I mouthed “Later” in response.
Soon we were seated at the table, and Malone poured wine for each of us. Mrs. Q ladled out casserole. Sadly. I would’ve definitely taken a smaller portion than what she gave me.
“Before we eat, how about a toast to neighbors?” Malone lifted his glass, and Mrs. Q and I did the same. He lifted the glass with his left hand.So, a southpaw. Interesting.
“To neighbors,” he said.
“To neighbors!” we responded before clinking glasses.
My pulse thrummed in anticipation of what would happen when he took the first bite. He might not have been the man who claimed casseroles were cheating, but I had a healthy enough respect for schadenfreude that I couldn’t wait to see his reaction.
It felt like forever before he took his first bite. It was all I could do to act casual and not stare at his fork on its way to his mouth.
“This is really delicious!”
My eyes snapped to his face, trying to gauge his expression. He might not be Blake Malone, but he was still a marvelous liar.
Mrs. Q preened. “I’m so glad you like it.”
In confusion, I looked down at the uneaten gelatinous scoop on my plate. Had the casserole changed? Had I fallen into an alternate dimension where Blake Malone was nice and Mrs. Q’s casserole was tasty?
I took a bite.
Nope.
Still bland. Veggies still waxy. Tots still soggy.
I forced my lips into a smile because the creator of my torture was watching me. “Delightful as always, Mrs. Q.”
Now who’s a lying liar who lies, Stella?
We ate in silence for a minute or so before Malone snapped his fingers. “Mrs. Quattlebaum, I hope you don’t mind if I add some hot sauce. I totally forgot. My doctor said that it can help keep my blood pressure lower. Oh, and it adds antioxidants and revs up your metabolism, too. I hate to ask, but doctor’s orders, you know?”
With that sheepish grin, the man could get away with anything.
“I had no idea,” Mrs. Q said. “If it can do all that, then I would like to try some, too.”
Stunned, I watched as Malone left the apartment and returned with a trio of hot sauces. No table, but he kept more than one kind of hot sauce?
While I was pondering that conundrum, he explained the properties of each sauce as well as possible health benefits but was sure not to oversell, saying that hot sauce was only one part of a healthy diet. Mrs. Q interjected from time to time with an “I declare” or a “What do you know?” but she was riveted to the discussion. Then she added a tiny drop to her casserole.
She held the fork away from her mouth for two seconds before taking a bite. At the pop of flavor, she closed her eyes with a satisfied “Mmmm.”
I’d been outmaneuvered again. Thank goodness Little Miss Petty’s reputation was no longer on the line. Unfortunately, her heart was in danger of once again falling for a most unsuitable man.
When Mrs. Q looked down at her plate, he winked at me.
My heart fluttered.
I was a goner.
Chapter 15
The rest of supper passed in a surreal blur. Malone, who might not actually be Malone, charmed Mrs. Q. I had to admit the hot sauce did wonders for the casserole, as did the pitch-perfect screw-top sauvignon blanc Malone had brought over.
I was beginning to wonder if he was an android designed to lull women into a false sense of security. Hot sauce to salvage a bland meal, the perfect white wine already chilled—who was this man? If I hadn’t already known he wasn’t Blake I-don’t-like-casseroles-or-talking-to-women-over-thirty-five Malone, then I would’ve figured it out by this meal alone.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Q was certainly enjoying herself.
