Remember Me? (Book 1) COMPLETED

Old Tricks

ERLAND

Nick's place was not at all what I had expected it to be. And it was even more impressive in the light of day.

When we'd arrived at 10pm the night before, all I could see was this wall of black greeting me as Nick pulled into the gravel driveway. Turns out that wall of black was the ebony exterior of the house. Katherine would've hated it, but for some reason, I kind of liked it. It also might've had something to do with the promise of food inside.

From all the crap Kat put out about him, I would've thought he'd lived under a bridge. Or in dark, smelly cave. Or some terrible place where trolls go. Not in a giant country manor edged by fields of wheat. It was almost too pretty for a rough-around-the-edges guy like him. I wonder what he's hiding, I thought, as I unplugged my phone and padded downstairs in the same clothes I'd worn all of yesterday.

Nick looked surprised when I entered the modern-era kitchen. The house seemed pulled out of time, though the interior was proving to be a lot more current. At least there's that.

"Hey, didn't you see the clothes Juliette left out for you this morning?"

"Not in my size," I lied, snatching up a pancake off the top of the stack.

Nick frowned, though his eyes seemed to glitter with some inside joke. "You didn't try them on, did you?"

I shrugged. "I don't need new clothes," I said, feeling my voice harden. "Kat will be coming for me soon."

I didn't mention the fact that she'd texted me last night saying I would be staying a little while longer. Nor did I mention that If she wanted Nick to keep me around, she would have to appeal to him herself.

Grabbing the whipped cream off the table, I created a swirl on the top of my pancake.

Nick gave me a pointed look. "At least use a plate, kid," he said, turning down the heat of the stove. He grabbed a plate from a cabinet and set it down before me.

I took a bite of my pancake, making a grand show of not putting it down. He met my gaze with a hard amber stare before turning his back to me.

He set about pouring the last of the pancake mix into the pan. His hands jerked at the littlest error, as if he were unaccustomed to cooking, which would explain the rubbery texture of the slightly-charred disk. I had to admire his effort, at least. He even wore an apron. Would Katherine laugh if I sent her a picture?

I fished my phone out of my pocket, but Nick's abrupt attempt at smalltalk about made me fumble my phone in my grasp. The pancake in my other hand took a tumble to the counter.

Crap.

"So, Erland," Nick said, back facing me as he set about retrieving glasses from a cupboard beside the fridge, "any word from Katherine?"

I had to stall.

"Yeeaahh," I started slowly, arching over the island's white marble countertop. "You know, she mentioned something about Mom's condition and lawyers—" my fingers brushed the napkins, snagging the edge of the closest one "—you know how they are, doctors and lawyers. Always about the money." I chuckled nervously, trying to keep the waver out of my voice. Out of the corner of my eye, Nick had opened the fridge.

I carefully pried the sticky pancake from the counter, flipping it the right way up, and dropped it on the plate. As Nick picked up the two glasses—now full of orange juice—I swiped the napkin across the counter, leaving a smear. At least it was camouflagued by the white marble. Good enough.

He set the cup in front of me, then gave me a surprised look.

Could he have seen? My breath caught in my throat.