I stalked to the door and yanked it open.
And came face-to-face with her.
I frowned.
“Havoc! Quick, let me in, these are hot!”
I stepped aside to let her through and then closed the door after us. She carried two dinner plates covered in tin foil and quickly dumped them on the table near the television.
Turning to me, she grinned. “You hungry?”
I frowned again, confused about what I was seeing. Jerking my chin at the plates, I asked, “What is that?”
She cocked her head to the side. “Dinner. What else would it be?”
I moved closer to her. “I figured that, but what I can’t figure out is where you got them from?” As far as I knew, the motel didn’t have a restaurant and I didn’t recall one being close enough for her to casually go out to and carry two hot plates back from.
“I cooked them.” She answered me as if I’d asked her the stupidest question.
“Darlin’, we’re staying in a motel with no kitchen and I’ve never heard of kitchens just being conveniently available for people to cook dinner at, so forgive me if I’m a little confused about where or how you cooked our dinner.”
Understanding dawned on her face as he made an ‘O’ with her lips. “Oh, I see what you mean. I thought you might like a home-cooked type dinner so I asked the motel owners if I could use their kitchen. They’re this sweet older couple and they said yes.”
I thought you might like a home-cooked dinner.
I hadn’t had a home-cooked meal in longer than I could remember.
My mind kicked into gear and I remembered our phone call from earlier in the day. “Steak or chicken,” I murmured.
She frowned. “Yeah, we went with steak, remember?”
A home-cooked meal.
“Havoc?”
I blinked.
“Steak was right, wasn’t it?” she asked. “I could swear you said steak.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I said steak.” My voice was as gruff as my emotions.
She smiled and it lit the fucking room up. “Oh, thank God, because I don’t have it in me to go back and cook more shit for you.”
I was still trying to gather my thoughts. “You don’t like cooking?”
“God no! I might be a waitress, but serving food and cooking it are two different things. And besides, I don’t want to be a waitress forever.”
“We could have just gone out for dinner, babe.”
She paused for a moment. “Yeah, I know, but I figure if you’re always on the road, it must be ages since you’ve had a meal cooked for you. I thought you might like a change from fast food.” She gestured towards the two plates. “We need to eat before this goes cold.”
For the next ten minutes, we ate and I did my best to keep my emotions in check. Carla prattled on about some shit, but I hardly paid attention. For a woman who didn’t enjoy cooking, she sure as shit knew how to cook. The food was delicious. But wrapped up in all that food were thoughts and feelings I didn’t want to touch.
My mother.
Kelly.
Devastation and betrayal.