30. Chapter 30

Chapter thirty

Silas

" W hat's your favourite food?" I ask as we push our carts around the produce area.

"Ravioli with ricotta and lemon and truffles," Fenella says without a moment's hesitation.

Uh-huh. She even says ricotta like a person who's been to Italy more than a few times. "Sounds great. But I think that's a little out of my wheelhouse. I was thinking more like spaghetti and meat sauce."

"Meat sauce?"

"We can call it Bolognese if you like."

"You really want to cook me dinner? You already fed me lunch."

"Would you have eaten if I hadn't?"

"Probably not," she admits.

I had plans for dinner. I was looking forward to cooking and relaxing in front of the television with Wyatt but now, things have shifted and I have offered to cook for Fenella. There will be no relaxing.

But there will be Fenella .

I don't really understand myself. All I know is that there is a rope attached to me and it's pulling me toward Fenella, whether I want it to or not.

"Well, then," I say. "But Wyatt has to come over as well. It's my night with him." I shouldn't want a teenage chaperone, but having Wyatt there might stop me from obsessing over what it would be like to kiss Fenella. And going around and around—Should I kiss her? Should I not?

"And you were going to make him kale soup?" Fenella seems horrified and thankfully unaware of where my thoughts are. "He's sixteen—that's harsh."

"He'll eat anything."

"I won't. But dinner sounds wonderful." And she smiles at me, like the first time I saw her—only better. Because I know her smiles now, and I want them all.

I know I'm making a mistake, but I can't help myself. I keep thinking that if I don't kiss her, it'll all be fine.

I'm not sure about that now.

She stops her cart and fishes her phone out of the huge bag that takes up most of the top of the cart. "What's Wyatt's number? I'm going to invite him over while you grab what we need for Bolognese."

"Sounds good."

"Don't forget the garlic bread," she calls after me.

I know then that having my nephew as a chaperone isn't going to do anything about how I feel about Fenella .

I may have just given her the chisel to begin cracking open my heart.

Whatever I thought Fenella knew about cleaning, I quickly find out that she knows even less about cooking.

But she's eager to learn. Almost excited about it, asking questions about spices and sauce and even the difference between lean and extra-lean ground beef.

I help her select enough food for a few days and load everything in her car for the drive to the apartment.

I park at my place and grab Wyatt, walking across the square to help Fenella finish bringing her groceries up the stairs.

"You're directly across the square from me," I tell her on the last load. I point to the window where I can just make out the green front of Coffee for the Sole in the dim light.

"I know. Don't you be using that telescope to spy on me." Fenella shakes her finger at me with a mischievous grin.

There's another new one.

I hijack the kitchen, instructing Wyatt to finish his homework at the table, Ernie the cat perched on the chair beside him. Then I settle Fenella at the counter with a cutting board, an onion, and a very sharp knife.

"I don't know about this," she says, eyeing the blade. "You brought your own utensils which tells me two things: you know what you're doing, and that knife is probably very sharp."

"Are you afraid to show me your knife skills?" I ask.

"No, I wouldn't be if I had any skills with a knife other than—" She does the Psycho gesture and a reet reet sound effect.

"So you think you could stab someone but not cut up an onion?"

"I never said I couldn't, only implied that I don't know how."

"And that's what I'm here for."

I give her detailed instructions on how to cut up an onion, a carrot, and a red pepper. Then I show her how to brown ground beef before we put everything in a big pot, adding a can of tomatoes, garlic and a healthy shake of oregano.

It's fun.

"Leodie said you're having a party." Wyatt watches Fenella as I put a pot of water on to boil, rather than focus on finishing his homework. I can't blame him—I gave her butter and garlic to spread on a baguette, and she seems to be making a concerted effort to cover every last crumb of bread.

"I am. And you're not invited because you're sixteen, and also because I have plans for you," Fenella tells him, not looking up from her garlic-bread duty.

"Plans?" There's no mistaking the excitement in his tone .

"I am in need of some muscle. Would I be able to borrow you and a few of your friends to help me unload some furniture on Wednesday after school? If you don't have practice or a club or a date. I'll pay you," she adds.

"You don't have to pay me. And sure—I don't have anything on Wednesday."

"Great. And of course I'll pay you. Also, I may be in need of servers for the party. It's on Sunday night—you interested?"

Wyatt drops his pencil and the cat pounces. "I can go to the party?" he breathes. "I'm going to a Fenella Carrington party? Oh, my god!" His voice rises with each word until he's shouting. "Yes!"

"You can't touch any of the alcohol, or we'll be shut down before we open," she warns. "And you have to wear all black—shirt and pants. And don't eat all the appetizers."

"Oh my god." My nephew, usually so laid back and laissez-faire, is practically vibrating with excitement. "Thank you, Fenella." He pushes away from the table and rushes her with the grace of a linebacker and throws his arms around her.

"You're welcome." She laughs and hugs him back. "You're doing me a favour, you know."

"This is going to be incredible."

"I hope so."

Wyatt seems to have attached himself to her, but just as I'm about to tell him to release, I see the look on Fenella's face.

She looks so happy being hugged by Wyatt. At how excited he is.

We're in Edie's kitchen making dinner. The two of us are making a meal like we do this all the time. It's cozy, it's comfortable.

It's like we're a couple.

And that's when I know Fenella Carrington has crawled into my heart, regardless if I think it's a good idea or not.