05-Killian
1527 Words
Curiosity Gap Theory—“People are driven to seek information when there’s a gap in what they know.”
Juliette Bennett was a crazy woman, which was unfortunate, because nothing about the way she looked prepared you for her instability.
Regardless, she didn't seem like my stalker.
Of course, I’d already suspected it minutes into our Wednesday conversation—or proposition, rather—but now I was even more certain.
She tilted her head to the waiter, with a smile that wasn't there seconds before and the ease of it irritated me more than it should have.
“I'll have the Chicken Marsala… but could you, um, add the blue cheese on top like last time?”
I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth as if that might undo what I'd just heard.
Good God. Juliette Bennett wasn't only crazy, she was also what my mother would call a coirpeach cócaireachta.
A culinary criminal.
“You can't put cheese on Marsala.” The words were out before I could stop myself.
Bennett's doe eyes searched mine, wide with confusion. “I can't?”
I swallowed and dropped my gaze to the menu. “No. It's unnecessary.”
“Unnecessary?”
I nodded once. “Marsala is already complete as it is. It's wine-based. Sweet. Savory. Cheese has no business over that.”
A beat passed.
“But,” she started, “it makes it more yummy though.”
I pressed my lips together, reminding myself why I was doing this. “It doesn't.”
“How would you know? You've never tried it before.”
And I had no intention of either. I met her gaze again. “You’re flattening the entire dish into something else. More importantly, that's not how it's meant to be eaten.”
“Now, you're being dramatic. It's my food. I can order it anyway I want.” She turned to the waiter. “Did you get that, Luc?”
Luc, who looked like he was still wet behind his ears, nodded politely, like he'd seen worse. “No bread at the side this time?”
What?
“No. Trying to cut down on some calories.”
Luc chuckled, then proceeded to scribble her order before turning to me. “And you sir?”
I folded the menu before settling it down. “I'll have your Fettuccine Alfredo.”
He nodded, jotting it down. “Anything else?”
“No.”
“No wine?"
Luc’s pen hovered midair and I let the silence stretch between us.
“Sir?”
Sighing, I gave him a bland stare. “I just said no, didn't I?”
“Ah,” he said, with a tightened smile. “My apology.” He glanced briefly at Bennett, before taking a bow and scurrying away.
Bennett watched him walk away before turning back to me. “You shouldn't have spoken to Luc that way. He was only doing his job.”
I reached for my water and took a slow sip. “His job is to take orders, not question them.”
“He was just letting you know that there were options.”
“And I don't believe I asked for them.” I held her gaze. “Did I?”
She speared me with a look. “You didn't.”
“Then, I don't see the problem.”
“The problem is, regardless of your preference, he's a human being before all that. The least you could have done is be courteous. He already has enough on his plate.” I didn't like the way she looked at me while saying that. “He shouldn't have to add rude customers to that.”
I blinked. Rude?
Something in my chest shifted.
I set the glass down a little harder than necessary. “Why are you defending him so much?” My jaw tightened. “Is there something I should know about?”
“What?”
“Is he another person you asked to sleep with you?"
Too far.
I knew it the moment her mouth dropped open. Closed. And opened again. Color drained from her face so quickly it was almost impressive. “How could you say that? He's eighteen!”
The word landed heavier than I expected.
Eighteen.
I leaned back slightly.
“Oh.” I cleared my throat, straightening in my seat. “I didn’t realize.”
“You didn’t realize?” She let out a short, disbelieving breath. ”You just called me a slut.”
I exhaled slowly through my nose. “That wasn't what I said.”
“Is that really what you think of me? That I'm a slut?”
A few conversations around us dipped in volume. Or perhaps that was only in my head.
“You approached me with a proposition.” I kept my tone even, though I could feel my pulse thudding faintly in my temple. “What was I meant to think?“
“I don't know,” she shot back, blinking rapidly now, though her chin lifted stubbornly. “Maybe that I was nervous about asking you out?”
That—
Hadn't crossed my mind.
It should have. But it hadn't.
Stunned, I forgot to respond and as a result, a thick and awkward silence settled between us.
I became acutely aware of the clatter of cutlery coming from the kitchen, the murmur of conversation around us, the faint scent of garlic and wine drifting through the air.
She didn't look at me again.
Her gaze had dropped to the paper napkin on the table, slowly twisting it between her fingers until it began to tear.
I reached for my water again but didn't drink.
I hated small talk more than anything, but even that was preferable over this.
Thankfully, Luc reappeared with two steaming plates balanced expertly on his arms.
“Chicken Marsala with blue cheese," he announced, setting it down in front of her. “And Fettuccine Alfredo.”
He placed mine with more caution than necessary.
“Enjoy.”
“Thank you, Luc,” Bennett said, placing her hand on his arm.
Luc proceeded to blush. “Anytime.”
Her hand lingered on his arm. Longer than necessary.
I set the glass down harder.
Not losing a beat, Luc bowed and left, but the silence returned, even tenser than before and for the first time in a long time, I wanted to initiate a conversation.
The impulse sat in my chest, foreign and unwelcome.
Me, Initiate a conversation?
People were the ones who made an effort to speak to me, who approached me. Not the other way around.
Picking up her fork, I watched her tear off a piece of the chicken and bite into it.
Irritated by the fact that I was suddenly aware of her again, I took a bite of my Alfredo.
I focused on my plate. On the taste. On anything that wasn't her.
"Oh," Bennett breathed suddenly, and my eyes landed back on her to see her chewing with her eyes shut and pleasure flooding her face.
My grip on my fork tightened.
It couldn't taste that good.
Another soft sound escaped her.
My irritation evaporated as I kept watching her.
I shouldn't be watching her.
I kept looking.
And I started to notice other things I shouldn't. Like, the way her deep wine-colored dress made her skin lighter.
The faint scatter of freckles across her cheek.
The way her soft, rosy mouth moved—
Her eyes opened and caught mine for a long, dark, hot moment.
I looked away first.
“Sorry,” she said, licking her full lower lip.
My gaze dropped to her mouth before I could stop it.
I dragged it back up.
“That good?”
She looked up at me from under her lashes with surprise. “Yeah.” She dragged her lip between her teeth, as if still tasting it.
I shifted in my seat.
Fuck. Was she doing this on purpose?
She sighed. “Look, Kingsley,” she started. “I think we got of—?”
A sudden crash cut her off, and our heads swung toward the noise.
One of the waiters seemed to have collided with a customer near the bar, resulting in food being spilled.
I shook my head. Rosa wasn't going to be happy about that.
I raised my fork, prepared to take another bite—
And stopped.
It started at the base of my head.
A familiar tingle sliding down the back of my neck.
The same one that had followed me for weeks.
Someone was watching me.
My grip on my fork tightened.
My plan worked.
Immediately, my gaze scanned the room.
Who was it?
I swept the room, tracking for movement. A reflection. Someone looking away too quickly. Anything.
Who was it?
“Killian?”
Her voice snapped me back.
I blinked, dragging my focus away from the room and back to her.
Her brows were slightly furrowed now, her head tilted to the side. “Are you okay?”
I held her gaze, but my mind wasn't there anymore.
“Yes.”
I wasn't.
- Writer
