Chapter 2

A moment later, he said flatly, "Your taste is too complicated. I can't keep track of it, and I keep getting it wrong. Just mix your own."

My taste wasn't complicated at all. I just didn't want anything too heavy. Daryl could remember exactly how much of each of Brooke's ten different sauce ingredients to use, yet every single time he mixed mine, he added extra cheese anyway.

When I came back with my sauce, I froze in front of the table.

My seat was gone. Brooke was sitting in it, laughing about something with Daryl. He was the first to notice me standing there.

"Bee's on her period and can't handle the cold. Switch seats with her."

I sank slowly into her old seat, and cold air crept in around my legs. A dull ache pulsed through my abdomen. Brooke liked to say we were such close friends that we even got our periods on the same day.

My phone lit up. A message from Vincent Backstrom.

[Elizabeth, we leave in three days. Any problems?]

I looked up. Daryl was fishing a piece of freshly cooked beef out of the pot and setting it in Brooke's bowl.

I looked back down and typed my reply. [No problems.]

The lamb slices were ready. I picked up my fondue fork to take a piece.

"You're going to eat that?" Daryl's expression darkened.

My fork froze over the pot, the lamb slice still caught between the prongs. "Hm?"

"I cooked those for Bee."

He grabbed a clean bowl from beside him and scooped every last piece of lamb out of the pot into it. He glanced at me, paused, then took the piece from my fork too and dropped it in with the rest. He set the overflowing bowl down beside Brooke.

"Here. Didn't I tell you my lamb is exactly to your taste? It's all yours. Nobody's taking it from you."

Brooke had seen the whole thing happen. She didn't say a word, probably because none of it struck her as strange. She was used to Daryl taking care of her, catering to her, and even with me sitting right there as his actual girlfriend, she still took it for granted that she was the one who deserved his attention.

"Ow."

Daryl moved too fast pulling the lamb out, and scalding oil splashed across the back of my hand. I yanked it back, stinging, and saw a red patch already forming.

The next second, someone caught four of my fingers. Daryl was staring at the reddened skin, his brows knotted together.

"You couldn't even dodge that? You're always making me worry."

He stood, still holding my hand, not letting go.

I stayed seated, unmoving, a faint ache blooming in my chest. He turned, looking down at me from above.

"Do you want to watch it swell up like a balloon?"

I got up and followed him to the sink. He adjusted the water to just the right temperature and held my hand gently under the stream to cool it down. The water ran over the back of my hand first, then his, before draining away.

Daryl kept his eyes on my hand. "I cooked that lamb for you."

The moment he said it, I lowered my head. Whatever resentment had been building inside me seemed to soften, just a little.

Back at the table, Brooke was scooping up the last piece of lamb.

"Daryl, your lamb is seriously incredible. I ate every single piece."

He looked pleased with himself, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Want more? I'll cook you another batch."

The plate was empty, and Daryl waved the server over to order another round.

Brooke swallowed the last bite and waved a hand. "No, I'm too full. Any more and I'll get sick of it."

The empty space in the pot filled up with cabbage instead.

I thought about what Daryl had said by the sink and looked over at him.

His expression was blank. "What's wrong?"

I realized then that Brooke was the only one who could get through to Daryl with just a look. Not me.

I'd wanted to ask him something. The lamb he'd cooked for Brooke, I wasn't allowed to touch a single piece of. But the lamb he'd cooked for me, Brooke could finish off completely. Why was that?

Looking at his blank expression, I thought I understood. With her, he was deliberate. With me, it was an afterthought. It had only taken him a dozen steps, from the sink back to the table, to forget.

If he'd forgotten, he'd forgotten. There wasn't much point pushing it. I shook my head. "It's nothing."

I set my fondue fork down beside my bowl. A few sprigs of capers had appeared in my dipping sauce.

"Don't you love capers? I ordered extra. Eat up."

He said it while turning to the side, wiping a smear of sauce off Brooke's mouth with a napkin.

I quietly buried the capers at the bottom of my sauce bowl. I wasn't the one who loved capers. Brooke was.

Brooke glanced my way, her eyes landing on the plate of scraps beside me. It was spotless, not a trace of grease on it.

"Lizzie, don't you like it?"

Daryl looked over too.

I was asking myself the same thing. I'd taken the day off specifically for this, stood in line from two in the afternoon until eight at night, all for ticket number 3601. After everything it had taken just to get a table, now that I was actually eating, I was realizing something.

Why wasn't it as good as I'd imagined? I could barely swallow it, to the point that all I wanted now was to get up and leave.

My eyes moved from Brooke to Daryl. Everything I'd given up to be with him added up to so much more than what it had cost me to get this meal. And the gap between what I'd once hoped for and what I'd actually gotten was so much wider than the gap between this fondue and what I'd expected it to taste like.

I swallowed down the ache in my chest and smiled. "I guess it's just not for me."