* * * *
The small, four-person dinette set feels even tinier in the large dining room area just off the kitchen.
“We could have eaten at the breakfast counter, I guess,” she says, “but this way we can see each other.” The table is round, so there’s no “head” of the table, but she’s put Carter between us, with her on his right, me on his left, and the empty chair between me and her.
At least I’m facing her, meaning I have no trouble stealing long glances at her while she’s talking with and focused on Carter.
The food is amazing, and I’m still not sure exactly what I did. I know I couldn’t recreate it by myself. I was too distracted listening to their discussion while we cooked.
Which brings me to a question that I know might sound out of left field to them, but one I need answered.
“How did you two cook without recipes?”
They both look at me, then glance at each other before focusing on me again. “I have those recipes memorized,” she says. “I’ve made them, no kidding, over a couple hundred times growing up.” She shrugs. “I don’t need a recipe.”
We both look at Carter, who’s now wearing an amused smile. “It might piss you off,” he warns both of us.
My gaze narrows. “Why?”
His focus returns to his food. “I have a really good memory.” He forks another bite of food into his mouth.
“Like a photographic memory?” I ask.
Another of those totally Carter shrugs. “Not quite eidetic, but close enough.”
Fuck me, now Susa’s re-evaluating Carter. I see the way her gaze narrows, how she seems to be…calculating.
“Tell me about the Carris-Thompson environmental bill,” she says.
His eyes unfocus for the briefest moment. I remember them talking about it earlier, but I couldn’t tell you what it was. Our instructor mentioned it in class today. I think.
I’m…pretty sure.
Maybe?
Fuck, I don’t know.
Carter starts not only regurgitating everything the instructor said, but some of what Susa had added during their discussion earlier that evening…and apparently the actual text of the bill, which I remember was in our reading material for the class.
“Holy fuck,” I mutter when he finally stops.
She points her fork at him. “We need to getyouelected.”
He slowly shakes his head. “Not me.” He nods toward me. “Owen is the face. I’d be happy to be the power behind the throne for him.” Our gazes lock, and I believe him.
Totally.
Then he looks at Susa. “Or for you.”
She studies both of us for a long moment. “Gentlemen,” she says. “Not to sound clichéd, but I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
Chapter Nine
I volunteer to wash the dishes. Carter and Susa are still discussing Florida politics, although we’ve moved on to the state’s GOP organization and how dysfunctional it truly is, while the state-level DNC isn’t any better. It only takes me a minute to rinse everything and tuck it into the dishwasher while she brings me plastic food containers to pack the leftover in.
“So what would you peg as being the biggest problem both parties share?” Carter asks her. “At the state level.”
“Honestly? Rich, white, older men like Daddy. Especially cishet ones. They’re trying to court a minority hard-core ‘base’ that doesn’t really exist for either party, guys just like them with money, instead of picking a solid platform to run on. They worry about grabbing national cable news channel sound bites instead of actually doing their damn jobs. Or, on the other end of the extreme, they’re too caught up in their political dogma to do their damn jobs. They try to wrap everyone in to everything and, in the end, lose nearly everyone.”
