Page 24 of Missing Pieces
I throw on a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. I take my hair out of the ponytail it’s been in all day and massage my fingers over my scalp to loosen up the tension. Before heading into the kitchen, I walk into the laundry room and grab some more beers to put in the fridge.
As I walk back into the kitchen the smell of garlic and rosemary meet my nose. There is no lingering scent of smoke in the air, just the pleasant smell of roasting chicken. I put the extra beers away and lean over the stove to see what Easton is doing.
“Back away from the cooking man,” he says, throwing an arm out to block me from getting too close. I put my hands up in surrender and move over to one of the stools at the breakfast bar. “That food smells delicious. Where did you learn to cook?”
He looks over his shoulder at me. “You haven’t tasted it yet.” I roll my eyes at him and let him continue. “I managed to save most of what you did. Luckily the chicken wasn’t burned.”
I didn’t fail to notice he avoided my question but I just pushed it aside for later. I was determined to get to know this man better in hopes of finding something that would make it easier to push him away.
Ten minutes later he has two steaming plates of pasta with baked chicken and sautéed veggies ready. The food smells divine and my stomach rumbled looking at it as he passed me to get to the dining room table. I jump off my stool, grab him another beer, and follow him to the table.
I took one bite of the food and my mouth was watering. It was beyond delicious. The flavors melded together so well. “I think you chose the wrong profession cowboy because you’re cooking is divine.”
Easton swallowed a mouthful of food. “Thanks,” he mumbles.
“Tell me how you learned to cook so well.”
He looks up at me and says, “Why don’t you know how to cook? You’re a woman, you’re supposed to know.”
My mouth dropped open. “Well maybe in the south your women stay at home and do all the cooking, but where I’m from, we have delivery service.”
He laughed and took another bite of food. “I’m kidding sweet cheeks. I knew that would set you off. My sister lives in New York City and I couldn’t believe the amount of delivery she gets. I don’t think she remembers a thing about being from this measly little town.”
I silently hoorah because he finally gave me more personal information about himself besides his divorce. “You have a sister?”
“Yeah. Two of them. That’s actually how I learned to cook.”
I look at him with curiosity but don’t want to press his buttons too far. I decide to give him more about me in hopes he will return the gesture. “I wish I had a sister. It was just me and my parents growing up. Not that they were much of parents. I think I was closer to the maid.”
“Did you grow up in Chicago?” he asks as he continues eating.
“No. I grew up in Boston. My parents both worked a lot and they weren’t home much. I learned to do a lot of stuff on my own.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what I would do without my family. Especially growing up. We did everything together. Even after high school, I would still go back to watch the football games and see my sister cheer from the sidelines. I wish there was a reason for me to still do that.” He looks away and darkness clouds his face.
I have been there enough to know when to give someone space. I gather up our plates and put them in the sink. I walk to the living room and open the sliding glass doors to the sitting area outside. I leave the door open as an invitation and wait, hoping he will come out.
A few minutes later I hear the door close and he sits in the chair next to me, handing me another beer. The cold alcohol warms me up inside and makes it easier for me to open up. It must have the same effect on him. He leans his elbows on his knees and speaks. “I don’t talk about this much. Everyone in town knows but they also know I don’t bring it up. It’s like a big secret we all keep.”
He takes a breath and I realize I stopped breathing. I am slightly worried about what he is going to say. What if he killed someone? Okay, I am getting ahead of myself.
“I learned to cook because I was forced to.” He drags his hand through his hair and brings it back to his eyes pinching them closed. “My parents died in a car crash when I was twenty-one. My sisters are both much younger than me. At the time Tacoma was fifteen and Raelynn was only eleven. Being their closest living relative, I was given custody of them.” He pauses, but I let the silence hang there. I don’t want to start asking questions. This seems hard enough on him. “My life changed completely. I couldn’t be the carefree bastard I used to be. I had a responsibility to my sisters. But in short, that’s why I learned to cook. Couldn’t really feed them hot dogs and bologna sandwiches every day.”
I sit in silence. I don’t know how to respond to that. Maybe humor will lighten the mood. “And here I thought I had it bad because my ex cheated on me, blamed me for the divorce, and kept the dog.”
“Your wounds are fresh,” he says, looking over at me. “Mine have slowly healed.”
I take a large gulp of beer and lean my head back looking at the stars. A sight I never got to see in Chicago. “Was it hard when you got divorced? Did the wounds hurt as much as before?”
“My divorce wasn’t as messy as yours sounds. I married her because I thought she was the answer to my dilemma. Ashton was my high school sweetheart. We broke up when she went away to college. But she came back right after my parents died. It felt like we were supposed to be together and raise my sisters. She had other plans.” I look over at him and see him looking up at the stars with me. “At least she didn’t cheat on me. Your husband really cheated on you?”
I nod and realize he can’t see me. “Yeah. With three different women.”
“Why would anyone want to cheat on you?”
I look over at Easton and see him staring at me. I blush and am thankful for the dim lighting so he can’t see it on my face.
“He took your dog too?”