Page 115 of Dream House
They push open the Jeep’s doors at the same time. I kill the engine, grab my wallet from the console, and lead us in.
It’s not even six yet, so the place isn’t full. Only one old guy is placing an order ahead of us. I scan the chalk board over the counter and decide on The Boudreaux: buttermilk fried catfish po boy with pickled okra tartar sauce and blue cheese coleslaw.
When I’m up, I put in my order and glance back at Nina and Tyler. Tyler is frowning up at the menu board. Nina’s watching him, concern crimping her brow.
Crap.
Stella mentioned once that part of Tyler’s recovery has been relearning language and literacy. Can he read the menu? Will it insult him if I ask?
Luckily, I don’t have to. Nina leans in close and whispers in his ear. His gaze immediately drops, his frown vanishes, and it doesn’t look like he minds her closeness a whole helluva lot.
He nods in answer.
Nina looks back at me. “We’ll each have a Classic with fried shrimp.”
The girl at the counter adds it to my ticket, and we each choose a soda from the cooler by the register before grabbing a table.
It’s no surprise that Tyler and Nina sit side by side across from me. What is surprising—or at least unnerving—is the way they both pin me with their unflinching stares.
When Nina dropped the news that Maggie had been talking shit about me, my first instinct was to pump her for details before getting into Maggie’s face about it. That seemed the easier path than confronting Mags head on. But looking at these two now, I’m not so sure.
“Okay, I have questions,” I say.
No response from either of them.
I forge ahead. “Why did you ask me if I was causing trouble?”
Yeah, I’m asking the question, but in my gut, I know the answer. I just don’t want to admit it. Not to them or even to myself.
Nina cuts her eyes to Tyler—a little microsecond check-in—before aiming them back at me. “Something was going on last night,” she says.
Fuck.How the hell do they know that?
I don’t react. Neither confirm nor deny.
“Oh, really?”
Nina glances again at Tyler who now looks like he could decapitate me.
“You were with Stella last night,” Nina says without an ounce of doubt.
This time it’s hard to keep a blank face becauseWTF?No one else was downstairs. Not until Tyler went to the kitchen.
But the real issue isn’t how they know. It’s that they know at all. This is exactly what Stella wanted to avoid. If she knew we were having this conversation, she’d freak.
And I’d never get close to her again.
I affect a shrug. “Not sure that’s your business.” I make a point to meet both their stares. Nina has the good grace to shrink a little, but with Tyler it’s like pushing against a stone wall. No give whatsoever.
The girl behind the counter chooses that moment to slide our po boys onto the table. “Here you go,” she chirps. “Need anything else?”
None of us respond. She must realize she’s walking into a glaring contest because she literally moves backward away from our table.
“Mmy… si...sss...ter.”
In spite of myself, my respect for Tyler Mouton multiples. He may have lost a lot in that motorcycle accident, but what he has he uses to his full advantage.
Even so, what Stella and I shared last night is none of his fucking business.
