I pulled a new bowl from the cupboard, a new spoon from the drawer, and ladled more stew out of the Crock-Pot before I went back into the sitting room with the steaming bowl. I placed it in front of him and sat down again.
His cheeks were red, and his dark eyes were large in his face. “What are you doing?”
“It’s called being nice, have you heard of it? Probably not, since it relies on some of the same skills as apologizing to people you attempt to blackmail.”
His face flushed brighter, and he seemed torn between mortification and his usual petulance.
Glancing at the tree, I remembered that beautiful smile from earlier. “You know what? I’m glad you broke an ornament. That angel was tacky anyway, and obviously one too many. It’s much better now.”
He shot to his feet, and I sat back, actually stunned as he stomped toward the doorway.
“Where are you going?” I wanted to laugh, because he clearly had no idea, when he whirled around again.
“I don’t know! But every meal, everywhere, is just me getting made fun of!”
“I was attempting to make you feel better.” Rising, I carefully stepped toward him until I was close enough he had to tilt his head back. His skin was pale and there were dark smudges starting under his eyes. He stared at me like he absolutely didn’t believe anyone could mean to do anything except hurt him.
Carefully, I rested my hands on his shoulders, and he let me. “Let’s try this one last time. My name is Jean-Paul, but you can call me JP, if you want.”
His mouth fell open. “I thought only Mr. Elwood got to do that.”
He let me move him back to his seat, and when we were there, I put pressure on his shoulders until he sank down. That was a mistake. He followed my nonverbal cues so easily, and I could imagine him going to his knees with the same fluid motion.
“You’re going to tell me what the fuck is going on with you, and then you’re going to eat.” He tensed, but I rubbed my thumbs along the sides of his neck, and he melted backward until he was leaned against my legs.
“That might kill my appetite,” he mumbled, “and there’s nothing to tell. I’m normal.”
With a sigh, I patted his head, digging my fingers through his soft hair for a second before stepping back. I kept a hand on his shoulder because, as I’d imagined he might, he almost tumbled off the ottoman when I moved. It was nothing at all to steady him.
“Oh yes, you’re fine. That’s why you were begging me to stay at the office.”
Walking around to my own side again, I tipped the rest of the wine into my glass. The remaining drizzle sparkled in the firelight as the wine dripped in, rippling the liquid that was almost to the rim. I suspected I would need every drop.
4
Max
Ididn’t know what he was asking me, but he stared so expectantly that I decided I needed to say something to get him off my case. It was weird because Jean-Paul—JP—had never cared before. He expected me to stay late and work, but the one time I chose to do it willingly, he started questioning me. My gut clenched as I stared down at my hands before I reached for the bowl of stew. I hated sitting in one spot without something to do, and eating was a good activity to keep my hands busy. Perfect, actually, because then I didn’t need to talk while I shoved the hot liquid into my mouth.
The heat burned my tongue. I cringed, and JP raised his eyebrows, like he was caught between amusement and concern. He left the ottoman and sat down on the couch, where he leaned against the corner, his arm lying against the length of the back and a leg thrown over his knee. He cradled the wineglass in his free hand. He’d always looked like a man in his element—confident, intelligent, and charming—everything I was most definitely not.
I glanced back at the Christmas tree to the ornaments, which looked better now. The lights blinked in different colors. “How often do you leave the tree lights on?”
JP’s gaze slipped to the tree, too, and he shrugged. “I don’t turn them off.”
“Ever?” I sounded hysterical, my voice rising.
He cocked his head in confusion, and I took a moment to appreciate his high cheekbones and strong chin. “No. Am I supposed to?”
I shuddered but didn’t think he saw it. Lowering my voice, I leaned closer. “It could catch fire. It’s not smart to leave it on all the time. When you’re home, sure, but not when you’re sleeping or away from the house.”
“Why would it catch fire?” He took a sip of his wine, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his throat, where the Adam’s apple there bobbed as he swallowed. I felt like he was teasing me, but once I got on a tangent about fire and electrical safety, I couldn’t stop. I’d had too many nightmares of my home catching fire because of power cords being left in.
“The lights get hot, and once they get hot, they catch fire.” I glared at him and glanced toward the other socket I saw in the far corner. He had his TV plugged in and something else, maybe a lamp. I pointed in that direction. “How long have those been connected?”
JP’s eyebrows furrowed deeper and he glanced where I’d pointed. “Are you trying to avoid my question? Is that what this is?”
“What?” I gaped at him and set my bowl on the coffee table in front of me. “Safety is crucial!”
