Backlash (The Rivals Book 2) by Geneva Lee

Author:Geneva Lee [Lee, Geneva]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ivy Estate
Published: 2020-09-21T18:30:00+00:00

17

Sterling

“Turkey time!” Francie calls in a sing-song voice, so full of joy I can feel it warm me up.

I miss how excited she gets over the little things. Food is a passion we share, mostly because we were always too broke to order out or eat at the new, hip places in Manhattan or Queens. Instead, we found the best hole-in-the-wall restaurants and food carts and learned how to make the things we loved. I’d been secretly glad when she announced she was cooking Thanksgiving and to ‘not test her patience on the matter.’

We earned more than a few side glances from the guests of the Eaton when Francie and I crammed into the elevators with grocery bags full of supplies. She’d taken one look at the hotel’s idea of catered dinner, laughed, and began looking for a local grocer. It had taken a little work, but we finally found one with fresh turkeys and most of the items she considered essential to the holiday. To her dismay, there wasn’t a fresh cranberry to be found in the whole store, so we settled for some of the canned stuff.

“It smells okay,” I tell her, leaning onto the counter.

She swats at my head with the spatula she’s using to scoop fresh whipped cream out of a bowl, sending dots of it onto my shirt. Neither of us can stand the stuff in the plastic vats, and since we agree it’s a prerequisite for pie, we had to make our own.

“So, do we get to eat now? Before I die?” I ask, swiping some of the whipped cream with my finger.

“Don’t test me. You didn’t even help me cook.”

“Not fair.” I grab the empty bowl and carry it to the sink to wash up. “You kicked me out, remember? Something about being alone with a Viking?”

She banished me earlier in the day, about the time she decided she needed some one-on-one time with the granite counter tops and sleek, stainless-steel Viking oven. I pretended to be grossed out when she splayed across it like she’d developed genuine feelings, but inside, I felt like I’d finally given her something. Maybe it was only for a few days—but sometimes an experience is worth more than any gift you can unwrap.

“A woman has needs,” she says, patting one of the knobs on the range affectionately.

I gag again, harder.

“It didn’t look like you thought those needs were gross when your girlfriend’s shirt was on inside out.”

“Harsh,” I say, “but fair.”

“Get out of my way,” she orders me, “before that turkey burns.”

“She complains that I don’t help, then she kicks me out again. I worry about you, Francie.”

She’s sliding the bird out of the oven when someone knocks on the door.

“Oh lord, I hope that roommate of yours didn’t order us that sad dinner.”

I laugh and head to the door, wondering if I’m about to turn away two-hundred dollars worth of food. But it’s not room service on the other side.

“Lucky.” I swing the door open wider and grab her hand.

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