Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 41143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 206(@200wpm)___ 165(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 206(@200wpm)___ 165(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
"I don't need these caveman meals cooked for me every single day." She squeezes my hand. "Henrietta is overprotective. Feeding me more than the Knights of the Round Table could eat in a sitting is her way of showing it."
We step into the kitchen, tall windows filling the wall over the sink, everything gleaming in gunmetal gray, glossy white, stainless steel.
This place is Deck all over. Cold and stark. Leah looks warm and lush in the middle of it.
An older woman, gray hair braided and pinned on top of her head, fusses over the stove, muttering in Polish. I know it's Polish because my parents emigrated from Warsaw. She's cursing at whatever she's stirring.
"Hi, Henrietta."
"Oh!" She breaks from her Polish blue streak. As she turns to see Leah, her worn face lights up. "Zabka!"
She twists back to the stove, stirring, grumbling into a fresh Polish tirade. I never learned to speak it, just the curse words, but I can pick out most of what's said, and I'm pretty sure she just called Leah a frog.
I guide Leah to the glass-topped table and pull out a chair with my free hand. She leans on me as I lower her into it, and even with her full weight on my forearm, she weighs almost nothing, and it wrecks me.
I don't miss the shaking sigh of relief when the weight leaves her feet. No arm crutches today, just the leg braces, and I've watched all day what that costs her. I wanted to scoop her up and be her legs, but she stayed on her feet through May and Deck's vows, while I stood there in awe of her.
Henrietta turns back around, jutting out a round hip and narrowing her eyes at Leah. "So?" She jabs the word at Leah. "How was the wedding?" Her curt formality doesn't hide her displeasure.
"It wasn't really a wedding, Henrietta. It was just a ceremony. Don't be mad at May for not inviting you and Mr. Fredby. And Wilson. Well, Wilson drove, but he was kind of a grouch about it as well. It was so quick, like ten minutes, in and out. Recite the vows and get on with the honeymoon. That's what she wanted. You know May, you can't tell her anything. She gets her mind set, and that's that."
I move behind Leah's chair, hands shoved in my pockets, shifting my half-hard monster, praying to God the two of them don't clock the tent in my trousers.
Henrietta huffs and glares at us both.
Then she trades the gravy-dripping spoon for a knife. She flicks it in the air sharply, then points it at me, narrowing her milky blue eyes as she does. "Who's he?" She crosses from the stove to stand over us. The black and white of her uniform is crisp and clean, without a single drop of the meal she's been cooking showing on the fabric. "Hmmm? Who is he?"
She stabs the knife once more in my direction, making no effort to soften her question.
I answer as Leah stifles a laugh. "Allister Marshall, ma'am." I step around the table and hold out my hand. "My family name is Maslak. From Warsaw originally. My parents changed it to Marshall when they came here."
She stares at me and then back at Leah as though I don't exist. "And who is Allister Marshall? Hmmm?"
A giggle escapes Leah. "He's the one that helped find me that night. He's Decker's best friend. They run the business together." Leah draws out each word as Henrietta continues to stare her down with doubt. "He wanted to make sure I got home safely from the wedding, that's all. I drank a glass of champagne, after all, and who knows what horrors could have awaited me in my impaired state of mind." Leah ends with a smile on those amazing lips.
In the limo, her walls were up, defenses locked down tight. But here, under Henrietta's fire, she's the one coming to my defense, and it warms something in my chest.
"Hmmmph. Okay." Henrietta examines me from my forehead to my feet, then puts the knife down into the front pocket of her white apron and smacks me on the chest before pointing at the chair next to Leah. "You. Sit. Eat."
I start to tell her I'm not hungry, hands raised in surrender, but Leah cuts in with a wave. "No, Henrietta, he's not staying."
"Sit." She stabs a finger toward me, then the table, then looks back at Leah before she continues. "And I saw the empty box of those Pop-Tarts." Henrietta narrows her eyes at Leah. "That's not food."
Her sullen look and the discomfort are gone, replaced by something warm and open.
Her cheeks turn a deeper shade of pink, and that just lets me know I'm right.
Truth is, we both ate after the wedding, but I'm happy to sit here and eat some more, because it feels like we're in this together. Anything that makes me part of her life is okay in my book.