards the guesthouse again, then back to the microwave clock, seconding-guessing where to set things.

Will she bring a high chair for Daisy?

The table seats six.

Should I place Fia’s plate across from me?

Definitely not next to me, right?

Fuck, maybe I should just let her chose where she sits—

There’s a knock on the back sliding doors, and with two plates in my hands, I panic and set them on the table.

It’s fine.

I open the door, stepping out of the way. “Welcome, come in.”

Fia enters wearing a short yellow sundress, hair still braided, and I can’t help but notice the sweet jasmine scent wafting off her. She looks like sunshine and smells like a garden.

Yeah, this was a bad idea.

“Thanks again for inviting us.” She smiles politely at me. Daisy rests on her hip, clutching that little giraffe I rescued the other day.

“Does she go anywhere without that?” I nod at the stuffed animal and Fia chuckles, running a hand through Daisy’s curls.

“Oh no, this is her favorite lovey. She never cared about blankets, but we can’t go anywhere without Ralphie the giraffe.” Her cheeks turn pink, and I shove away thoughts about how beautiful she looks in the ambient lighting of my house.

Clearing my throat, I extend my arm towards the kitchen. “Well, hope you’re hungry. Everything is about ready.”

I trail her slowly into the kitchen.

The timer beeps and I squat down to look in the oven with my back turned to her. I swear I can hear her heart thudding from here.

Or maybe it’s my own.

I flash her a quick look, and she’s watching me but quickly peels her eyes away.

“Your home is beautiful,” she says wistfully, crossing towards the wall of built-ins in the adjoining living room. “I would love to have this many bookshelves in my house.” She tilts her head. “However, mine would be full of actual books, of course.”

I shoot her a half smile. Mine were decorated by the interior designer I hired, with a few expensive coffee-table books I’ve never actually cracked open.

Steam billows around me as I remove the crispy rosemary potatoes from the oven and set them to cool on the stovetop. I sigh with relief—they turned out perfectly.

Then I join her in the living room, keeping a respectable distance.

“You have the space for bookcases like this. You’ve got a big house.”