Wes let her serve herself first, trying to keep his pleasure at her rapt expression close to his chest until she tried the food. This was usually when the complaints came, and if he knew Nadine, she wouldn’t miss a chance to rag on him. He was used to it from home. Not enough of oneingredient. Too much of another. He knew his mother hated mustard. Did he hate his mother? No? But he included mustard, so he must hate his mother, who sacrificed so much for him. This was why she had to do all the cooking. He was lucky he had a mother, not like her, orphaned at the age of twenty.
To his shock, Nadine simply ate. She didn’t sniff at the plate and push it away, claiming she was no longer hungry. She didn’t open the sandwich to check what was in it or poke through the salad to leave a small hill of things she didn’t like on the side. “This is the best thing I’ve had in ages,” she said.
“Thanks.” Uncomfortable with her praise, since that was not the dynamic their relationship was based on, but somehow needing more, he said, “I wasn’t sure if you ate meat, so I skipped it.”
Nadine gave him a startled look. “That’s thoughtful.” She paused. “I prefer not to, but I won’t make a fuss. My pohpoh makes a chicken dish I love, so I eat that. You?”
“I eat anything.” His stomach was iron after decades of his mother’s cooking. She was so bad her congee somehow contained bits of uncooked rice.
“Anything? The water left over from boiling hot dogs?”
“Anything,” he said with emphasis. “Hot dog water, coffee-flavored yogurt, the leftover Halloween candy you find the next summer that’s stuck to the wrapper. You name it.”
“I stand corrected if slightly grossed out.” Nadine took another bite of her sandwich. “God, this is amazing. Anyway, I went up to the attic to see if it was as bad as I remembered.”
That was where she’d gotten dusty. “Is it?”
“Worse.” Her face had a worried frown, and Wes had an appalling impulse to smooth out the creases lining her mouth that he immediately axed. They were colleagues, and ones who had barely started improving their relationship. “We need a game plan.”
“I thought you had one.”
“I did. The plan was to organize her stuff and find our answer.” She speared some of the peach he’d sliced. “We need a better one.”
Wes couldn’t answer because Nadine was licking the peach juice from the corner of her mouth. He wanted to slap himself. Although she was getting easier to deal with, he wasn’t sure how he felt about her. There was history between them, and endless mistrust. What was he doing?
You don’t have to like someone to find them attractive, sang out a little voice in his mind.
Even that was too much. They were on a tight deadline. There was no time for finding anyone attractive. He was here to sort files in a dusty attic on his vacation, like all the cool kids did.
No wonder he was single.
Nadine insisted on tidying up after lunch to make it fair, so Wes went up to the attic with Murasaki trailing behind him on soft paws. Walking through the secret door, he immediately agreed with Nadine’s assessment.
“We’re screwed,” he told the calico.
The cat didn’t care, which was rude but expected.
Wes strolled around the attic to get a feel for the enormity of the task ahead. The lights weren’t strong enough, so they’d need flashlights or lamps for darker days. At least it smelled dry and not damp or moldy. The windows overlooked the back of Dot’s estate, which included the conservatory, some gardens, and a path leading to what he assumed was her personal forest. That was for later exploration, when he was so fed up with looking at documents he couldn’t bear to touch another piece of paper.
His phone rang, and he pulled it out of his pocket. Ella.
“Hey, big brother,” she greeted him.
His heart lifted to hear her sounding happy. In the year before she left, Ella was so withdrawn that he and Amy had become almost frantic with worry. Ella was one of those sunshine people, born to laugh and sing. It was worth the money to get her out of the house so she could blossom away from their mother’s shadow, and her time at school hadtransformed her.
“Hi, little sister.” He ran a finger across the seat of a green leather club chair, then wiped the filth off. He’d walk and talk. “How’s Vancouver?”
“Great!”
He frowned. He knew that voice and realized this wasn’t Ella’s true happiness. She was hiding something. “Ella. Spill.”
“How do you always know?” she complained.
“It’s a gift. What’s going on?”
“I have some good news and bad news.”
“Always the good news first.” He tried to keep his voice light.
