Page 61 of Backlash

“So, do we get to eat now? Before I die?” I ask, swiping some of the whipped cream with my finger.

“Don’t test me. You didn’t even help me cook.”

“Not fair.” I grab the empty bowl and carry it to the sink to wash up. “You kicked me out, remember? Something about being alone with a Viking?”

She banished me earlier in the day, about the time she decided she needed some one-on-one time with the granite counter tops and sleek, stainless-steel Viking oven. I pretended to be grossed out when she splayed across it like she’d developed genuine feelings, but inside, I felt like I’d finally given her something. Maybe it was only for a few days—but sometimes an experience is worth more than any gift you can unwrap.

“A woman has needs,” she says, patting one of the knobs on the range affectionately.

I gag again, harder.

“It didn’t look like you thought those needs were gross when your girlfriend’s shirt was on inside out.”

“Harsh,” I say, “but fair.”

“Get out of my way,” she orders me, “before that turkey burns.”

“She complains that I don’t help, then she kicks me out again. I worry about you, Francie.”

She’s sliding the bird out of the oven when someone knocks on the door.

“Oh lord, I hope that roommate of yours didn’t order us that sad dinner.”

I laugh and head to the door, wondering if I’m about to turn away two-hundred dollars worth of food. But it’s not room service on the other side.

“Lucky.” I swing the door open wider and grab her hand. She’s white as a sheet of paper and startles a little when I touch her.

“I’m so sorry,” she says in a rush. “I should have called, but…”

“That better not be green beans almondine and cranberry apple pie,” Francie calls. “Send it back to the kitchen. They can eat that. Cranberry apple pie on Thanksgiving!”

“I should go.” Adair swivels away, but I don’t let go.

“We have enough food for an army. Come in.”

“What are you doing over here?” Francie comes to the door, wiping her hands on a towel. “Oh! Adair. Sterling didn’t tell me you were coming.”

“I’m intruding,” she says, trying to tug her hand free. Color returns to her cheeks in two red blooms.

“No, come in! Someone should appreciate my effort,” Francie says, swatting her inside. “This one watched me cook all day.”

“The lies you tell.” I grin at Adair, hoping she realizes that we’re just joking. She manages to return a small smile as I pull her along, closing the door behind me.

“I just couldn’t deal with my dad,” she confesses in a whisper.

“We‘re glad you came.” I wrap an arm around her waist and tilt her chin so I can kiss her.

“Save that for after dinner,” Francie calls.

“We’ll be too stuffed then,” I say.

“Exactly!”

A giggle bursts from Adair, and she untangles herself from me with a shy smile.

“It smells really good,” Adair says. “Can I help with anything?”

Francie and I share a look. “Do you cook?”