The Veil
Page 62
“Your call, Tadj. As long as you’re happy, it’s your life to lead. But I’m still a smidge bummed. He seems so nice. And he brought dinner.”
“So why don’t you date him?”
I smiled. “Because he only has eyes for you.”
She patted my arm. “Let it go.”
“It’s gone. Will you grab some napkins?”
While I searched for enough bowls and cups, she pulled out a long drawer, took out a stack of folded napkins. Good food might have been hard to come by, but in an antique store, good linens weren’t. The monograms and embroidery didn’t match, but that hardly mattered now.
She put the napkins on the tray next to the glasses I was gathering. “And who are the new kids?”
“The bounty hunter or the gardener?”
“Let’s start with the bounty hunter. Is this related to the wraith thing? Gunnar told me about that.”
Good. Saved me trying to remember what I’d told him and match up the stories. Lying was filthy, complicated work.
“Yeah,” I said.
“He’s gorgeous.”
“Yeah, he is.”
“And you two are . . . ?”
I frowned. “Friends. Kind of.” I pulled the bread from the sleeve, placed it on the tray. “But he brought bread. And it looks really good.”
The tray assembled, we looked down at it. Mismatched silverware, mismatched bowls, mismatched cups. Linen napkins, bread, bread knife.
“It’s not awful,” she said. “I’d call it artistic.”
I picked it up. It was heavy, and it had been a long time since my prewar high school job at Berger’s Burgers. But I managed to keep it balanced. “I’m guessing everyone is hungry, and as long as they get a bowl and a spoon, they probably won’t care.”
“That’s life in the Zone,” Tadji said, moving the curtain aside so we could head back into the main room. “A little chaotic, but on the better days, there’s spicy food and good company.”
• • •
Dinner was pretty damn delicious. The food was brilliant, and so was the conversation.
Burke, Gunnar, and Liam seemed to hit it off, shared stories about their weirdest experiences in the Zone. Between them, they’d seen a giraffe, two alligators in bathtubs, a drunken man on a unicycle, and a riot over a doughnut truck. There were grim stories, too, of death and sadness. But we’d all known too much of that. It was part of our shared history, and not something we needed to say aloud to understand.
The best part of dinner was the watching, the listening. I nibbled the crusty end of the loaf while the stories were passed around like good wine (which was hard to come by) and hot sauce (which Liam kept in a small pocket flask for “emergencies”).
I watched Tadji and Burke, and tried to figure out if the problem was chemistry or timing. A little of both, I decided, bummed on Tadji’s behalf.
I watched Liam eat, grin, pour enough hot sauce on his dinner to set his mouth aflame, and seem totally unbothered by it. He glanced my way, realized I’d been watching him again. His expression swung from surprise to amusement to male satisfaction.
I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, but looked away casually, as if our gazes had just coincidentally met while I scanned the table, and not because I was finding my eyes drawn back to him over and over.
But I was. Maybe it was those eyes. Maybe it was his obvious strength. Maybe the fact that he’d helped me, or that I’d watched him try to protect that child in Devil’s Isle. We’d gone from strangers to mostly friends in twenty-four hours. And part of me wondered if we could be something more. That was probably a dangerous thought.
“So why don’t you date him?”
I smiled. “Because he only has eyes for you.”
She patted my arm. “Let it go.”
“It’s gone. Will you grab some napkins?”
While I searched for enough bowls and cups, she pulled out a long drawer, took out a stack of folded napkins. Good food might have been hard to come by, but in an antique store, good linens weren’t. The monograms and embroidery didn’t match, but that hardly mattered now.
She put the napkins on the tray next to the glasses I was gathering. “And who are the new kids?”
“The bounty hunter or the gardener?”
“Let’s start with the bounty hunter. Is this related to the wraith thing? Gunnar told me about that.”
Good. Saved me trying to remember what I’d told him and match up the stories. Lying was filthy, complicated work.
“Yeah,” I said.
“He’s gorgeous.”
“Yeah, he is.”
“And you two are . . . ?”
I frowned. “Friends. Kind of.” I pulled the bread from the sleeve, placed it on the tray. “But he brought bread. And it looks really good.”
The tray assembled, we looked down at it. Mismatched silverware, mismatched bowls, mismatched cups. Linen napkins, bread, bread knife.
“It’s not awful,” she said. “I’d call it artistic.”
I picked it up. It was heavy, and it had been a long time since my prewar high school job at Berger’s Burgers. But I managed to keep it balanced. “I’m guessing everyone is hungry, and as long as they get a bowl and a spoon, they probably won’t care.”
“That’s life in the Zone,” Tadji said, moving the curtain aside so we could head back into the main room. “A little chaotic, but on the better days, there’s spicy food and good company.”
• • •
Dinner was pretty damn delicious. The food was brilliant, and so was the conversation.
Burke, Gunnar, and Liam seemed to hit it off, shared stories about their weirdest experiences in the Zone. Between them, they’d seen a giraffe, two alligators in bathtubs, a drunken man on a unicycle, and a riot over a doughnut truck. There were grim stories, too, of death and sadness. But we’d all known too much of that. It was part of our shared history, and not something we needed to say aloud to understand.
The best part of dinner was the watching, the listening. I nibbled the crusty end of the loaf while the stories were passed around like good wine (which was hard to come by) and hot sauce (which Liam kept in a small pocket flask for “emergencies”).
I watched Tadji and Burke, and tried to figure out if the problem was chemistry or timing. A little of both, I decided, bummed on Tadji’s behalf.
I watched Liam eat, grin, pour enough hot sauce on his dinner to set his mouth aflame, and seem totally unbothered by it. He glanced my way, realized I’d been watching him again. His expression swung from surprise to amusement to male satisfaction.
I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, but looked away casually, as if our gazes had just coincidentally met while I scanned the table, and not because I was finding my eyes drawn back to him over and over.
But I was. Maybe it was those eyes. Maybe it was his obvious strength. Maybe the fact that he’d helped me, or that I’d watched him try to protect that child in Devil’s Isle. We’d gone from strangers to mostly friends in twenty-four hours. And part of me wondered if we could be something more. That was probably a dangerous thought.
