Chapter 5
August.
I've been cooking for her for five months now.
I had all her food preferences memorized.
She didn't eat cilantro or eggplant.
She liked sweet stuff more than salty.
She preferred soft, chewy carbs.
She always saved the soup for last.
Whenever she tasted something amazing, her eyes would go half-closed in pure bliss.
If something wasn't that tasty, she'd slow down her chewing, but she never complained.
I didn't try to remember all this stuff.
It was just something I picked up after five months of cooking for her.
It was kind of like raising a dog: after enough time, its favorite flavor just became obvious.
Yeah, I still thought of this whole thing as "taking care of her".
Ben said I was nuts.
"You like her, don't you?" Ben asked.
"No," I replied.
"You sure?" Ben pressed.
"Definitely. Honestly, I just feel sorry for her," I said.
"Poor? What's so pitiful about her?" Ben asked.
"She's broke," I said.
Ben shot me a look, like he had something to say but swallowed it.
"Have you ever thought," he said, picking his words, "maybe she's not as poor as you think?"
"If she's not broke, then why does she eat my food all the time?" I asked.
"Maybe she just likes your cooking?" Ben suggested.
"If it's that good, she could just eat out," I said.
"Maybe she just wants you to cook for her?" Ben said.
"You're overthinking it," I said.
That was the end of that conversation.
But pretty soon, some things started poking holes in my whole "charity case" theory.
The first sign came in mid-August.
That afternoon, when we launched the project, a bug popped up and the whole team had to stay late, overtime until 11 PM.
After the last round of fixes, everyone started heading out. I shut down my computer and went downstairs, and saw Emily packing up as well.
"Want to walk together?" she asked.
"Yeah," I said.
It was 11 PM, and the street outside the office was almost empty. The summer night breeze carried a hint of violet from the flower beds.
She walked on my right, keeping just the right distance, not too close, not too far.
When we got to the intersection, a black sedan pulled up silently and stopped right in front of her.
The headlights flashed.
The back window rolled down, and a middle-aged woman looked out. "Miss, time to head home."
Emily paused.