“Yeah, I’ll ask the kitchen.” The waitress collected their menus and Cal discreetly pulled his hand back when her fingers lingered too long over his. “Any drinks?”
“Black coffee,” said Cal. “And some water for the table.”
“I’ll have some orange juice,” said Nadine.
The waitress left and Cal thought,Alone at last.Nadine’s discomfort was palpable and on some level, that did please him because it meant she cared enough about his opinion of her that the mere idea of his scorn was causing her distress. But he didn’t want her distressed.
“Do you have to do that every time you go out?”
“Order orange juice?”
He simply gazed back at her, one eyebrow arched. That blush he loved crept into her cheekbones and she looked away guiltily, like a scolded child.
“Fine. Yes, every time. Unless I know the place well enough.”
“What if someone makes a mistake? It seems like it would be easy to do.”
“Well, I don’t die.” She spoke in a self-effacing tone that made him wonder how many times she had been forced to apologize for something she couldn’t help. “It’s not a real allergy. I don’t get any inflammation, my throat doesn’t close up. I just get really sick for a couple hours. I guess it’s more of a sensitivity, but if you tell that to people, they don’t take you seriously. They just think you’re being—” she hesitated, her eyes shifting away from his “—high maintenance.”
Studying her downcast eyes, Cal felt that familiar rush of violence in his blood at the idea that anyone in her life had made her feel worthless for things that weren’t her fault. “I don’t think you’re high maintenance,” he said.
The waitress came back before she could reply, much to his irritation. She hovered as she dispensed their drinks, plunking down Nadine’s orange juice and then asking him if he wanted creamer, sugar, a new spoon.They all come to youhovered in his ears, delivered in his brother’s voice of bitter mocking. All but the one he wanted.
When the waitress finally departed—again—she left a thick silence in her wake. Nadine poured some of the sparkling water he’d ordered into her orange juice without looking at him. Her subdued affect from the car had returned, draping itself around her shoulders like a dark mantle. “I’d like to ask my ten questions now, if you don’t mind.”
“Is that your first question?” he asked teasingly.
“What? No. Are you—” Seeing his smile, she broke off. Her brows pulled together. “You’re trying to trick me.”
“I’m good at tripping people up. It comes in handy when things go to court.” Or when he had to draw sullen little birds out of hiding. “What’s your first question, Nadine?”
“Why do you all live at home?”
Cal paused. “What?”
“You all have good-paying jobs. Well—you and Ben do,” she said awkwardly. “I don’t know what Odessa does. But why live at home instead of your own place?”
Because his father enjoyed having them arranged about the house. It was far easier to pull the strings when they were dangling in close proximity, after all.
Cal studied the woman across from him, taking in her unsmiling mouth, her searching eyes. Did she have any inkling as to what was really going on here? he wondered, not for the first time. Or did she think they were just another eccentric rich family?
“I do have my own place.” Speaking slowly, he went on to add, “I own several properties. And Odessa is a graphic designer, and does reasonably well.”When she deigns to do the work.
But Odessa preferred to galivant around town in a tornadic frenzy, tormenting the townsfolk. She’d work her wiles on anyone foolish enough to get close, married or not, though most people knew better. It had always been a point of contention for his elder sister that there were no male sparrows. That she had to keep her maiden name to inherit.
That she had to behave like a lady.
Cal glanced over at Nadine, who was watching him intently. And as he had so many times before, he put his compunctions on ice. “Ravensgate is our family home. There’s history behind it, as I told you in my letter, and it’s a big house. Big enough that it doesn’t really feel like sharing.”
Her right eye twitched when he mentioned the letter. “That didn’t answer my question.”
Cal gave her a predatory smile. “Want to see if you can get a better one?”
She squirmed in her seat, and the hand that she still had on the table moved restlessly. She clenched it into a fist. “How did Ben meet Noelle?”
“A chat room.”
“What kind of chat room?”
