Truly(18)
Ten minutes later, she’d gotten the numbers she wanted and left phone messages for three friends. No one had answered, which made her wonder if they were together—at a movie or a bar, or kicking off the long weekend grilling in someone’s backyard. She hadn’t thought to ask Ben his phone number, so she said she’d email it to them.
May scanned through her inbox, but just the thought of dealing with any of the worried Are you OK?!?! messages from friends and family members made her feel ill. Retrieving Ben’s phone from the desk, she poked around it until she found his number in the settings, then typed a quick email.
Ben returned as she was searching for hotels. He seemed more intense than he’d been when he left the room—keyed up in a way that made her uncomfortable. Something had happened in the kitchen, maybe. Something that made him angry?
He plunked down a large plate covered in what looked like cold cuts and cheese, plus a bunch of things she didn’t recognize.
“We just ate,” she said.
“I know that.”
His tone of voice made her bite her lip.
He laced his hands behind his head, elbows sticking out to the sides, and released a long exhale. “Sorry. Being in there during the service gets me worked up.” He dropped his hands and rolled his shoulders. “Not your fault,” he said. “I shouldn’t take it out on you.”
“Uh, thanks?”
That made him smile. He leaned against the wall and pointed at the plate. “That’s just in case your tongue gets bored.”
“What is it?” She peered at the food.
She opted not to peer too close at the tongue comment.
“Bunch of different kinds of pecorino, chestnuts, a fig jam Sam does that’s insane, bunch of summer sausages.” He pointed to a small white bowl. “Best honey in the world, right there.”
“Maybe in a few minutes. Did you fix the dishwasher?”
“Sure. I’m a wizard with those things.” To her surprise, he gave her a cocky little smile she couldn’t bring herself to interpret.
Surely Ben wasn’t flirting with her.
Right?
“Nice of you to help out. When you’re off the clock, I mean.”
He shrugged. “Cecily’s an old friend. I owe her. Plus, she lets me use the kitchen when it’s quiet.”
“Use the kitchen for what?”
This produced a quizzical look. “To cook.”
“Doesn’t your apartment have a kitchen?”
“Yeah, but I like this one better.”
Was there something between Ben and Cecily? May had thought the mysterious Sam might be Cecily’s boyfriend—and then her girlfriend, when Cecily revealed that Sam was a “she”—but if Ben was over here all the time using the kitchen when he had a perfectly functional one at his apartment …
… it is completely none of your business.
She fired up her default travel site and started looking for last-minute hotel deals while Ben picked at the food on the plate, smearing a tarlike substance on top of a piece of cheese.
After a few minutes’ searching, she clicked back over to her email. Still nothing from her friends, and the rooms were a lot more pricey than she’d counted on. She hated the thought of putting three hundred and fifty bucks on one of her friends’ credit cards—and that was only for starters. She’d need food, and then in Green Bay she had the rental car to get … although with no driver’s license, that was probably out. She’d have to ask someone to pick her up.
It was all so daunting, and she felt guilty for making it this way. She could walk out of the restaurant and take the subway back to Dan’s apartment. She just didn’t want to.
A sigh escaped her.
Knock it off, May. Ben will think you’re not grateful.
“Bad news?”
“Expensive news. I guess I have to get used to the idea of spending three hundred bucks for clean sheets.”
“Yeah, New York is a bitch that way.” Ben picked a piece of cheese up with his fingers. “Try this.”
“What is it?”
“A soft pecorino, hardly aged at all.” He spread some of the tar-paste-stuff on it with a tiny spoon. “Really mild. Try it with the fig jam.”
May wanted to tell him she couldn’t eat another bite, but then she lifted her eyes to his face and saw that this was his way of helping.
Their fingers brushed when she took the small slab of cheese. She placed it on her tongue.
The bite was sweet and tart, rich and granular. It was fourteen flavors at once, none of them quite distinct. The sound she made was like a moan crossed with a growl.
“What is that?” she said after she swallowed.
“Sam’s rosemary fig jam.”