He instantly sobered. “Sibyl had a brother too. His name wasJames.”
That was a weird coincidence. I believed what he said, but I wasn’t sure I believed the whole past lifething.
“Is he older thanyou?”
“A littleolder.”
He nodded. The water was beginning to boil harder, so I stirred the noodles and fished one out to taste.Perfect.
I drained them and mixed them with butter and the Parmesan he’d had in his refrigerator. When I put the plate on the bar for him, he stared at itcuriously.
“It’s not going to bite you. And I used your groceries, so if they aren’t good, that’s on you, notme.”
“No, I’m sure they are fine.” He took a bite and then another. I watched a minute as he ate the pasta very fast, barely pausing to draw breath. Once he finished, I was only halfway through my own, and he lookedup.
“There’s more if you’re stillhungry.”
He let out a sigh. “No, that was delicious. Do you want somewine?”
“Sure, what do youhave?”
He left the room, and my curiosity outweighed the need to keep eating. I followed to a cedar-lined room with rows upon rows of wine bottles lying sideways in X shaped boxes. “Wow. That is a lotwine.”
“I do enjoy wine. Living in France affords me a unique opportunity to acquire amazingbottles.”
I ran my fingertips along the bottle tops. Not a speck of dust coated theirsurfaces.
He plucked a bottle and held it up. “Do you likered?”
I laughed. “I likewine.”
“Fair enough.” We went back to the kitchen, and he opened the bottle to pour it into a glass pitcher. “Give it a second,” he said before spinning to locate a couple wineglasses.
I took my seat on the counter again and dove back into my food. At least he looked better, a little more himself, despite the mask still being very much inplace.
I couldn’t decide why that was bothering me so much. That he felt he had to hide from me, especially since I knew his secrets, at least the one I hoped was hisbiggest.
He poured a glass and handed it tome.
“This is fancy,” I commented. “I usually drink my wine from thebottle.
His face. He clutched his metaphorical pearls and waited for me to take a sip. It was deep, dry, and coated my tongue in a beautiful array of dark chocolate andstrawberry.
“Oh man, that is good." I took another small sip and sat it on the counter next to me. “Definitely not something I could drink from abottle.”
He took his own stool again and sipped from his glass. “I’d hope not. We would have to discontinue this friendship if youtried.”
I chuckled and ate some more. “Well, now I know how to get rid ofyou.”
It had been a joke, but it hit something in him. His smile drooped, and he stared into his glass. Shit. Opening my mouth was becoming dangerous thesedays.
“I didn’t think about what I was saying. I’msorry.”
He waved it away, mask firmly back in place. “Don’t worry about it. You shouldn’t feel you have to censor yourself.” He stood. “Thank you for the meal. I’m going to go start on thatmess.”
I wanted to ask what had happened there, but he probably would lie, make up something to maintain his orderedcalm.
Damn it, why did I care so much? What was it about him that made me want to ruffle every part of his perfectly orderedlife?
