Do You Remember(67)

Like I said, it sounds too good to be true. Nothing can be that simple, can it?

“Anyway, I’m almost there.” Another loud honk and Harry swears under his breath. “I’ll call you after I’m done talking to him. Okay?”

“Don’t hang up,” I start to say, but my words get cut off by the blast of a loud horn. And a second later, the line is dead.

I put down the phone, my stomach churning. This should be a good thing. My dad and I aren’t close, but he loves me. If he thinks I’m in danger, he’ll come to save me. I know he will.

But somehow I sense that Harry going to see my father is a horrible mistake.





Chapter 41


Graham spends the entire morning up in his office, but he finally emerges when it’s time for lunch.

Camila is making soup for lunch. I helped her out by chopping various root vegetables, but now everything is in the pot, and every couple of minutes, she stirs it, tastes the broth, and makes some sort of seasoning adjustment. The aroma of garlic, rosemary, and thyme fills the kitchen.

It reminds me of when I was a kid, and I used to cook in the kitchen with my mother. She used to give me a few little tasks to do, so I could feel like I contributed in a useful way to the meal. She was a really skilled cook. As an adult, I was never a good cook, and I always felt like if she had lived longer, she could’ve taught me more of her secrets. I would have loved that.

I also always felt sad that she never got to meet Harry. She would have adored him—I’m sure of it.

“It smells incredible in here,” Graham comments. “I could smell it all the way up the stairs.”

“Tess helped chop the vegetables,” Camila says.

Graham is silent for a beat. “You gave her a knife?”

I remember the moment of hesitation before Camila handed me the blade I used to chop vegetables. The drawer with the knife was locked with a key.

“It was fine,” Camila says.

“No, it’s not fine. You shouldn’t have given it to her.”

I shift in my seat at the kitchen island. “I’m capable of chopping a few vegetables, Graham. I’m not going to hurt myself.”

His lips part and he looks like he’s going to say something, but then he shakes his head. “We’ll talk about this later.”

Of course, I’m sure Camila will be the one he talks to about it. He’ll scold her for letting me help chop the vegetables, and she has to do what he says since he’s the boss. Next time she makes soup, I’ll just have to watch.

Graham lingers in the kitchen while Camila finishes cooking our lunch. I don’t love the way he turns to watch Camila at the stove, smiling appreciatively at the curve of her legs in her skin-tight jeans. Harry never used to leer at women that way. But when Graham notices me looking, he looks away. At least he’s embarrassed about it.

“So what have you been up to all day?” Graham asks me as he sits down beside me at the kitchen island.

I shrug. “Not much. Just playing in the backyard with Ziggy a bit. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” There’s an edge to his voice like he doesn’t quite believe me.

“That’s all.”

I wonder if he knows I’ve been in contact with Harry today. He must suspect something. There was that letter, after all. He’s studying my face, and I squirm under his gaze. I’ve got to change the subject.

“So, um…” I say. “How did we meet?”

Graham drums his fingers on the table, his eyes distant. “You were at the beach. Your scarf blew into the water and I jumped into the ocean to rescue it for you.”

“Oh, like how Christine and Raoul first met in Phantom of the Opera!”

He snaps his head back, blinking at me. “What… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I used to love Phantom of the Opera. And we have a copy of it in our DVD collection and I was watching it this morning, so…” I stop talking, noticing the scowl on Graham’s face. “That was nice of you. Thank you for rescuing my scarf.”

“You’re welcome.”

I bite on the tip of my thumbnail. “Why did I have a scarf at the beach anyway?”

He frowns. “Well, it wasn’t a wool scarf. It was one of those silk things.”

“Oh.”

Graham rips his eyes away from mine and cranes his neck to look at the stove. “Camila, is that soup almost ready? Don’t make this your life’s work.”

“Just a moment!” Camila calls out. “I’m almost done.”

She shuts off the stove and retrieves two bowls from the cupboard. I watch as she carefully ladles the contents of the pot into the bowls. Little clouds of steam waft out of each bowl. My stomach growls at the smell.

“Let me help you.” I jump out of my seat to join Camila by the stove. “What should I do?”

She nods at the bowl on the right. “You take yours and I’ll bring Graham his soup.”

I carry my bowl of piping hot soup to the table, being careful not to spill. Camila does the same thing with Graham’s bowl. I set mine gently on the table, and as Camila does the same, her hand spasms. I watch in horror as the bowl tips over. Right onto Graham’s lap.

“Jesus Christ!” he cries out. He jumps up from the table, revealing jeans soaked with steaming hot broth. “What the hell is wrong with you, Camila?”