Page 65 of Let’s Make a Scene
“Nothing about the pair of them is great. Let’s just say that Lee and I didn’t exactly grow up in a household that modeled healthy relationships. I was always very certain I didn’t want to end up like the two of them.” Jack has his arms crossed now, one hand still cradling his wineglass. I’m surprised that he’s opening up like this, but even more surprised that he doesn’t seem self-conscious about it. He looks and sounds relaxed, an open book.
It’s not at all what I expected of him. Again, the line between past and present wobbles precariously.
He takes a step toward me, and I stiffen, but Jack only peers over my shoulder with interest, looking at the food on the cooktop.
“This smells incredible. Where did you learn to cook?”
I smile, feeling my shoulders relax. “Hannah’s parents. Her mum’s side of the family are Bangladeshi, so I make a mean chorchori, and her dad is Italian, so I know my way around a plate of pasta too. Food was always a big deal in their house, and they taught us both to cook when we were kids.”
“I remember you saying you were close with Hannah’s family,” he says, and he steps back, returning to his stool and allowing me to unscramble my brain a bit.
“Yes, Nadiya and Enzo, they’re like my surrogate parents. Actually, they were over a couple of months ago for a visit. It was really good to see them.” It was also right before the metaphorical shit hit the fan and my life imploded, but best not to dwell on that.
Jack only nods, and he doesn’t ask any follow-up questions, but he looks pleased, and maybe he knows I offered up that tiny nugget of personal information as a peace offering.
While I finish cooking, he makes small talk about some of the people we both know in the business.
“Okay, this is done,” I say, dishing the food onto two plates. “Where do you want to eat?”
“It’s nice out,” he says. “Is there somewhere to sit in the garden?”
“Sure.” I lead him out the sliding French doors to the deck. He brings the rest of the wine with him, and we sit at the dining table under the enormous rustic pergola. I light a citronella candle held inside a misshapen, paint-splattered clay holder that Priya made at school.
We dig in and Jack murmurs in appreciation. “Holy shit,” he says. “This is delicious.”
“I’ll pass on your compliments to Nadiya. She’ll be delighted. She’s a big Blood/Lust fan.”
“Well, let’s raise a glass to the chef and her teacher,” he replies, raising his wineglass, and I tap mine against it.
We sit in a companionable silence for a bit, and I relax in a way I wasn’t expecting. It really is a beautiful evening, warm with a slight breeze, and the little white stars of the jasmine that creep over the pergola smell deliciously heady.
“This is nice,” Jack says, finally breaking the quiet.
“Yeah,” I agree. “Weird.”
He laughs. “Who would have thought you and I could get along peacefully for a whole evening?”
“Not Hannah. She wanted a contingency plan in case I murdered you.”
“Ah well, the night is still young.”
“What do you think about ice cream and a movie?” I ask. “In the spirit of peaceful interaction, I’ll even let you choose the film as long as I have veto power.”
“Sounds good to me.” Jack gets to his feet. “But as you cooked, I’ll clean up.”
“You won’t hear me argue.”
He scoffs. “Well, I suppose there’s a first time for everything.”
I only laugh and head inside.
“I know what we should watch,” Jack says, carrying a pan to the sink. “I’ve been thinking about it all week.”
Jack chooses While You Were Sleeping.
Chapter 22 JACK
I lie on the bed in Cynthie’s spare room, trying to concentrate on the book in my hand. Despite the fact that it’s late and I’ve had half a bottle of wine, my body is buzzing like I’ve done nothing but down energy drinks all night. It probably has something to do with the fact that Cynthie sat next to me on the sofa while we watched a film and I could barely focus on a single frame because she looked so gorgeous, her chin propped on her hand as she drank in a movie that I know she’s seen a million times before, with a rapt expression.
