Part of Your World(56)

I had a welling sense of delayed pride over him. I don’t think I’d truly processed what it meant that he stayed to do what he was doing. I’d been so blindsided by how it would affect my life that I hadn’t considered the shift that had taken place inside of my brother.

And then I knew something else too. I knew why he hadn’t brought Lola back with him. He didn’t bring his wife home because there would be no point.

Dad would never accept her. Never. Just like he wouldn’t accept someone like Daniel. So Derek didn’t even bother. He’d protected his wife from the rejection and gave up his life instead.

It was such a beautiful and selfless thing—even if in doing it, he’d condemned me.

But I didn’t fault him for it. I was happy that one of us got out. He’d given up his seat on the throne to marry a commoner. At least that’s how my dad obviously saw it. Gave up all his riches.

But all that glitters is not gold…

We checked out and went back to the garage with our haul.

I slid onto a stool by the kitchenette, and Hunter plopped next to me. “So what are you going to make me?”

“We are going to make it,” Daniel said, unbagging groceries.

“We? I can’t cook.”

“Well, I’m going to show you,” he said, placing things on the counter. “Doing it together is part of the activity.”

I looked at him dubiously.

He smiled. “Come here.”

I got off the stool to stand next to him by the counter.

“We’re making soup,” he said.

“Soup?” I nodded at the pile. “Out of this stuff?”

“Soup is easy. You can make soup out of anything.”

He went to the tiny cabinet he used as a pantry and pulled out flour and an onion. He got some garlic and a stick of butter from the fridge and lined everything up on the counter.

A dragonfly was in the garage. It landed on the rim of a pot on the tiny stove. Those things were everywhere here.

I watched Daniel pull out a cutting board and a knife. “You peel the potatoes and I’ll chop the onion,” he said.

But I didn’t move, because I didn’t know how to start.

He noticed me balking. “What?”

I licked my lips. “I don’t know how to peel potatoes,” I said. “I’ve never done it before.”

He blinked at me. “You’ve never peeled a potato?”

“No. We had a chef…I didn’t have to.”

Neil loved to point it out when I didn’t know how to do something that most people considered basic. But those weren’t the kind of skills I was raised to believe were important. My parents prepared me for a very specific kind of life. I was trilingual. I had an MD from Stanford and a PhD from Berkeley. But I never learned how to do laundry. I didn’t clean my own home. Before Daniel showed me, I didn’t even know how.

I realized that this was one of the things Neil used to maintain control over me. Only he could take care of the house. How would I survive without him? I couldn’t even cook.

I could order food from Grubhub or make a microwave dinner if I needed one. I could make a sandwich or a salad. But it was like Neil wanted me to have the illusion that I needed him, that I couldn’t be alone. I had to be taken care of. I couldn’t manage a house. I’d never eat that quiche again unless he made it for me.

I peered up at Daniel waiting for him to shame me for my lack of kitchen skills, like Neil always did. But he just shrugged. “Okay, let me show you.”

I felt my face soften.

“How did you learn to cook?” I asked.

He smiled. “You have to know how to cook here. We can’t always afford to go out to eat. Okay,” he said, standing shoulder to shoulder with me after I washed my hands. “You’re going to peel the potatoes, like this. When you’re done peeling, you cube them. Like this.” He took the knife and showed me. “We’re cubing them so they cook faster. Since we’re making soup we’re taking the skins off, but I like to leave them on for mashed potatoes…”

As we went, he explained everything this way. Not just how to do it, but why. I liked this. It was the same way I trained my residents.

He was so patient—and standing as close to me as possible. It was really obvious and very, very distracting.

His fresh scent teased my nose, and I found myself leaning into it while I was supposed to be working.

He must have noticed, because he turned to look down at me and our faces were suddenly very close together—and then something happened inside of me that hadn’t happened in a very long time.

I got butterflies.

“What?” he asked, smiling.

I swallowed hard and just blinked at him.

He nudged me. “What?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I just find you distracting is all.” I looked back at my cutting board, feeling a little shaken. Like something big had just happened that was completely out of my control.

I didn’t get butterflies. I was too old for butterflies. Shouldn’t I be completely beyond the age of crushes and puppy-dog love at this point?

I felt him smile, even though I wasn’t looking at him. “Are you going to be able to focus on this task at hand, Doctor?” he teased, nuzzling his nose into my hair. “Because I’m going to need your undivided attention, and it seems like you’re a little preoccupied,” he whispered.