“You’re staring,” she says without looking up.
“I’m observing.”
“Same thing.” She glances over her shoulder and catches me.
“It’s really not.”
She turns back to the stove, and I swear her cheeks are pinker than they were a second ago.
“Hand me the butter.”
I move Cavall and grab the butter, crossing to stand beside her. The kitchen’s big, but when I hold it out, we’re close enough that I can count her freckles.
Her fingers brush mine when she takes it, and she clears her throat and turns back to the pan.
“You always this bossy in the kitchen?” I ask.
“Only when my helpers are useless.”
She drops the butter into the pan and it sizzles. “When’s the last time you had a home-cooked meal that wasn’t from a slow cooker?”
I lean against the counter beside her. Closer than I need to be, but for some reason, I can’t pull away. “Beverly used to make this thing with eggs and cheese and whatever was about to go bad. Called it ‘cleaning out the fridge.’ It was my favorite.”
“That’s basically what I’m making.” She gestures at the counter, then glances at me. “Beverly was your nanny, right?”
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Well, kind of. I’m sure you’ve read the story. Cassandra Troy, or whatever her real name is.”
“I have.”
The wound where I keep Beverly buried deep throbs.
“Sometimes it’s hard to forget what she meant before all that.”
“I don’t think her actions should dictate your memories.” Genevieve shrugs. “She lied and she was awful, but if she meant that much to you, the good parts are still worth keeping.”
My throat swells. No one’s ever said that to me before.
“Yeah, maybe. What about your mom?” The question’s out before I can stop it. “She teach you to cook?”
Genevieve’s hand stills on the spatula. “She died when I was born.”
Fuck.
“It’s okay. I never knew her. My dad raised me. He taught me everything.”
“I’m sorry about your mom.”
She looks up at me, surprised. “Thanks.”
“Does it make me an asshole if I admit sometimes I wish mine weren’t around?”
She snorts. “Not with who your parents are.”
“Beverly was more of a parent than either of them. And then she turned out to be someone else entirely.” I stare at the pan. “Someone who was using us the whole time.”
“Is that why you don’t let people in?”
Our eyes meet. Two people who’ve been failed by the ones who were supposed to love them most.