The moment ruined, as usual, I purse my lips and roll my eyes. "Dream on."
Despite my behavior, he pours us each a glass of juice. Once he sits down, he looks at me, as if waiting for me to comment.
As soon as I finish chewing the bite of eggs of my mouth, I blurt out, "These are really good."
Nick lifts a piece of toast to his mouth. "Eggs, grilled cheese, and spaghetti and meatballs are my specialties."
"I'm impressed," I respond with sincerity.
Wiping his mouth with a napkin, he says, "Oh, yeah, why?"
"I just never thought a wealthy, eligible bachelor like you would know the first thing about cooking."
He laughs. "I practically raised my younger brother, and at the time my father barely made enough to put a roof over our heads, let alone have enough money for me to buy much when it came to food."
Forking some more eggs, I pause. "Where was your mother?"
His eyes flicker. "She left us to go back to her first husband when Lucas was just a baby. I was ten."
My preconceived notion that he was a trust fund baby suddenly seems ridiculous. Why hadn't Fiona told me? I guess I'd never asked. When had I concocted that misconception in my mind? Perception I suppose. Boy, was I wrong. "I'm sorry, I honestly had no idea."
Nick shrugs. "I did what I had to do. It's not like I could leave a little boy to fend for himself. Now finish your food, Tess."
I give him a nod and finish the eggs and toast, realizing just how very hungry I am with each and every bite.
Too bad that hunger doesn't seem to be waning.
It's as I watch Nick drink his juice, pick up his fork, and chew his food, that I realize I'm not sure it's food I'm starved for.
What the hell?
Tess
NICK IS A jerk.
Nick is a jerk.
Nick is a jerk.
I repeat this over and over in my head as I finish my food, but it doesn't seem to stick because honestly, I'm not so sure he is. There's more to him than I've paid attention to. More to him than he lets on. A lot more to him.
Hmmm.
Once my plate is almost clean, I slide it forward. "I can't eat another bite."
Nick practically puffs out his chest, looking very pleased with himself. Of course he is. Did I say there was more to him? What I meant was a whole lot more arrogance.
Just as I'm about to roll my eyes, he suddenly stands. "Come with me," he beckons, in that dominating tone of his that normally drives me mad. Tonight though, I'm only mildly annoyed by it, and even forget the eye roll all together.
Slowly, and with a slight hesitation, I get to my feet. When I don't move fast enough, he urges me forward.
What?
Does he think he's going to send me to bed like a child?
I'm about to turn to tell him off, to remind him he's not here to babysit me, when he places a firm hand on my back, and I'm silenced where I stand. That thing happens again. The thing where my body feels like it's on fire. I swear even my cheeks feel a little flushed from the flames. The non-existent ones.
Trying not to show my ridiculous schoolgirl reaction to his touch, I square my shoulders as he guides me into the living room. "What are you doing?" I finally manage to ask.
"Getting us both a well-deserved brandy."
My eyes widen. "Ethan's only for certain occasions brandy?"
"The very one."
I rub my hands together in excitement. "He's only offered me a glass once." And that was when I showed up on Fiona's doorstep a broken mess and told her Ansel and I were over, but I don't tell Nick that part.
The story goes-Ethan's grandfather was a liquor salesman, and during a business trip to the Soviet union many, many years ago, he managed to purchase a case the very famous Jubilee Brandy of 1967. Remaining bottles of this production run are highly sought after and Ethan has six of them.
"Count yourself lucky," Nick laughs. "I've known Ethan for almost ten years and the stingy bastard has only shared two glasses with me over that entire span of time. The first time when he found out he was going to be a father and the second was the night Jace's wife died."
Interesting.
What is the common factor that solicits the offering?
Once we cross the threshold to the living room, Nick heads to the bar cart where the crystal decanter is kept, and I head toward the couch in front of the fireplace.
I sit and watch as the actual flames from the fireplace lick their way upward. I can't help but feel like that is what is happening to me right now. There's a fire inside me, and for some crazy reason, Nick is stoking it with each touch, each glance, each word.