28. Anna

CHAPTER 28

ANNA

I unlock the door and get hit with the smell of hot cheese.

My stomach flips over in fear. What has Joel been up to now? I swear, this guy needs constant supervision.

I march into the kitchen ready to give him a piece of my mind, only to find the table set with mismatched silverware, a solitary candle in the center. "Hey, babe," says Joel from the stove, stirring a pot of what I can only assume to be mac and cheese.

Of all the things I was expecting to come home to, this could not have been further down the list. I'm so speechless that all I can do is stand there with my mouth open.

"How was your day?" he asks, like any of this is normal behavior for him. "Sit down, please."

Feeling like I'm having an out-of-body experience, I do. "Who are you and what the hell have you done with Joel Lockhart? Oh my God, are you possessed? Is there a demon inside you?"

He gawps at me like I'm the one who's suddenly gone crazy. "What, a guy's not allowed to do nice things for a girl?"

"It's very suspicious when a guy with a history of being a disaster in the kitchen suddenly cooks you a full meal."

Joel turns the stove off and scoops some noodles into two bowls. Somehow, he doesn't even make that much of a mess. He brings the bowls over and places mine in front of me. I peer down into it — it looks like mac and cheese and smells like it. In fact, it pretty much looks edible.

"Maybe I've just learned how to read," he says as he sits down across from me.

"I appreciate it. Thank you."

Carefully, I poke at the pasta. Joel watches me as I lift the fork to my mouth and I'm terrified for a second that I'm going to have to pretend it's good just to protect his self-esteem, because it really is cute that he thought to do this. But to my relief and delight, it tastes absolutely like it's supposed to.

I'm tired and hungry and that makes this one of the best mac and cheeses I've ever eaten. It's warm, not overcooked, and comforting. And it was made with love. After a day of statistics and spreadsheets, this is just what I need.

"How was your day?" he asks before he starts shoveling his own dinner into his mouth.

I nod slightly. "It was okay. We made some positive steps. Hiring a new engineer isn't that farfetched after all, she said."

"Good. That's really good. Did she help you with your job postings?"

"No, that's not her job. But she did give me some really great advice about where to look. And she's taken a look at the situation, and she thinks if we go to court, we could get compensation from Mariana. I might even be able to afford to rent somewhere to live."

"She sounds like a really great person."

"She is."

This is really nice and everything, and it's great that Joel cares enough to hear about my boring day, but there's something suspicious about this mood he's trying to set, like he's trying to take his own mind off something. It is romantic because it's generous and thoughtful, but he's fidgeting uncomfortably and eating more slowly than usual which feels either like he's not hungry which can't be true, or he's deadly ill. I could tell him more about my accountant, but honestly that's boring and I don't see the point in burdening him with the details.

Instead, I want to know what's going through his head. "And yours? Get up to much today?"

He shakes his head slowly. "I cooked."

"I can see that," I say dryly and stare at him to make him keep going.

"Had a nap," he continues, stilted. You'd think I was trying to torture him. "Watched TV. Dad called."

Oh. The puzzle pieces slot together with a horrible click. No wonder he's down if his dad called to yell at him again.

I do my best to give him a sympathetic smile. "What did he have to say for himself?"

I expected Joel to be annoyed or upset at the thought of the call — his relationship with his dad is tense at best — but instead he just makes this weird expression, like he's happy but he can't quite believe it. "He isn't mad at me."

"That's good," I say, but before I can prompt him with another question, the floodgates open and the story crashes out of him.

"He wants me to go back to work. He said I've done a good job at staying out of the public eye and he sounded kind of like he was impressed? Like he wasn't expecting anything of me like usual. But he was pleased with me and he said I might even get an expansion in the office if we do good work and I don't fuck it all up again."

"Well, that's really good," I smile, relieved for him that he didn't get told he was a stupid waste of space again. No one deserves to get told that, no matter how true it might appear.

He cuts me off without listening. "And he wants me to go back tomorrow."

My face falls. My shoulders sag. I only just manage to hold in the shocked gasp. I can't help it. I don't want to look disappointed because none of this is Joel's fault — of course it's not. It really is good that his father is so happy with him, and I'm so, so happy for him that he's becoming a version of himself he likes more.

I just wish it hadn't popped our bubble so suddenly and left us tumbling to the ground without warning.

"Guess you'll be leaving, then." I hate the bitterness that creeps into my voice, like I'm a child whose toys are being taken away.

Me and Joel aren't that different after all.

"Yeah. But this doesn't have to be over."

"Doesn't it?" I clench my fist under the table, my eyes starting to sting with angry tears. I can't cry. I won't cry. Not over a stupid boy. "You'll be back off to your life then. You won't need me anymore."

His mouth opens and closes like a nutcracker as he tries to figure out what to say. I sigh and reach out my hand to him. He takes it and squeezes it tightly.

"I'm sorry for being in a mood," I say. "It's just… I've really enjoyed this. Here. With you. I'm so scared it's going to be over."

"I know I don't exactly have a reputation for being trustworthy," says Joel, looking deep into my soul. Those blue eyes are so captivating, so full of life that you can't help but get swept up in them. "But I swear to you, I'm not going to forget you, Anna. I can't promise to be perfect but I'm going to try."

I take a shaky breath, my thumb rubbing over his knuckles. He looks so kind when he's being sincere, like all of that smug-bastard aura drains right away to leave the good man I know he can be underneath. Should I be trusting a man like this? Almost definitely not. I've seen the reports, heard the stories.

But he's never lied to me.

All week, he could have buttered me up because he was bored or horny, seduced me into bed and then given me the cold shoulder. And the sex has been great but seeing him has been better. There's a real person under all that bravado. If Joel was playing games with me, by now he would have already won.

"You'd better mean that, because if you break my heart, I'm going to hurt you really badly," I say with a wobbly smile.

He smiles warmly back at me. "I'd expect nothing else. I need someone who's going to treat me like I'm an idiot."

"You're not an idiot, you're just spoiled."

His eyes widen in fake shock, but then he shrugs and nods. "I guess that's fair."

"I won't be acting like a good little wife to you, you know. I'm not sitting at home all day cooking and cleaning for my big strong husband who's off at work and out partying and fucking random women and—"

"Husband?" he cuts me off with a sly grin.

I purse my lips, trying to look angry while I can feel my entire face flushing. I didn't mean to say that. I don't know if I really mean it, but I don't think I hate the idea. "Shut up," I say weakly. "That wasn't my point."

He flashes me a grin, but then his face falls back into that sincerity that makes me believe every word he says. "I know. I'm not expecting that. God knows I can't cook, but I want you to be a friend and lover, not a maid. I'd just like, get a maid if I wanted a maid."

My heart flutters at the utter lack of eloquence. "Okay. Good."

"I may be a scoundrel but I'm not a cheat. I want to be here for you, Anna. And that's why I cooked. Because I wanted to ask you how you would feel—"

He never gets to finish his question, though, because we get interrupted by the sound of the door. We both freeze and turn to look. My blood runs ice cold at the idea of another break-in. Despite everything I just said, I absolutely would let Joel take an intruder on. If nothing else, he could afford the medical fees.

But this is worse than an intruder. The door opens and I find myself cursing the idea of open floor plans when the figure who comes into the house steps into the light and morphs unmistakably into the shape of my brother.

He stares at us. "What the actual fuck?"