揋ood, I抦 going to watch you make them,?he says, before he reaches into the cheese bag again and pinches a handful.
揋et your hands out of my cheese, you animal! At least get a bowl!?I demand. He dips his head back, showing off the column of his throat as he drops some in his mouth. 揂nd no, I don抰 need you hovering while I make them.?
揧ou mad at me or something??
揑 mean, I wish you would抳e told me about your dinner. I would抳e wanted to celebrate you too,?I admit.
揑 was a cowriter. It wasn抰 about me at all, Fee. It was for everybody.?His eyes widen when he realizes what he抯 said.
I carefully set down the rolling pin that I抦 using to painstakingly fine-crush graham crackers and drag my eyes to him. 揇oes that mean the cast was there too??
揊ee厰
揗eyer. Did you deny me my one chance to meet Dermot Mulroney?!?
揊ee厰
揂nd then you come here, begging me for treats?! Nah-ah.?I set everything aside and go walk to the couch haughtily.
I hear him sigh behind me and zip up the cheese. 揓ones, I抦 sorry. Would you believe me if I told you it was because I don抰 want to share you??
I scoff, even though the statement fills me with a frothy, bubbly feeling. 揗eyer, I stand in front of hundreds of people for a living and wax poetically about my innermost thoughts. I quite literally share myself with whoever cares to listen.?I glare at him over my shoulder.
揈xactly. Maybe I just don抰 want anyone else interested in you?or your s抦ores bars,?he says lightly, trying to pacify me, pouting his lips and lifting his eyebrows in a forgive me I抦 a cute man-baby sort of way.
He抯 the first to relent with a sigh, 揑抦 sorry, Jones.?
揑 don抰 believe you, Harrigan.?
He walks around to stand between me and the TV. He抯 ditched the jacket somewhere and starts rolling up the ends of his shirt sleeves, exposing miles of well-developed forearms, my eyelids peeling further and further apart with each inch. I bet I could swing from those if he抎 let me. I swallow and try turning up the volume to distract myself. Remind myself to blink.
He thwarts my efforts when he steps in every direction I try to lean, blocking my view until I give up, turn it off and lift an eyebrow his way. I catch the wisp of a smirk, but he smartly flattens it and puts on an earnest face, hands on his hips.
揑 mean it. I didn抰 think. I didn抰 even want to stay long and I think I assume that everyone else is miserable at those things like I am. I should抳e invited you, and I promise I will next time. Maybe then I won抰 be so miserable. I抦 sorry, Farley Amalie Jones.?
I make a sound in the back of my throat. 揇on抰 use my middle name, that抯 cheating.?It makes me feel all feminine and lovely, which makes the reptilian part of my brain want to follow it up with a burp.
And then the avatar currently operating Meyer抯 body gets on all fours and begins to crawl towards me. I抦 unable to look away. 揥-what are you??
He folds his hands in front of him, sitting up on his knees. And then he juts out his lip in the saddest, most pathetic pout I have ever seen. 揚lease forgive me,?he flutters his eyelashes.
I can抰 help it, I snort nervously. He抯 so ridiculous and unlike himself. 揧ou must need food. You抮e acting loopy. Why didn抰 you eat at the party??
揑t抯 Hollywood, there抯 never enough food at those things,?he replies before he resumes his pouting and phony lip quivering.
揊ine.?I move to get up, and he wraps me in a hug from his knees, almost knocking me back over. My hands flap at my sides, his cheek against my belly button. And instead of patting his shoulders like a normal hug from any other normal human in this position, my hands both go to his head, cradling it, nails lightly scraping against his scalp. It抯 a lovers embrace, not a friendly one. It抯 so at odds with how we normally are together, hovering like opposing magnets, unable to touch梐ctually avoiding it. He went and flipped on me sometime today and forgot to warn me. I feel myself cracking.
I grapple for a segue, any segue. 揢hhh I抣l only make the s抦ores if you cut a deal, though,?I come up with.
He抯 frozen, we抮e frozen like this, his arms crossed and resting just above my very clenched behind. Ovaries can抰 make sounds internally, right? Like how a stomach growls? His ear is pressed so close to them. I can practically feel my eggs screaming in tiny cartoon voices, 慦e抮e in here, sweet virile man! Save us from this would-be spinster she-devil! Let us not waste in vain!?揧eah??he replies.
揧ou take a selfie with me, and you let me cut your hair,?I say. Maybe that will cover me as far as why my hands seem to be touching it in such a proprietary manner. Hazel hates his hair in this longer, scruffier style anyway. I personally think he could pull off a bowl cut if he wanted to so it makes no difference to me.
揂re you plotting shaving my head or any other nefarious act of revenge??he asks warily, his deep timbre vibrating through my core. I swallow.
揘o,?I feign a laugh, my own voice coming out a full octave higher, 搄ust clean it up a bit.?
揂lright, I can do that.?He takes a deep breath and I panic-part away from him, shuffling back to the kitchen.
He follows me, continuing to hover while he inspects every ingredient and measurement that I combine. He抯 clearly suspicious, stopping mid sentence to say things like, 搊kay wait, how much of that??and 揾ow long did you mix that then? And that went in first??He leans back into the counter on his palms, head angled my way while he continues to watch me work, as he shares anecdotes from the party, some of the drama from the show that he抯 neglected to apprise me on. Tales about entitled celebs and their insane demands. I抦 more interested in the smaller, pettier gossip, though. The set designers clashing over a wallpaper, the sabotage and food stealing wars. He nods to the bowl with a frown when I抳e stopped working, when I turn my full attention to him in shock after hearing how one sound tech paid for Ubers for a week just so he could leave his car in the designated spot reserved for his work nemesis. 揂lright, alright. Patience, My-guy.?
I distract him just enough to maintain my secrets. I ask him to go move my clothes to the dryer for me so I can quickly add the browned butter I抳e discreetly made. And when I pull them out of the oven finally, I ask him to open a bottle of wine so I can grab the flaky salt. I grab a healthy-sized pinch before I close the cupboard and start to sprinkle.
揥hat the hell is that??his voice sounds, inches from my ear. In my panic, I throw the salt over my shoulder. 揊ee??he growls. I turn around slowly. There抯 flakes of salt stuck in his beard and the front of his hair. 揥hat. Is. That??My jig is up.
揑t抯 just salt, okay??
揧ou never included that on the ingredients list.?
揘o??
揘o!?he parrots.
揥ell you抎 think you would have seen it on the bars themselves, Meyer, it抯 not exactly hidden,?I say with an undignified eye roll.
揧ou抳e been keeping this from me!?
揑t抯 salt, Meyer! Not exactly groundbreaking.?When I meet his eyes they're crinkled, suppressing a laugh.
揧ou didn抰 want me to have the secrets, did you??he teases, squinting at me. 揧ou wanted me needy, begging for it, didn抰 you? You抮e high on power.?
Sweet salmonella, why does that idea make my stomach drop to my toes? I shove a bite of the dough I抎 reserved into my mouth to hide my shock.
揂ww, Fee. Don抰 worry, I抣l still be desperate for your treats, whether or not I have your secrets.?I go white hot and cold in an instant.
揧-You don抰 need to. You can absolutely make them on your own now. Save me the trouble. It was an honest mistake Meyer,?I try and shrug, all false bravado.