Cliff's Edge by Meg Tilly

Author:Meg Tilly
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2019-05-20T16:00:00+00:00

Thirty-two

EVE FLIPPED THE white napkin in the breadbasket open and took another slice of bread. The baguette didn’t have the proper crisp and chew that a good French baguette should, she thought as she slathered it with salted butter. Either they didn’t buy their bread from Luke, or they’d run out while he was on vacation and were making do with store-bought.

“How’s your soup?” Levi asked, his knife slicing through his steak au poivre. Eve loved a good steak drenched in peppercorn sauce, and that side of crispy potatoes and onions cooked in duck fat looked delectable. However, given her present financial circumstances, splurging on steak au poivre was out of her price range. Alternatively, there was no way she was going to let Levi pay for her meal. Didn’t want to send the wrong message. “Want a taste?” he asked, holding a forkful of food toward her. She could smell the rich cream, cognac, and shallots.

Her mouth was watering, but eating from his fork was too intimate. It would feel almost as if she were cheating on Rhys. “No thanks,” she said. She picked up her spoon, forcing her eyes away from the tempting mouthful of food. “I’m very happy with what I ordered.” The cheapest item on the menu at $5.99. “French onion soup, mmm, so good.” She dipped her spoon back into her bowl. The logistics of this particular soup required some maneuvering. The trick was to get the melted cheese and savory broth onto her spoon without leaving some dangling cheese strand to thwack her in the chin. Also, she needed to time it. She didn’t want to empty her bowl too fast and be left drooling over his food.

“Are you still painting?” he asked, spearing another chunk of juicy steak onto his fork and popping it into his mouth.

“Of course,” she said, feeling defensive. “Painting is my passion.”

Levi had never taken her painting seriously. He’d wanted her to drop out of Yale and go on the road with him, which had been a huge bone of contention between them.

“Come on, babe. We’d have a blast,” he’d said, pacing around their tiny apartment. “You know you want to.”

“No. I don’t.”

“Why not?” he’d demanded, turning to glower at her.

“I can’t just drop out of college, Levi. My parents and I worked so hard to pay for this.”

“My point exactly! You’d be doing your parents a favor. Attending Yale to be an artist is a waste of time and money. The tuition fees are exorbitant, and in your line of work”—he’d laughed mockingly— “even if you sold a few paintings, you’d never earn back the money you’d spent on tuition, and forget about making enough money to sustain yourself.”

“And you make so much money as a musician? Huh? You guys are playing for tips, barely covering your gas money.”

“For now,” he’d said with absolute conviction. “It’s early days, babe! You gotta look at this in a practical manner. There’s way more musicians running around with bling on their fingers and driving Rolls-Royces than artists.

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