Page 24 of Tangled with the Tight End

“Did you eat lunch?” I ask.

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“Let’s see,” I tap my finger to my chin. “In one of my classes on pain management, they taught us that there’s a direct correlation between hunger and pain. Did you know that?”

“No.”

“Yep. It’s true. Pain can make people reject food. So can your meds, I think. Yes. That’s right. They can. Also, did you know that eating can help you reduce pain?”

“Really?” Declan looks either skeptical or curious. I can’t tell which.

“Yes. That’s what they said. Especially sweets. But you need nutrients more than sweets, so let’s get you some food.”

“Claudette probably left something in the kitchen.”

Claudette? Is that a girlfriend?

Declan must sense my question because he adds, “She’s our cook. She makes meals for me and delivers them three days a week.”

“You have a cook?” The question is basically rhetorical.

I almost wonder if I said it out loud until he answers. “Yes. We have a cook.”

He has a Claudette. I have … Chef Boyardee. Not exactly the same, though they both prepare meals for us that we don’t have to cook ourselves.

“Okay,” I say, dusting my hands together. “Well, great. Let’s see what Claudette whipped up for you. Are you in the mood for anything in particular?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“And yet, you’re going to eat,” I say, feigning a confidence I don’t completely feel.

He’s bringing out something commanding in me. Maybe I sense his need for a rudder while his ship is veering left and right. I don’t question it. He’s rolling with my approach—for now—so, I’ll just keep doing what I’m doing.

I walk out of the room and head back toward the front door. One of the doors I passed on the way in must be the kitchen.

“Wrong way,” Declan shouts after me. “The kitchen is further down the hall to your left.”

“How many rooms does one house need?” I ask, mostly to myself.

His soft chuckle resonates through the hallway.

At least I’m making him laugh.

I find the kitchen. It’s also massive. I’m sensing a theme here. It’s also gorgeous. The island alone is the size of my bed. I picture tap dancing on it for some weird reason. I won’t. At least not today. But someone should. There are no refrigerators. Just sleek, black cabinets everywhere—and contrasting white counters. And a stove that looks too expensive to even turn on.

I leave the kitchen and walk back to Declan. “Where does your family keep their refrigerators?”

He chuckles softly. “In the kitchen. Why?”

“Well …” I cross my arms, squinting at him to see if he’s bluffing. “I couldn’t find them.”

His chuckle turns into an actual full laugh, but then he winces again and grows instantly somber. “The refrigerator front is covered in matching cabinetry—to complete the aesthetic.”

“The aesthetic.” I nod. “So, one of those cabinets is hiding a refrigerator?”

“Two, actually. We have a Sub-Zero refrigerator and a french door refrigerator/freezer. And then we have several other freezers in the basement.”

There’s so much to unpack in all that, I can’t even. “Sub-zero? For a refrigerator?” I ask. “You’ve probably run into problems with that.”