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Which I guess is as close as Trinity is ever going to get to telling me she thinks I’m an idiot.
“I just… If there is anything I can do, you’ll let me do it, right?”
“Absolutely.”
“If you’ve already paid back, mom, there’s no reason you have to finish this contract.”
Instead of replying, I change the subject. “Remember when we were kids and you and I used to pass messages back-and-forth?”
She chuckles. “The coded messages?”
“Yeah. Those. We thought we were so clever.”
“Yeah, what about it?”
I look down at the piece of paper in my hand where I have been scribbling a message in several versions, trying to make the words sound right. I haven’t found a combination yet that doesn’t sound ridiculous.
Sighing, I fold the page in half and close my eyes again. “No reason. I was just thinking about it the other day and wanted to make sure you remembered.”
We talk about other things for a few minutes. It’s not until we’re off the phone and I’m starting prep for dinner that I let myself think about her question. I paid back Mom. I am—almost—out of debt at this point.
I still have the lawyer’s bills. I’ll probably have those for a long time. But paying back mom was the important part. At least to me. As for all those legal fees, well, I could always declare bankruptcy. Not my favorite choice, obviously, but not the end of the world either. I wouldn’t be the first or last chef to do so.
If I really felt like I was in danger—if I was really worried about my safety—obviously, I would turn and run. I wouldn’t feel like I had to stay just for the money. That’s not what bothers me. What bothers me about the situation is the fact that I feel like I want to stay. Now that I know Ian Donovan isn’t some elderly recluse, now that I know he’s young, fit, and strangely, compellingly attractive, I don’t feel like I have to stay, but I want to. He’s a mystery I want to unravel. A question I want the answer to.
That’s the real problem. Not that I feel like I have to stay, but that I want to. I want more information. Why does he live in this huge house all by himself? Why doesn’t he go into town more often? Why didn’t he want me to Google him? Why didn’t he want me to know who he really is?
These are the questions whirling in my mind as I make his evening meal and walk it down the hill to the big house. Even though I saw his car return during the afternoon, I don’t see him in the house.
After I’ve eaten my sandwich by myself in front of the TV, I take out the piece of paper again and stare at it. Letting the words roll over in my mind. I type out a text to Trinity, and then I delete it. I go to bed, leaving the sheet of paper on the counter in the cottage.
That night, I have the strangest dream. I dream that I’m a house-elf at Malfoy manor, but I am also Hermione Granger. And when I’m ordered to bring food for Draco, it isn’t Draco at all. But Ian Donavon. What an absolute wanker.
Chapter Seven
Savannah
* * *
The Monday after Smoothie Sunday, things return to normal. Sort of. If anything about this situation can be considered normal.
On Sunday, I prepared his meal in my cottage like I’ve been doing.
I didn’t intentionally ignore his request to cook in his kitchen. At least, I don’t think so.
But when I when I wake up in the morning, I find a text from him.
Is there a reason you didn’t make dinner here?
I stare at the message for several long moments while I scramble for an answer.
Yes. Obviously, there’s a reason.
I didn’t want to run into you again.
And I don’t want to spend my days wondering what it is you do and who you are. My life was easier when I thought you were just an elderly shut in and I didn’t have to wonder about you.
In the end, I keep my answer simple.
