With A Twist (Grim and Sinister Delights Book 2) by Kate Sherwood

Author:Kate Sherwood [Sherwood, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2020-09-04T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

John woke up alone. He was cold. No, not really cold. Empty? Something was missing. Not just Oliver, surely?

God. He needed to—he wasn’t sure what he needed to do. Pull himself together, he supposed. Toughen up. Put on a game face at the very least. So it was good that Oliver was gone, because somehow it wasn’t easy to stay strong with Oliver around.

So John pushed himself into action. Making his way to the bathroom for a piss was enough to have him wanting to crawl right back into bed—but he could at least man up mentally. So he forced himself to turn and head for the living room. He needed to talk to the others, needed to make a plan of some sort—but when he got there, the room was empty. The whole house felt empty, now that he thought about it, and, no, that shouldn’t be enough to make him jumpy and feel exposed and vulnerable. He needed to get a fucking grip.

Still, it was a relief to hear a gentle rustling coming from what he assumed was the kitchen, and even more of a relief when he carefully pushed the door open and saw who was in there.

“Hey, sleepy-head,” Oliver said casually. “There’s coffee. I’m a really shitty cook, but Faiza said you need to eat. I can do scrambled eggs. That okay? Nature’s perfect food, right?”

John should offer to take over. He needed to step up and stop being so helpless. Instead he sank into the nearest chair and said, “Sure. Thanks.”

Oliver seemed happy in his work and John was still feeling a little dazed, trying to decide if the 7:14 displayed on the stove’s clock was in the morning or the evening, so neither of them spoke until Oliver had the eggs, complete with a couple slices of buttered toast, on a plate in front of John.

John just stared at the food. He knew what he was supposed to do. He’d barely eaten for far too long—he must be hungry. But—was he?

“You want me to do the airplane thing?” Oliver asked. “Load up a fork-plane and fly it into the hanger?”

“Fuck off,” John managed. There. That was an appropriate response.

“Sorry. Sorry. You prefer a different method? Oh, something more adult? You want me to spread the eggs on my belly and you can—”

“Jesus Christ,” John grumbled, and he loaded up a fork with eggs, crammed it in his mouth, chewed once, and suddenly realized how unbelievably hungry he was.

He grabbed a piece of toast with his other hand, scooped up more egg on the fork, and determinedly ignored Oliver’s smug expression.

‘Where’s everyone else?” John asked when the plate was clean.

Oliver turned back from whatever he’d been doing at the counter and slid some sliced-up strawberries onto John’s plate. “I don’t even know. Not exactly. They’re doing—stuff. Important stuff that will—make us more safe? Something like that? I’m not really in the loop, you know. Not the inner circle.”

Well, that made sense. Oliver had led

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