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“You don’t back down from my mother, though I’ll admit you’re respectful with her. You’re also unafraid to give me hell while you’re at it,” he said, still watching me closely.
“If your mother needed compassion and gentleness, I’d be more than happy to provide it,” I told him truthfully. On the other hand, while I thought Sophia could do with a bit of compassion and love in her life, I knew full well she’d rather chew my face off than tolerate it. “But she clearly wants someone different.”
“So you just…change how you are based on the person you’re providing for?” he asked me wryly.
“Believe it or not, a person can still be authentic while emphasizing individual parts of their personality,” I told him, narrowing my eyes. “Or do you really think all those nice employees at a store are just that happy to see you?”
Diane and Tony had been good people and had made enough money to keep my foster siblings and me well taken care of, but they hadn’t been rich. And while I might have finally got my act together before graduating high school, I still managed to tank my GPA before finally working on myself. That left me with loans and what money I could put together while working as much as I could. I knew all too well what it was like to slap on a pleasant smile while you were inwardly sorely tempted to dump a drink over someone’s head.
“Some of them are.”
“Strippers you throw hundreds of dollars at don’t count.”
His eyes widened, and then he grinned. “I’m beginning to suspect you don’t like me.”
“That’s your assumption, not my statement,” I told him as I privately agreed.
“Either that or you really like me,” he said, cocking his head.
I finally gave in and glared at him. “Is that so?”
“Well, believe it or not, I’m quite good at reading other people…or predicting their behaviors.”
I snorted. “I’m sorry, you just like to play yourself up, don’t you?”
“I don't do modesty.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“Modesty is for people who want to appear good. Well, and I’m sure if I even tried for modesty, you wouldn’t hesitate to call me out on the falsehood.”
He had me there, though I wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of knowing that. I wasn’t entirely sold on the idea that he was good at learning to read people, but at least he wasn’t completely dense. At this point, all I could give him credit for was that his pattern recognition was at least functional.
“So, you’ve got two mysteries to solve,” I said, finally crossing my arms over my chest. “Either I was a good kid who got an attitude when they grew up, or I’m a former kid with an attitude who learned how to hold their tongue. And I either dislike you or I really like you.”
“They’re both interesting mysteries,” he told me lightly, drumming his fingers on the railing. “Because you either keep talking to me because you enjoy the back and forth, which means you both like me, and probably were a fiery kid. Or, you really dislike me, which still means you were a fiery kid.”
“Sounds like you’re already settling on a running theory for one of those mysteries,” I told him, uncrossing my arms before I looked even more defensive. As much as I hated to admit it, I was now officially paranoid that he would start analyzing every behavior and word. “So, while you busy yourself with your little mysteries, I’m going to do my reports. If you need anything related to your mother’s care, you can find me in the kitchen.”
“Of course,” he said, slightly too lightly for my taste. “I wouldn’t want to interfere with your job. And you know, I think I will go out for a few hours. Just to see what kind of trouble I can dig up.”
“By all means,” I said, gesturing toward the door leading back into the house. “Enjoy your night.”
He chuckled, pushing away from the railing, and I knew damn well he wasn’t through messing with me yet. I found myself glancing over my shoulder toward the small cottage that was supposedly off limits to everyone but Shane…and perhaps Sophia if she was so inclined. It couldn’t have been large inside, enough for perhaps two small rooms and a bathroom.
I thought about asking him and turned. “Sh-Mr. Perkins?”
From the smirk on his face when he turned around, there was no doubt he caught my near slip of the tongue. “Yes?”
“You wanted me to ask what one of life’s little pleasures you haven’t indulged in,” I asked, chickening out of the real question at the last minute. It was clear the cottage was supposed to be some sort of private oasis for him. Whatever was there, whatever he did while he was there, was far too personal for me to start poking around in. Lord knew the man would probably get the wrong idea.
“It had crossed my mind,” he said vaguely.
I rolled my eyes, already sure I would regret indulging him. “Fine, then what was the final thing you supposedly haven’t indulged in?”
“Well, there are several things, but one thing in particular came to mind.”
“I’m not asking again.”
