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“What really happened?” Nate’s voice is tight, strained.
“I told you, man. He was walking the west pinot field by himself while I was up at the tasting room with the Suttons. He thought he saw a snake or a rat and slipped on the wet leaves. You know how we have those boulders set along the edges of the rows there, because it’s so steep? He hit one just right as he fell and broke his hip.”
The butter is bubbling, so I pour the eggs in and start counting to thirty. Opening the cupboard behind me, I find a loaf of bread. I pull a couple of slices out and pop them into the toaster.
I remember those rocks. Olive showed them to me when I was babysitting her that first day. She showed me one with names carved into them—Nate, Kel, Sydney and Olive. Olive’s name was obviously fresher than the other three, but she’d been so proud of having it there.
“And you’re sure he’s going to be okay? That I don’t need to be there now?” Tension leaks out each of Nate’s words.
Kel’s voice is calm, reassuring—he must have been an excellent nurse. “He’s going to be fine. It’s a clean break and his surgeon is one of the best in the state.” There’s a pause before he speaks again. I dig the wooden spoon in my hand into the eggs and start stirring, the yellow liquid cooking up nice and creamy. “Your mom is fine. I bet you anything my mom took her to get coffee across the street. We can go over once you eat something, man. He should be back from recovery by then.”
I plate the eggs and toast, snagging a bottle of ketchup from the fridge. “Breakfast.” I grab a plate and take it to the table where I’m met with the remains of the Chinese food Kel and I never finished eating last night. Cheeks hot at the memory, I set my plate down and start cleaning it up, my stomach protesting feebly at the smell. “Uh, sorry. I’ll just…”
Kel also turns pink. “Right, sorry. We never, ah…”
Nate snorts and sits at an empty place. “I don’t want to know.” He eyes the plate I set in front of him before digging his fork into the eggs and taking a ginger bite.
Stacking the dirty plates to the side, I perch on my chair and cover my eggs in ketchup. As I flip the cap closed, Nate’s face scrunches in disgust. Right, because the French would never dare to sully their food like that. Pushing down my annoyance and ignoring the queasy feeling in my gut, I shovel food in my mouth, waiting for the boys to talk again.
Five unbearably silent minutes later, it’s clear that neither of them is going to make conversation. “So, Nate. Kel says you’ve been living in France. What part?” If there’s any chance I’m going to be part of Kel’s future, it’s in my best interest to get on Nate’s good side—if he has one.
I haven’t had a chance to check, but I’m sure my period is still missing in action. I push the worry aside and try to focus on making nice with Nate.
Nate stops shoveling eggs and toast into his mouth, carefully setting his fork and knife down before looking at me. “I started with a CIA course in Paris—”
“The CIA? I thought you went to Europe for wine making, not espionage.”
Nate rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his coffee, not bothering to conceal his shudder as he swallows. “Culinary Institute of America—they have a partnership with Le Cordon Bleu. After I finished that program, I got jobs at a few different wineries in the Loire Valley.” He takes another sip, lip curling as he swallows. “But I’ve been in Bordeaux for the last two years.”
Kel’s eyebrows raise at the locations, but since I barely know a pinot from a merlot, it means nothing to me. Nate seems to be waiting for some kind of reaction from me though, so I smile. “That’s neat. Do you like living in France?”
“Neat?” Nate breaks off with an exasperated sigh. “Nevermind. Yes, I do. I prefer it to working for a capitalistic billionaire who decided to buy my inheritance on a whim for his wife, even though he had no intention—”
“Sutton’s not that bad.” Kel interrupts Nate’s growing tirade. The tension in Kel’s shoulders is so intense, I worry for his spine. “Sophie is really invested in the winery, and really, they don’t interf—”
“Save it, Kel,” Nate snaps, shoving his plate of half-eaten food away. “I didn’t come here to make small talk with your trashy girlfriend. I just want to get this over with.”
“Don’t insult Maggie.” Kel stares Nate down while he spears some egg on his fork, not looking away as he shoves it in his mouth and chews. Tense silence descends on us again and I hurry to finish my breakfast. As tempting as it is to try and fix the situation—every time I open my mouth, it seems to make things worse.
So I finish my food as Nate and Kel wage an unspoken argument. Nate leaning back in his chair, arms crossed and chest out. Kel taking deliberate bites of his breakfast, clearing the plate in the methodical way he does everything else.
Not hungry anymore, I stack my plate with Nate’s and reach for Kel’s as he takes the last bite. Instead of giving me his plate, Kel takes the others from me and walks them to the kitchen sink.
Nate’s eyes flare, and suddenly I’m worried about the possibility that I’m in the line of fire if he self-combusts. “Dude. Can’t you just leave it? Or get your amazing, magical, and sparkly girlfriend to clean up?” He smirks at me with each descriptor. Tears prick at my eyes but I refuse to let him see that I’m emotional over his douchbaggy face. It’s not him, it’s the hormones.
Kel puts the dishes in the sink with a clatter. “No. She cooked your ungrateful ass breakfast. Maggie, don’t you dare do the dishes.” Kel turns his glare to me. “I’ll take care of it.” Then he puts his head down and starts washing dishes without another word.
I hesitate, but Kel doesn’t look back up. I guess that’s my cue to leave. I snatch my sweater off the floor by my chair and make my way to the door. “Okay. I guess I’ll get going then.” In the continued tense silence between Nate and Kel, it feels like every sound I make as I put on my shoes echoes three times louder than usual.
Kel is still in the kitchen when I look up, his eyes locked on Nate, who’s busy on his phone. “Uh, bye?” He tears his eyes away long enough to give me a nod. Not wanting to be clingy, and absolutely wanting to get away from whatever fight is about to break out here, I slip on my coat and let myself out.
I stomp a little harder than usual as I make my way to the car, my hood flipped up against the November drizzle. Not only was my orgasm interrupted by the prodigal asshole, but my newly confirmed boyfriend was too busy trying to teach said dickwad manners to say goodbye properly.
With a huff, I slide into my car and turn on the engine. But when I look in my rearview, a rental car-sized problem looms at me. “Goddamn boys and their pissing contests.” I keep grumbling as I stare at the generic gray sedan parked directly behind me, leaving me no place to turn around.
A knock on my window startles a scream out of me. “Maggie?” Nate calls through the glass.
I roll down my window, hand on my racing heart. “Jesus, you scared me. What do you want?”
