Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 113319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
She laughed as he let her go. He could tell she felt worlds better—and so did he. It was true, they’d had worse. Much worse. A thousand times worse. In the grand scheme of things, this was less than nothing. She just had to realize it and then act on it, thereby allowing him to scare that guy so badly he wet himself.
He just hoped she made her stand soon. He wasn’t going to be able to take much more of this torture.
SIXTEEN
Jessie
“Uh…I have…” Camila glanced at Austin as she opened the fridge and took out a rustic wood platter covered with cuts of prosciutto, slices of cheese, what looked like sun-dried tomatoes, and olives—a charcuterie board with the works.
“My favorite,” I said as she placed it on the island in front of Jimmy and me.
She pulled a cutting board out from somewhere beneath the counter and grabbed a loaf of bread from near the wall.
“Usually the ladies chat in here, like we’re fixing dinner,” Camila said, “and the guys have an appetizer or two in the front room.”
“Who is this for?” I asked, snagging an olive.
“This was for us because Jimmy mentioned that you like charcuterie boards. Matt—as I’m sure you know—thinks they are too frou-frou.”
I honestly hadn’t known that. Huh.
“Do you need me to cut that up?” Austin asked, holding out his hand for the bread.
“Sure.” She put it onto the cutting board and slid it his way, her face red. “In thin— Oh. You know. Yeah, like that. Then we’ll toast them.”
“And for the men?” Austin asked, cutting the bread in fast, practiced movements.
Camila went back to the fridge, pulling out an oval plate covered with shrimp and sprinkled with green specks. She grabbed out a lemon and another cutting board. After slicing the lemon into quarters, she spritzed the juice from one piece over the shrimp before laying the others on the edge of the plate.
“This is cold marinated shrimp with some herbs and onion.” She slid it gently next to the charcuterie plater. “Matt loves shrimp.”
“You would’ve taken this out while I nibbled,” I said, “expecting the guys to have settled in by now.”
A soft line creased between her brows when she glanced up at me, her gaze wary.
I held up a hand quickly. “I didn’t invent the schedule. His mother did. It took me a while to get the cadence of it, but I never mastered it. I wasn’t an expert hostess like you clearly are.”
She released a breath. “You’re being modest. He’s mentioned a time or two how great your timing was.”
I blurted out a laugh. “Only when he was preoccupied and forgot to notice me being late or early. I was compared to his mother, who designed the setup.”
“There is no such thing as perfect timing,” Austin said, finishing with the bread and placing it on a boiler pan to be toasted. “Every party or group of people is different, and unless you are in the room and can see the signals, it’s all a guessing game. It’s up to the waiting party to be patient, which I’m sure all your guests know. None of them are ever as frustrated or stressed as the hosts, trust me.”
He bit into one of the shrimp, squinting and looking upward. Without asking for permission, he started opening cabinets.
“Do you…ah… What do you need?” Camila asked, watching him uncertainly.
He’d already found the spice rack, though, helping himself and turning toward the shrimp.
“A little dry mustard and some thyme will nudge this one to the finish line,” he said.
“Well, that’s his favorite recipe…” Her voice drifted away as Austin worked.
“Don’t worry, Austin’s a genius in the kitchen,” I told her. “Worst case, if Matt doesn’t like it, just blame it on Austin. Say he did it without asking.”
“Which is exactly why I didn’t ask,” Austin replied, finishing up.
“You might get a plate and take him some, though,” I mentioned, snagging one of the shrimp for myself. “Not that I want to get involved, but as someone who’s been there, I know he typically hates missing out on the food more than he hates missing out on the company.”
“Yeah, that’s true.” Jimmy nodded as he grabbed a piece of bread and piled on prosciutto and salami. He clearly didn’t care about it not being toasted.
“Hey.” I blocked his reach. “Save some for everyone else.”
“Good…” Camila nodded, suddenly flustered again. “Good point, thank you. I hadn’t thought of that.”
She bent in front of the oven and pulled out another platter, this one covered with little crescent roll circles filled with what I knew was sausage and cheddar. It was one of Matt’s favorite appetizers. I’d made it a zillion times.
I hated being faced with all these memories. It was probably why I’d been so amicable in the divorce—I’d been relieved to move on.