“What is that smell?” I hear someone yell, which is followed by heavy footsteps. “Good God, my mouth is actually watering!” Mark Lopez, the guy from last night, comes around the corner. “Hello, Savi.” He grins, looking around. “Are you cooking? Please tell me what that heavenly smell is.” He takes a seat on a stool opposite me at the island.
“Apple crisp.” I point to the desserts on the counter.
“Well, fuck me sideways…she speaks.” He raises a playful eyebrow.
“She does,” I shoot back with a smirk. He cracks me up.
“Yes, yes, I’ll think of something. Maybe I’ll order a pizza—” Abigail stops short when she enters the kitchen and hangs up her cell phone. “Savannah?” She looks shocked.
Oh, no. Maybe I crossed a line doing this. Perhaps I should’ve stayed away. This is her thing to do.
“I’m sorry.”
Her lips turn into a smile.
“Savannah speaks now.” Mark grins up at her.
She walks by, giving a playful smack to the back of his head. Taking in the kitchen with a look of amazement at all the food, her eyes dance over at me.
“You did this?” she asks.
“Yes, I’m sorry if I stepped over a line. I was—”
“Sorry? Oh, dear, don’t be sorry.” Her cheeks flush. “Thank you for doing this. It’s so kind of you. You have no idea what a relief it is that someone noticed I need some help around here.” She leans in and gives me a huge hug.
I stand stiffly at first but can’t deny the warmth I feel toward her. My arms slowly wrap around her, embracing the affection. I feel a small chip of cement break off around my heart.
“If you guys need a moment, I can leave.” Mark laughs. It’s such a male thing to joke at an emotional moment.
“Go wash up. I know you boys just came from training.” She shoos him out of the kitchen.
Mark sticks his finger in the sauce and pops some in his mouth.
“Yum!”
“Don’t make me come after you.” She gives him a stern look.
He laughs all the way down the hallway.
I am starting to see she’s the mother of the house, and they all respect her.
I begin to feel self-conscious when everyone sits down for dinner.
They all compliment me on how great the food is when they find out I made dinner for Abigail. Everything is piled on plates in the center of the table, and they all take turns helping themselves.
Logan enters and takes a seat, apologizing for being late.
Then York comes in and sits across from me. He winks at me as he takes his seat. Christ, he’s unsettling.
Some people make small talk through dinner, mostly about the hockey game that is on tonight. I’m more focused on eating. Baby steps, I keep telling myself. I poke at a piece of potato. I know I have to force myself to eat more, but my stomach seems to be shrunk to the size of a pea.
“Burke wasn’t the psychopath,” York says in an argument with his buddy across the table. I know what they are talking about right away.
“Who cares? It’s just a movie.”
“Tommy DeSimone was the psychopath,” I interject, making the entire table stop and stare.
York gives me a strange look.