His laughter had made her feel a sense of friendliness that gave her the courage to do what she was thinking of doing. “I’ll show you,” she said, standing up. “Grab your plate.”
This time, he was watching her as she set her fork on her plate and grabbed her glass, her cloth napkin dangling between her fingers. With a slight reluctance, Nick followed her lead, that look of interest returning on his face. She caught him looking at her sock feet again as she led the way to the ballroom that she’d just decorated. The fire had dwindled to a low, orange glow, but the heat was still present. Carefully, she sat on one of the sofas that she’d arranged facing each other in front of the fireplace and folded her legs underneath her. With the plate and napkin balancing on her lap and the glass by the leg of the sofa on the floor, she began to eat.
“And why is this better than having a perfectly functional table at our disposal?” he asked, awkwardly holding his plate and trying to get the zucchini onto his fork.
“It’s relaxing.”
He didn’t respond, and her thoughts were already somewhere else. Being next to him on the sofa with their dinners in their laps almost made her forget that they were so very different, the same way it had made her forget how big the room had seemed when she got there. “So, you said you remember nearly every detail? Will you remember everything I say tonight?” she asked.
“Yes, probably.”
“You’ll remember everything about the room and sitting here and what we ate?”
“Most likely.”
“That’s amazing.”
He smiled, but it was his polite smile, not the kind she’d seen at the dinner table.
They ate for a while in the quiet of that enormous room, the fire popping every so often, the daylight fading on the newly fallen snow through the windows. He didn’t talk anymore, and she wondered if he wasn’t used to talking since he was accustomed to eating alone, but it was a comfortable silence. When she’d almost finished her dinner, she said, “May I test your memory?” She set her near empty plate down on the floor beside the sofa.
Nick set his dinner plate next to hers and twisted slightly to face her. “Okay.”
“What kind of cake did you have for your ninth birthday?”
His eyes squinted as he attempted to recall the answer. “It was chocolate with vanilla icing, I believe.”
“What did you wear on your first day of high school?”
“Our school uniform: a navy blazer with a white shirt and tan trousers.”
“What was the weather like the Tuesday before last?”
He pursed his lips, as he sifted through the memories from that week. “Rainy. Icy, actually.”
“It’s easy to guess the weather this winter. It’s either rainy or snowy lately. Are you lying?” she challenged him.
“No.”
Abbey’s thoughts were always muddled—she had hundreds of them all at the same time. She’d read once that creative people tended to think that way, and as a result, she’d had to work very hard to keep herself and her life organized so she didn’t forget anything, misplace something, or let dates and events slip her mind. She was always running a hundred miles an hour, barely even processing things she did. Sometimes, she had to focus just to remember if she’d packed lunches or not. So the kind of memory that Nick had was fascinating—she couldn’t even imagine it.
Speaking of remembering, she jolted upright. “What time is it?” she asked, looking down at her watch.
“Five.”
Max was still at her mother’s, and she’d stayed far longer than she’d planned. “Thank you so much for dinner. It was delicious,” she said, standing up and grabbing her plate. He took it from her and set it back down. She hurried toward her bag, picked it up, and shoved her feet into her shoes. When she righted herself, Nick was standing by her. “I need to go. I’m late. My mom’s watching my son, Max, and they’re probably both wondering where I am.”
“Absolutely. My grandmother had mentioned that you’re a single mother.”
“Yes.” She shuffled toward the great entrance to the room that led to the front door. “I’ll be over tomorrow at around noon. I’ll be with your grandmother in the morning,” she said as she paced to the front door.
“Perfect,” he said, opening the door for her. “I look forward to it.”
He would? He’d look forward to it? That comment was enough to stop her for just a second. She was glad he’d said it because she looked forward to it too.
He stayed in the doorway as she jogged through the snow toward her car, and he didn’t shut the door until she was headed down the long drive to the main road.