Nick’s eyes bored into Liz’s, almost as though he were trying to see right through her. Almost as though, if she didn’t offer up her reasons, her might be able to find them himself. “Who replaced you? Or maybe who did you replace?” It was asked quietly, absently, almost as though he’d forgotten he was speaking a loud.
In truth, it was a secret he wished she would share. One that had plauged him for two years. As she’d spent her nights in his mansion instead of going home. As she’d drank herself nearly to death. Or, at least, to something like it. A wakeful death. One that kept the living going long enough to still their pain and fill their days. He didn’t know it first hand but he’d seen it enough.
Especially happening to blondes on his security cameras.
And for those two years, he had wondered. Who had broken her? Who had left her here in shattered pieces, wandering blindly through the haze of flashy parties filled with booze and bodies left to blot unwanted pain.
Although the question had plauged him, he’d never had opportunity to ask. Until now. And he hadn’t intended to ask in the first place. But as it lay festering in his very soul, it had apparently thought to shoot from his mouth. And try as he might, he couldn’t take it back.
With a sad, half smile that didn’t reach his eyes, Nick added, “You don’t have to answer that. Not if you don’t want to. I’m sorry. That’s probably private.”
And it was. He knew it. But he wanted her to trust him enough to tell him. And he wanted to trust her enough to tell him what kept behind locked doors. But it was too soon for that and he knew it. So he went back to his breakfast. And an enjoyable morning which was but a moment. Though if Nick knew anything about moments, it was that they could lead to so much more.
Or sometimes they could lead to nothing at all.
Nothing but empty beds and the remnants of long whispered words and those thoughts that you couldn’t get out of your head no matter how loud much sound you used to drown them out. He’d had those moments. With her, even. But the years had healed those wounds to scars and here and now, he didn’t wish to dredge up the past. Not now. Not yet.
So he smiled as she asked after his cooking pursuits and pushed the other thoughts away. His lips twisting to the side as the amusement shone in his eyes, he appeared to consider her for a moment. “It wasn’t the French Institute, I can assure you. But I’ll say this. I wasn’t always rich. There was a time before this house and this kitchen. A time before I’d learned the secret to culinary success. And many skillets did not make it out of those days unscathed.”
He laughed lightly, leaning toward her, his voice dropping just above a whisper as he added, “Where I did learn my secrets, well, I’d tell you–” He paused for a moment shrugging slightly as he added, “I think you know how the rest of that goes.”
His eyes still locked onto hers, he slowly slid back across the counter, away from her, as he rose to his full height. When he was upright once more, he turned his attention back to the skillet, moving to flip the French toast before it burned. The moment he’d finished, his eyes were back on hers, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
An eyebrow shot up as he asked, “Secret thimbles? Do I look like I’ve been harboring Thumbelina?“ He laughed a little, his eyes closing as he shook his head. When he’d regained his composure, he added, “I believe you’ll have to discover my secret dishes for yourself. And figure out their use.”
He laughed a little, imagining what she’d make of the fine china he had stored away. He originally purchased it as a present for his mother but before he’d even had the chance to give it to her, she’d thwarted the attempt. They’d been out one day, shopping– it was a strange arrangement even now; in Nick’s youth he’d never once shopped with his mother; she preferred to go all on her own –and they’d passed a similar set. Nick had commented on its beauty. His mother had eyes only for the price. A price she wished aloud he we never pay for something as simple as a set of dishes. Who needed expensive dishes? Who needed anything that expensive?
Nick had trailed after her quietly, feeling once more the rift between them building into a chasm from which they might never return. In his youth, they’d had their difference. But something in him had hoped that in adulthood, they would find a way past them. But, it seemed, his mother didn’t wish too.
With his father gone, she clung to her beliefs now more than ever. And her beliefs didn’t include the new life Nick had cut out for himself. He believed it never would. From that moment on, his mother would not accept any of his gifts. She said middle class had been good enough for her and it had been good enough for his father. She would never understand that fancy life Nick was trying to live. The words she left unspoken said that she would never even try.
So Nick had kept the dish set. Packed it away with all the other remnants of the life his mother didn’t want to share with her only child. And while he was at it, he packed away his pain. Suffering. Put them in a box and buried them deep where he wouldn’t feel them. And pretty soon, he packed away his relationship with her. Not that she’d fought the decision. She’d stopped calling. Stopped asking to see him.
And Nick had started spending his Christmases alone.
It wasn’t much different than spending them with her. He could be lonely in her house or in his own. It didn’t matter. She’d written him off long ago. Maybe he was the one who just hadn’t noticed.
But the story remained the same. His “secret dishes,” as Liz had called him, weren’t exactly secret. They were tainted with terrible memories that he didn’t wish to relive. If she found them, it would just mean reliving those moments again. But it wouldn’t matter. She wouldn’t find them anyway. Not yet.
“You can discover my secrets eventually, if you wish to know them,” he said sadly. “I won’t stop you. But perhaps some secrets are best left buried. Maybe there are some things about me, you don’t want to know.“
There were some things he didn’t even wish to know. But that was the problem with knowing. The things you wished to remember faded quickly. And you were left with the pain, the suffering and all the things you wished you could just erase. And those? Those were left to haunt you. Forever.
He knew, eventually, if she stuck around, he wouldn’t keep them from her. She had already asked him what made him wish to remain in his ivory tower. He had a feeling, she wouldn’t like the answer.
And then, she shattered through these thoughts as she kissed him. And it was his turn to be surprised. It was only for a moment. And she seemed to catch herself right away. But it was enough. Nick’s eyes widened and it was all he could do not to pull her to him right then and there. Just this one simple action stirred memories in him that he had buried long ago. Memories of tangled sheets and whale sounds, laughter and kisses. Of a moment that had been wonderful but snatched from him all too quickly.
She probably didn’t even remember.
As she moved away, Nick allowed himself one small reaction. He reached out, grabbing her arm as she dropped her grasp on his. His long fingers curled around hers and he squeezed them for a moment before allowing her fingers to slide through his as she walked away.
“It would be remiss if you didn’t,” Nick answered quietly, in response to her comment about searching for the bowls at his next party. “And I’d expect nothing less.” Maybe he’d even let her find them.
As the plates appeared next to him, Nick flipped a French toast slice from the pan, turning to regard her as she rifled through his fridge. “You know, you’re not a very good thief if you tell me what you’re planning to take. Especially when you ask for permission. Which is granted, by the way. Berries are a key ingredient to my brilliant French toast.”
He paused, unstacking the plates as he removed the other French toast slice from the skillet. “Which is finished, I might add.”
Replacing the plates on the counter, Nick crossed to the fridge and stood behind her, one hand on the door handle, causing his arm to loop around her waist as his eyes scanned the contents. When he’d spotted the berries, he reached forward, pulling the bag from the fridge and slipping his hand from the handle before heading back to counter. He dumped the contents of the bag over each plate: a cascade of fresh blueberries, strawberries and raspberries raining down on his newly finished creation.
When he’d finished he called over his shoulder, “Bring the whipped cream?” And then he turned, a plate in each hand as a wicked grin played on his lips. “Are you ready? This is going to be a heavenly experience. You might want to take a moment to pray about it first. I can wait…”
