Greta’s laughter came out like a bark. “Caught that when you started letting your accent free. How about something Idon’tknow?”
“I’m a grad student.”
Greta pointed her bright blue lettuce knife at her. “Really? How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine. You?”
“Thirty-three.” Greta frowned. “How in the world can you afford the app membership if you’re astudent?”
“Is that one of your questions?” Lee asked. When Greta nodded, Lee added, “My grandparents were wealthy. They left me a fund that makes student life affordable. I livemostlylike a student, but the app is my indulgence. Plus, there’s the new job. I can afford it, Marie. I’m not here as a con woman.”
“Well, obviously. If you were, I suspect we’d be at a restaurant rather than in my kitchen.” Greta held up an onion. “Yes or no onion?”
“No onion.” Lee stared at her. “So you know I’m a student, that I don’t like onion, that I lived in the South, and that I live in DC now.”
Greta rolled her eyes. “The stuff I figure out doesn’t count on the list.”
“Fine. I have my master’s in history, and I’m working on a PhD in another field. That’s why I readJane Eyre. I like both lit and history.” Lee pushed off the counter and walked over so she was standing behind Greta. Without actually touching her, she stood close enough that Greta could feel the heat of her body. “I also like naked women making me sandwiches. Does that one count?”
“Nope.” Greta looked over her shoulder and grinned.“Observational notes, Lee. I can tell you like that because you put your hands in your pockets, so you don’t touch me. Your eyes tell me a lot.”
Lee chuckled. “Guilty as charged. So tell me something about Marie, thirty-three, lives in a one-floor apartment, no pets, decent job to afford this place. Wears dresses. Has an exhibition streak. Likes books.”
“Books was going to be my big reveal,” Greta teased. “However can you tell?”
“Just a few overstacked bookshelves in here. Big clue.”
“Ham, roast beef, chicken, or turkey?” Greta asked.
“As one of the three things I am to tell you?” Lee asked lightly.
“Absolutely not.” Greta slid to the side. “I will observe which you use. All the sandwich things are here.” She pointed at the bowl of tomato, the tidy stack of chopped lettuce, carrot shreds, sprouts, two kinds of cheese, several meats, as well as assorted spreads. “Steadily gathering information, so you have to reveal something juicy.”
Lee gave her a dirty look and licked her lips. “Oh, I like your juicy—”
Greta slapped a hand over Lee’s mouth. “That’s not what I mean. I know you likethat. Observational skills.”
Without missing a beat, Lee licked the palm of Greta’s hand.
Greta giggled and pulled her hand away.
“I must have not been doing a good enough job if you could still observe things.”
Greta stepped back again. “Make your sandwich.”
She thought Lee was going to resume her closed-book stance. Maybe being friends wasn’t possible. They were still lying about their real names, avoiding sharing jobs, and maybe that was enough of a clue.
Then Lee said, “I saw the first Darbyshire book on your shelf. Have you seen the show?”
For a moment, Greta froze. She considered admitting that she saw itbeforeit was public, that she had read the sequel, that she had edited both of those books. But Lee was staying so close-lipped that Greta couldn’t do it. She couldn’t tell her what her job was. Yet.
Instead she said, “Not a fan of the book or show?”
“History major. So yeah, I was definitely a fan. I even went to one of her signings. She lives in DC, you know.”
“Which do you like more, the book or the show?” Greta asked.
“The book is better, although the show is good, too. That lead actor…” Lee had an odd smile. “She’s something.”
