Page 9 of Our Sadie
FOUR: Modus Operandi
JEROME
Thus far, the two men I’ve been situated with seem like opposites. Zach Neihaus is a talker, and Dom, the quiet type. Maybe. It’s a little early to tell. We’re each feeling the other out, and if I’m not mistaken, Dom has been distracted, so who knows if this is his typical modus operandi or not.
So, as my dad would say, Imma sit back and observe, finding out who’s who and what’s what.
Keeping an ear to the ground and an eye in the sky is always a wise decision, anyway.
Sadie’s not the most verbose, either. Although at the moment, she’s ahead in how much she’s spoken to us compared to Dom. Right now, Zach is going on and on about... I believe it’s coleslaw of all things.
“So, it’s slivers of red onion, broccoli, carrots, and fermented cabbage in this tangy vinaigrette. It’s low-carb and super good for your gut. I’ll make it for you sometime. It’s the one thing I can cook that doesn’t come from a box or the freezer section.”
Wow. I mean, the way to a woman’s heart might be her stomach, but coleslaw? Really? At least I can say the guy’s using a rare approach. Watching Sadie’s eyebrows furrow and release as the rest of her face stays passive is somewhat entertaining.
I can tell that Zach is the youngest just by looking at him. Not that he’s immature from what I can tell, just green. Inexperienced. And though I don’t want to compare myself to him too much, it bodes well for me to have more of what a lady wants.
Particularly, this lady.
Sadie’s lips haven’t so much as tipped upward while listening to Zach, but then, I haven’t noticed her emoting much in general. Or at all, if I’m honest. I’d like to change that. Most women love men with a sense of humor, so making her laugh—or at least crack a grin—is essential to winning this thing overall.
With her attention on Zach, I take this opportunity to catalogue the scars along her face, neck, and left arm.
Not much of her arm is visible beneath that sweater she’s wearing, but there’s obviously damage there, too. I don’t know any specifics about what caused her injuries, but it must’ve been painful.
Traumatizing.
I think back to our first date in Boston when she’d asked me about how I would relax and comfort her. I’d described bathing her, and she’d been onboard until I mentioned helping her into the tub.
That’s when she snapped like a cheap condom. Her voice, her posture, her face—all of it— had altered. Morphed. From someone curious and willing to test things out to a spitting cobra trapped in a corner.
I’d talked her down by letting her know that I help all my clients into the bath, but the woman has some hot buttons. And since they’re not residing where most people keep theirs, it’s easy to bump into one by accident.
Yet I enjoy puzzling things out about people, and Sadie Vincent is a mystery I’m dying to solve. That’s why I deflect the conversation away from vinegary side dishes.
“So, what’s on the agenda for tomorrow?”
Her gaze switches from the tasty lemon and sage chicken she’s barely touched to zero in on me like a missile. The only thing she’s consumed much of is a glass of what appears to be orange juice. “You’ll all be exploring and prepping for your first assignment.”
I half expect Zach to start babbling about coleslaw again, but he doesn’t. It’s good to know he won’t always be stuck in nonstop chat mode.
“I’d like all of you to plan out a date you’ll take me on individually,” she continues, rising to her feet with her mostly full plate in her good hand. “The only limitation is that is has to be inside the chalet. Stepping foot outdoors is out of bounds for this round.
“Tell Maxine once you’re ready. She’s the house manager and is here Monday through Friday. She’s in charge of meal-prep and scheduling. Just steer clear of the room in the north wing with the bright yellow door and crystal doorknob. Goodnight.”
Sadie backs away from the table, disappears into the kitchen, then strides by without making eye contact with us again. As she steps onto the stairs, her gait is noticeably unsteady and off-balance until she grips onto the railing. I don’t remember her struggling this much back in Boston, although my time with her was limited.
Maybe she’s just stiff from making the trip.
Not that I’ll ask. This isn’t the time to pry.