Page 177 of Faking the Goal

By the time we sit down for dinner, I'm convinced Harumi has somehow transformed the dining room into a private corner of a five-star restaurant.

The long table is covered in crisp white linen, with gold-rimmed plates arranged beneath neatly folded black napkins and slender candles flickering between small clusters of white roses and evergreen branches. Even the wineglasses look too delicate for someone as accident-prone as me to be trusted around. Every dish has been placed with such care that I almost feel guilty disturbing any of it—the golden beef Wellington resting on a polished serving board, rosemary-roasted potatoes with crisp edges, honey-glazed carrots, buttery asparagus, and a bowl of silky lobster bisque, it's rich aroma has already made my stomach growl twice.

"This is incredible," I say, looking around the table. "Are you sure we're not supposed to pay before we leave?"

Harumi laughs from her seat at the head of the table. "No bill tonight, sweetheart. Although compliments are accepted as payment."

I glance toward the empty chair beside her. "Is Therese joining us later?"

"She won't be here until tomorrow evening." Harumi reaches for her water, looking entirely too pleased with herself. "I told her to spend Christmas Eve with her family instead of hovering over me. I assured her I'm perfectly capable of surviving a night or two without supervision."

Across from me, Kentaro lifts his eyes from his plate. "Those weren't the exact words you used."

Harumi waves him off. "The exact words aren't important."

"She told her she'd changed the locks and wouldn't let her inside if she showed up tonight."

My lips twitch. "That sounds more accurate."

"I wanted her to enjoy the holiday with her children." Harumi's expression softens. "She has spent enough evenings taking care of me when she should've been with them. Besides, I have both of you here. What could possibly go wrong?"

Kentaro and I look at each other.

"A lot," we answer at the same time.

Harumi's eyes brighten as she laughs, looking absurdly delighted by our shared lack of faith in her.

"Eat," she orders, gesturing toward the food. "Taylor, you've hardly put anything on your plate. Try the Wellington. And the potatoes. Oh, and the bisque before it gets cold."

"Yes, ma'am."

I obediently begin adding food to my plate while Harumi watches closely enough to make me suspect she won't be satisfied until I'm physically incapable of leaving the chair.

"Most of this is store-bought," she confesses, leaning toward me as though sharing a scandalous secret. "I arranged everything beautifully so no one would notice."

Kentaro glances at the untouched packaging still sitting on the kitchen counter.

"Very convincing."

"You hush." She points her serving spoon at him before smiling proudly. "But I did make one thing myself."

Her excitement is so immediate that I straighten in my chair.

She reaches for the covered ceramic dish beside her and lifts the lid, revealing thick pieces of black cod coated in a glossy miso glaze, garnished with scallions and thin curls of ginger. It looks incredible—perfectly caramelized around the edges, with steam still curling from the surface.

"My miso black cod," she announces. "Ken-chan's favorite."

Kentaro's expression doesn't change, but something about the way his fingers pause around his fork makes me look at him more carefully.

Harumi serves a generous portion onto his plate before placing an equally large piece onto mine. "Try it while it's warm."

Kentaro takes the first bite.

At first, nothing happens. His face remains impressively neutral as he chews, but then his throat works a little too hard. His nostrils flare. One hand closes around his waterglass while he subtly turns his head and clears his throat into his fist.

It's barely noticeable.

Barely.