Hell Breaks Loose (Devil's Rock #2)(40)

“Take a seat.” He nodded to the table.

Grace sank down in one of the four chairs at the small square table, tucking her hands between her thighs and the chair. She watched as he scooped the fish from the pan onto waiting plates.

He set a fork on each plate and carried them to the table, tendrils of steam floating above them. “Want a drink?” He moved back to the fridge and pulled a beer out. He waved a second bottle at her.

“Water, please.”

Shrugging, he grabbed a glass from a cabinet, moved to the faucet and poured her water from the tap. She wrinkled his nose as he sat it in front of her. It was decidedly not transparent. There was a hue of rustiness to the liquid.

“It’s well water,” he volunteered. “Might not taste like what you’re used to but it’s okay to drink.”

“Guessing you don’t have any coconut water in the refrigerator?”

She was only partially kidding. He stared at her and she registered that he had never even heard of coconut water. Of course. There were probably a lot of things that were part of her everyday world that he had never heard of.

“Maybe I’ll have that beer,” she murmured, trying not to feel foolish. “I’ll get it.” Rising, she grabbed a bottle out of the fridge.

He was sitting before his plate when she slid back into her chair. He picked up his fork and started eating. She followed suit, forking up a flaky bit of fish.

It was good. Simple. Pepper and salt with a hint of lemon. Pan-fried in butter. He’d served it with some canned peas on the side.

“This is good.”

“You sound surprised.”

She lifted one shoulder in an awkward shrug. It was fair to say he was surprising her. He’d cooked a nice meal and was treating her like a dinner companion and not a hostage. She wasn’t tied up. He hadn’t abused her—for the most part. It was bewildering. They ate in silence. She was even hungrier than she realized. She ate quickly, beating even him.

He lifted an eyebrow as he took a pull on his beer. “I wish I could offer you more but we ate it all.”

She took a sip of beer and managed not to wince at the bitter taste. She’d never developed an affinity for the stuff.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “It really was good.”

One corner of his mouth kicked up and for a moment she thought he might smile. Wrong. “Thanks.” Standing, he took both their plates.

“Can I help you—”

“No. I got this,” he said abruptly.

Probably for the best. The kitchen was a tight space and she didn’t relish being in such close quarters with him. They might have to touch.

Dishes clacked in the sink as he started washing. He cooked and did the dishes. That was more than Charles had ever done for her. Most nights they went to whatever trendy new restaurant he wanted to try. Wherever they could get their photo taken and eat something that looked like tiny little spheres topped with edible flowers.

She quickly stifled the thought. She was not in a relationship with Reid. Hardly. She should not be comparing the two men. Or if she did, the comparison should be along the lines of: escaped con versus Harvard grad touted on the Hill as the Hottest Under Forty. Charles was kind. If he could cook, she was sure he would and he’d do it for her.

Crossing her arms, she moved into the living room. Hugging herself to the sound of him washing dishes, she strolled over to an old television propped up on an old trunk. It was square like a box. She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen one like it. “Does the TV work?” she called.

“It should,” he replied.

She glanced back at him as he dried dishes. She smoothed her hands down her sides nervously, over the fabric of her too big sweatpants. “You mind if I turn it on?”

He stared at her for a long moment, and she knew he was considering the pros and cons of what she would see. Undoubtedly, if she found a news channel there would be coverage about her. Clearly, he was considering how that could play out . . . if there were any negative scenarios that he could stop from happening by preventing her from watching.

He came to a decision and shrugged. “Sure. Go ahead.”

She flipped on the TV. The reception wasn’t the best. The picture was fuzzy and she could only pick up a few channels.

“Don’t suppose you have a laptop? Wi-Fi?”

He looked at her blankly.

“’Course not,” she muttered beneath her breath and went back to fiddling with the TV. His laptop was probably right next to where he kept the coconut water. “What I wouldn’t give for Netflix right now.”

“What’s Netflix?” he asked, leaning a hip against the counter.

She looked away from the old television set and met his gaze. Again with the impassive stare. He wasn’t joking.

Shaking her head, she turned her attention back to the dial. He’d been imprisoned eleven years. Of course he didn’t know about Netflix. She’d bet money that he never even heard of Sons of Anarchy, Daredevil, Broadchurch—all her favorites. The shows she watched alone in her bedroom or in hotel suites. She and Charles watched Doctor Who faithfully. It gave them something to talk about. But Reid probably wouldn’t need the common ground of a television series to talk to a woman. No, she could imagine how he would spend his time when he was with a woman he liked.

Her cheeks burned as she fiddled with the knob.