Pulling her hand, I lead her to the sink to rinse it off under the water. I'm not sure how deep it is, and I can't see with the blood in the way.
We watch silently as the water washes over her finger, making the cut visible. I lift it closer to me to inspect, and then Remi is wincing.
“Sorry.” I lift my eyes to hers, momentarily getting caught up in the swirls of green, brown, and yellow. She's so close that I can hear the sound of her shallow breaths. Or are those mine? I lick my dry lips, and when her eyes drop down to them and her eyes widen slightly, I release her hand and take a step back. Shit, maybe she thought I was going to do something to her. “Uh. It doesn't look too deep. A band-aide should be fine. I'll go get you one.”
“Thanks.”
By the time I get back, she's stirring the meat in the pan and holding her hand wrapped in a napkin off to the side.
“Here.” I make quick work of putting some polysporin on and getting it covered with the band-aide.
“If you don't mind cutting up the rest of the pepper and the onion, I'll cook the meat and the pasta.”
“Okay.”
We both get to work, and she talks me through each step. Whatever tension I felt in the air earlier is gone, and I'm glad she's at ease again, obviously not seeing me as a threat anymore.
I don't ever want her feeling like that, so I make sure to keep a healthy distance from her, well, as much as I can in the small kitchen.
When dinner is cooked, I tell her to go sit at the table while I dish out the food and pour glasses of water. Then I take a seat opposite her at the table.
“So,” she starts after a couple of bites of the tasty food. “Did you end up telling your parole officer about me?”
At the mention of him, the food I was chewing instantly turns rancid in my mouth, and it feels like I was slapped in the face with a cold hand. He's a reminder of the life I live which was briefly forgotten about while spending time with Remi making dinner.
My hands ball into fists under the table, and I almost want to tell her to mind her own fucking business because I don't want to talk about him. But it's not her that I'm pissed at, and it is her business, very much so.
Plus, the genuineness of her voice and the way she takes a bite of her food and then looks back up at me again, waiting for my answer, further tamps down the anger.
“Yes, I did.” My brows furrow when I realize she should have heard from him by now. “He hasn't called you?”
She chews on her plump bottom lip, and I find myself wondering if they're as soft as they look.
“I had a missed call from a number I didn't recognize. Maybe it was him? I'll call it back tomorrow.”
I nod. “Don't expect him to be nice to you at all.”
She grins, finding something funny about that. “I'm used to dealing with surly men.”
I almost roll my eyes at that but end up just looking back down at my food as she lets out a quiet chuckle. She's always smiling and laughing.
Since she's the one to be asking questions most of the time, I surprise us both by asking her the next question instead.
“How do you like working at Peaches?”
She looks taken back for just a second and then smiles like I just gifted her something. “I like it, actually. I know it's not the greatest job, and it's not doing something fun like fishing, but it suits me fine.”
I don't tell her that I had tried to get a job there when I first moved here but was swiftly rejected. Or that I only started fishing because I had no other choice. It's not that I don't like it. I'd just rather do it for leisure, instead of necessity.
“That's good.”
I ask her some more questions about what she used to do, where she's from, things like that. And I don't know who's more surprised by my sudden interest in knowing her. Either way, she seems happy about it, and that has an effect on me.
After dinner, we both quietly clean up the kitchen, and although I've kind of gotten used to having her around, the whole night has seemed more intimate somehow, and that I'm not used to.
With the kitchen clean, I go sit on one end of the couch. It's not a very big couch, so I'm kind of shocked when Remi sits on it as well, instead of the single armchair.
“You know, if you had a TV, we'd be able to watch something right now,” she says, turning to me with a wink.