“You’ve filled out a bit,” she said, sounding pleased. “Retirement suits you.”
Nick felt irritation prick at his gut. Of course she thought that. They’d been waiting for him to retire ever since his career began. And she had no idea how little retirement suited him, how he’d been floundering ever since he stopped dancing. He pushed the bitter thoughts aside and tried to smile back.
“It’s a new challenge,” he said noncommittally. “What’s for dinner?”
“Roast chook, lots of veggies. The usual.”
Nick smiled despite himself as he and Carly followed her down the hall. No one roasted a chicken like his mother. For years in Paris he’d tried and failed to replicate it. He’d brined, he’d spatchcocked, he’d bought freshly harvested rosemary from the shamelessly flirtatious old woman who ran the herb stall at his local street market, but he’d never been able to get it right. He breathed deeply and let the scent of the bird in the oven fill his chest as they arrived in the kitchen.
They found his father reading the newspaper as Nina set the table around him. Nick felt his smile drop as Rod glanced up from the paper and looked him up and down.
“Nicholas. I thought you were never coming back.” Nick heard Nina’s disappointed sigh, and just managed not to let out one of his own. Why had he let her guilt him into this? Why hadn’t he insisted on getting in the car and driving back to Sydney, back to safety?
“Hi, Dad,” he managed. There was no point in returning fire so early. He’d get through the evening by making pleasant conversation with his mother, and then he and Carly would get the hell out of here. When he didn’t say anything more, his father simply looked at him across the table. Nick looked back, noting the toll the last few years had taken on Rod’s solid, square face. His beard was more salt than pepper now, and his neat dark brown hair had thinned noticeably. But even though he was retired, he still looked every bit the school principal, leveling a cool and assessing gaze at Nick as though he was wondering how many lunchtime detentions to give him. After a silent moment, Rod lowered his eyes back to his paper and turned the page. Well, Nick hadn’t expected a warm reception for himself, so he had no business feeling disappointed. But his dad could at least acknowledge Carly.
He was about to introduce her himself when she spoke, her grin back in place, and her voice sweeter than he’d ever heard it.
“Hello, Mr. Jacobs, I’m Carly Montgomery. It’s so nice to meet you. Thank you for welcoming me into your home.” She stepped forwards and thrust her hand into his father’s peripheral vision.
Rod looked up at her in surprise, unable to ignore her hand when it was right in front of his face. He shook it briefly, apparently too taken aback to do otherwise.
“Hello, Ms. Mont—Er,” he started.
“Montgomery,” she supplied, her voice syrupy sharp. “I’m Heather and Marcus’s maid of honour and Nick’s business partner.” Rod frowned up at her, then glanced over at Nick, who was suppressing a grateful smile. Then he dropped her hand and went back to what looked like the real estate section.
Across the table, Nina had paused in the middle of setting out cutlery to watch the interaction, and she looked up at Nick with a smirk. Her eyes widened as if to say,She’s a live one, and he tipped his head ever so slightly to the side in reply.Oh, you have no idea.
Carly watched as his father turned the page again, her smile stretching so wide it looked like it hurt, and a thrill of mingled delight and dread shot through Nick. This could go very wrong, very easily. He of all people knew how quickly Carly Montgomery could explode when someone disrespected her. But when she turned to face Nick, her smile shrank to something genuine and reassuring. She handed him her bag and joined his mum in the kitchen.
“Can I help with anything, Mrs. Jacobs? I’m not much of a cook, but I can chop with the best of them.”
A few moments later, his mum had handed her a knife and a salad bowl and set her to work chopping vegetables. Nina went back to setting the table, watching Rod pointedly as she worked. When he didn’t look up from his paper, she rolled her eyes and picked up the bottle of wine in the centre of the table.
“Wine?” she asked Nick.
“Please,” he muttered, reaching over and taking the bottle from her. “But what are you going to drink?”
She giggled, and his heart lifted at the sound. In the kitchen, Carly glanced over her shoulder and caught his eye. She held his gaze and flicked her eyebrows up, checking on him, and he raised the bottle of wine in her direction. In response, she lifted the knife, looking beautiful and threatening and like a woman who would cheerfully slide a blade between someone’s ribs, smiling the whole time. He’d seen Carly detonate before, but tonight he had a feeling he’d get to watch her kill with kindness.
For the next ten minutes, he and Nina sat on the couch, drinking their wine and chatting about her life. Her work, her friends, the true crime podcast she’d been listening to on her commute into the city. His dad sat at the table and ignored them, and barely looked up when Carly deposited the salad bowl on the table in front of him with that same rictus grin on her face.
“Thank you,” he murmured, so quietly that Nick barely heard him.
“Oh, you’re so very welcome, Mr. Jacobs,” she said, in a sticky-sweet voice that saidI definitely didn’t poison this salad. As she straightened up, she caught Nick’s eye and winked, and he squashed another grateful smile. Carly Montgomery was A Lot, but tonight, it was just the right amount. He looked back at Nina, who had been in the middle of telling him about how the serial killer in the podcast was eventually caught, and found her watching him curiously.
“Is there something you want to tell me?” she asked, almost under her breath, but a second later the over timer dinged and his mum pulled the chicken out of the oven.Saved by the chook, Nick thought as she heaved it onto a plate and carried it to the table. Nick stood, but not before Nina rolled her eyes again in a knowing way that told him he wasn’t off the hook at all. Carly trailed behind his mum, carrying the carving fork and another large knife, and they all took their seats as his mum began to carve the bird and his father folded up the newspaper and tossed it into the basket next to the sideboard.
“That smells amazing, Mum,” Nick said, inhaling deeply again. And it really did. The spices and the crisp, browned skin, it smelled perfect. It smelled like—fuck, his chest was tight—it smelled like home. He swallowed hard and busied himself serving Carly.
“It really does smell amazing, Mrs. Jacobs,” Carly agreed, as a drumstick landed on her plate. “I haven’t had a homemade roast chicken in years.”
“You’re too kind,” his mum said, waving the compliment away as she served herself salad. “And these vegetables are very well chopped.”
“Well, I’m glad I didn’t screw up the one thing I know how to do in the kitchen. Though there was a fifty-fifty chance I was going to lose a finger and bleed all over the counter.”
Nina laughed, and Nick felt his shoulders relax a little even as his father silently served himself and began eating.
“Fortunately, I know first aid,” Nina said. “And better a finger than a toe when you’re a dancer. You are a dancer, I assume?”
