Neither Estella nor Dylan said anything, but Dylan came over and gathered up all his books and left the room, carrying them in his arms.
While Dil was gone, Estella walked over to the bubbling pot on the stove. She turned off the heat and then began spooning the soup into the bowls—I noticed there were three—sitting on the counter.
Dil raced back into the kitchen and grabbed spoons out of the drawer. He placed them in the center of the table and then sat down across from me, watching Estella expectantly. I studied him, smiling at the way his skin was a light pink. This morning, he’d been really pale. Being around Estella made him feel better somehow.
When Estella was done, she walked over to the table and placed a bowl down in front of Dylan and me, before getting her own bowl and joining us at the table.
We ate the soup in silence and, damn, was it good. I hadn’t eaten anything like this in about eight years since our grandma had died, and Dil had never had a home-cooked meal like this before. The Madden brothers weren’t exactly the chicken soup-cooking kind of guys.
Dylan and I finished eating at the same time, and I took his bowl and went to get more soup since Estella was still eating.
“Do you like it, Dylan?” Estella asked once I was sitting back down again.
Dylan nodded enthusiastically. “I’ve never had this before! You should make it again!”
There was silence as we continued eating. When we were done, Estella rose from her seat, cleared the table, and then proceeded to wash the dishes.
I just stared at her in amazement. There was a woman in my house, cooking and cleaning, and I wasn’t fucking her. That was a first.
A few minutes later, I sent Dylan to bed early—he was still coughing and sneezing, despite trying to act like he was fine—and then drove Estella home.
Neither of us spoke to each other until we got to Estella’s house.
“Thank you,” she said, hopping off the bike and handing me the helmet. “And, good night.”
I really wanted to say more to her. I wanted to acknowledge our encounter on Monday night because there had been something, I don’t know, different about it. But since she hadn’t said anything about it either, I didn’t know if she just wanted to act like it had never happened.
So instead of making an idiot out of myself, I said nothing and drove off, away from the girl who seemed to fit into my life so perfectly.
Chapter Nine
Estella
My arrangement with Vincent continued for the next two weeks like a strange routine I couldn’t bring myself to break.
Every Tuesday and Friday afternoon, I would wait outside the Penthill library for Vincent to pick me up. We never spoke except for a generic greeting before Vincent rode me over to his house.
The silences that stretched between Vincent and I were bizarre. It wasn’t an awkward silence and it wasn’t a silence that came about from having nothing to say to each other. On the contrary, there was so much I wanted to say to Vincent, so much I wanted to know about him. I wanted to ask him why he had so many tattoos. I wanted to know about their mother. I wanted to understand his reasons for being in a gang.
Most of all, I wanted to know if he still thought about that first night we’d run into each other.
Similarly, I felt like the silence Vincent directed towards me was forced, like he was intentionally trying to stop himself from saying too much. It was weird how we were both in perfect sync when it came to avoiding communication.
So, for two weeks we stuck to the same routine. We’d get groceries and then Vincent would drop me off at his house. I would start dinner and tutor Dylan while I cooked in between. Then, once our hour was up, I would turn on the radio to the jazz station, and Dylan and I would dance.
I had no idea where Vincent disappeared to during this time, but exactly an hour later he would return and eat dinner with us. After Dylan and I did the dishes together, Vincent would take me home. We would not-communicate some more and when he dropped me off, I would thank him and say good night and he would say nothing.
I kept waiting for something to go wrong, but everything continued in this weird, normal routine. Well, as normal as it could be when you went to the house of the Madden gang leader twice a week.
The two older Madden brothers had yet to show up. Dylan had informed me that they were away for a couple of weeks on business. I didn’t want to consider what the word “business” implied in their line of work. It was probably best if I didn’t know.
To be honest, the Madden’s property was pretty peaceful. They had a large block of land just off the main road and a creek ran just past their house. I hadn’t even sensed the faintest hint of trouble since I’d first started coming here, and I had a feeling that it had a lot to do with Dylan, and Vincent’s determination to seemingly want a better life for his little brother.
The most disturbing thing about the entire place? Believe it or not, it was how at peace I felt there.
Today, I’d driven straight to their house because it was one of those days where Dad hadn’t gone to work because he’d been passed out drunk. I’d taken that opportunity to drive his station wagon to school with me and then to the Madden’s house afterwards. I didn’t like depending on Vincent to give me rides; I preferred to take care of things myself.
As I pulled into their dusty driveway, a popping sound nearly made me jump out of my skin. With a sinking feeling, I recognized that the popping sound had been me getting a flat tire.
I climbed out of the car and rounded the side, checking for the flat as I went. Once I reached the back, I easily spotted the deflated tire on the left.
Great. Just what I needed. I wasn’t really in the mood to be changing a tire.
I mean, I was pretty sure I knew how to change a tire. Sure, Nathan and Savannah had helped me on both occasions, but I’d paid attention as they’d changed it and was pretty confident in my tire-changing abilities. Sort of.
With a sigh, I popped open the trunk and pulled out the spare, the jack, and the tire iron before crouching down and putting the jack into position and elevating the car so I could start undoing the lug nuts.
Feeling pretty pleased with myself, I tried to unscrew a lug nut but only met resistance. Was I turning it the wrong way? Frowning, I tried to turn it the other way but nothing moved either. I put a little more effort into it, but my hands began to hurt from the strain.
What the heck? Nathan and Savannah had made this look so easy. I could cook, I could clean, I could sew, and I could quilt better than anyone’s grandma, but I couldn’t unscrew a darn lug nut!
“Oh, you piece of tosh!” The British accent I often adopted when I was alone slipped into my tone as I became frustrated at my below average tire-changing abilities.
There was a snicker from behind me, and I spun around, my cheeks flaming up at the sight of Vincent standing behind me.
I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that none of his tattoos were visible. He was dressed all in black with a white t-shirt visible through his half-zipped leather jacket—his jeans fit him in a way that made the heat pool in my cheeks.
His hair was styled messily as usual and a couple of strands fell into his obsidian eyes as he watched me. Those full lips of his were curved in a smirk and for a brief second I wondered what it would be like to kiss them.
“The weird British girl is back again, huh?” he asked, casually shoving a hand into the pocket of his jeans.
“I-I-” I spluttered for a while before regaining my composure and learning how to speak again. “I’m changing a flat.”
Okay, so that was a ridiculous thing to say since it was pretty obvious what I was doing, but honestly, sometimes I lost the ability to speak around Vincent, especially when his dark eyes studied me as though they were searching my innermost thoughts.