The walk back to the house is much shorter than the walk to the beach, but isn’t that always the way? By the time we’re entering the house, I’m grateful for the cooler temperature inside. Despite the chilly wind, the heat of the sun penetrated through my clothes, making me mildly miserable as we trudged back. I accept the cold bottle of water Sylvie pulls out of the massive fridge and hands over to me, taking a long pull from it before I wipe the back of my hand across my mouth.
She’s washing her hands, all those earlier tears all dried up. Appearing unchanged, as if she didn’t just drop a life-changing bomb on me only moments ago.
Typical.
What she said is most definitely life-changing. All of my protective feelings toward this woman are out in full force. I’ve always wanted to protect her, but now…
Now I know I can’t let her out of my sight. We need to keep Sylvia Lancaster away from her at all costs.
“Do you want a sandwich?” she asks as she’s drying her hands.
“Do you actually know how to make one?” I toss back at her, unable to help myself.
Her scowl is small, but it’s there, and I almost want to laugh. “I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t know how.”
“I’d love a sandwich.”
“Turkey? It’s all I have.”
“Turkey works,” I answer without hesitation. “Can I help you with anything?”
“No, go sit down. I’ll make our lunch.”
I watch as she bustles around the kitchen like she was born in one, which is the furthest thing from the fucking truth. This girl never lifted a finger her entire life, so to watch her act like a good little housewife is disconcerting.
And kind of hot, which makes me feel like a sexist male asshole. But come on. Sylvie is from one of the richest families in the entire world and she’s making me a sandwich? I feel fucking special.
“You want cheese?”
“Sure.”
“Swiss or provolone?”
This time I do chuckle. The moment feels so…normal, when our relationship, the circumstances that brought me here in the first place, is anything but. “Provolone.”
“Mustard and mayo?”
“You own mayo?”
She glares at me.
“I’ll take both,” I say. “Light mayo though. Gotta watch my waistline.”
I pat my stomach for emphasis.
Sylvie rolls her eyes but doesn’t say a word as she puts together my sandwich, then hers. My stomach starts to rumble, and by the time she’s setting the plate in front of me, I’m full-fledged starving.
“There you go.” She smiles. “Want something to drink?”
“Another water if you’ve got it.”
Within a few minutes, we’re both seated at the table eating our lunch and sharing a bag of barbecue chips. The sandwich is fucking delicious, piled high with turkey and cheese and lettuce, even thinly sliced avocado and onion. I devour it in an embarrassingly small amount of bites and when I polish off the last of it, I glance up to find her watching me with amusement.
“Hungry?”
“More than I thought,” I admit.
“This is so weird.” She shakes her head. “I never believed this would happen.”