Page 9 of Bitter House
“What’s so funny?”
It takes him a while to answer. “You said our property.”
“I’m nothing if not accurate.” I sigh. “How did he get the gate code?”
“I buzzed him inside, but I didn’t know who he was.”
“Are you serious? Don’t let anyone in. Are you crazy? The letter said to keep the doors locked.”
“He seemed harmless, and he was asking for you. He said you called him. I would never stand in the way of you and your guests.” His tone is light and teasing, feigning formality.
“I won’t be having any guests.” I mirror his words and tone back to him.
His eyes flick down over me, and if I didn’t know better, I would swear he was checking me out.
“Noted.” He turns away, heading back for the house.
“Where are you going?”
“Back to our house. Enjoy your swim.”
CHAPTER FIVE
BRIDGET
I spend another hour outside by the pool before returning to the house. Though I’d tucked my key safely in my shoe, just in case Cole decided to lock me out, I found the door unlocked and my housemate-slash-archenemy in the kitchen, humming to himself while he sifted through the fridge.
Upstairs, I towel dry my hair and change into dry clothes, vaguely considering putting on makeup but landing on just a bit of ChapStick for my lips and some lotion for my skin instead.
Downstairs, Cole is still in the kitchen, but I’m surprised to find him leaning over a pot on the stove. The air is filled with a hint of something warm and savory.
“What are you doing?”
He glances over his shoulder, like he’s been expecting me. “What’s it look like?”
“Preparing whatever you plan to poison me with.”
He draws his lips together, clearly unamused. “That’s one way to say, ‘Thanks for cooking dinner, Cole. You’re the best.’”
“Since when do you cook?” This feels like a trap, though I don’t actually think he’d poison me. Putting something in our meal to make me sick, though? That I could see.
Instead of the snarky response I’m expecting, he shrugs and turns back to the pot. “I like cooking, actually. I don’t like fast foods, so I had to learn.”
“What are you making?”
“You don’t recognize the smell?”
I inhale deeply and shake my head. “I don’t think so. Should I?”
“Mom’s stuffed pepper soup.”
Something in my chest softens as he says the words. When I was growing up and had a hard day, it was one of Edna’s go-to recipes. A pang of sadness I wasn’t expecting hits me out of nowhere. Growing up under the cold shadow of Vera, Edna was all but a second mother to me. She was the one who explained periods to me. She helped me dress for prom and took me to get my hair cut whenever I needed it. Though she was Vera’s house manager, we all knew she was more than that. She took care of everything, me included, until she didn’t.
Aside from occasional text messages or phone calls to check in or wish me a happy birthday, I haven’t heard from her since Vera had her pack my things, put them in a car, and send me on my way.
I still don’t understand how anyone could do that to someone they were supposed to care about. Vera’s betrayal was painful enough, but the pain of Edna siding with her cut deeper.
Cole has turned away from me, returning his attention to the food, so I cross the room and open the refrigerator. I grab a bottle of sparkling water, clicking my tongue.