“Jeesh, Rowan, where’s the fire?”
“Mama’s not answering. Knock from your side.”
He widens the door, beckoning me inside. Mama is perched on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, lips pressed together in a thin line.
“Mama? Why didn’t you answer?”
She glances at Wyatt’s closed joined door and back at me. “I didn’t hear you, Rowan.”
I cross my arms over my chest and look at Wyatt who holds his hands up. “Don’t look at me.” Of course not. He’s always on Mama’s side no matter what.
After taking a breath, I sit next to her on the bed. “I’m sorry. I was worried.”
She doesn’t want to hear these words because she wants us to pretend nothing has changed. Pretend she’s not sick. Pretend she’s invincible, just as she’s always been.
She waves her hand, and stands. “Wyatt and I were just talking about dinner plans. We could go to that little place with the delicious shrimp salad, up on the hill you took us to before.”
Since the subject has been effortlessly changed, I may as well go with it. What would be the point of pushing her? I was wrong—she was perfectly fine, her eyes clear and no tiredness. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, Mama, but there are quite a few hills around here and shrimp Louie basically headlines their city charter. Which time did we go?”
“It was the time we came for your birthday, Labor Day weekend.”
That sounds a little more familiar. “Let me check my phone. I’m pretty sure I know where.” After a couple of clicks, the spot comes up. It’s off the beaten path so we won’t need reservations. “It’ll be open in a half hour. Are you guys hungry this early?”
Wyatt raises his hand like we’re in Sunday school.
I crack my knuckles and nod for him to speak.
“I’m starved. Let’s leave now, eat a good meal, then head back early enough to get a full night’s rest. We have to be at the studio super early tomorrow.”
Dinner is the last thing on my mind, but he makes a good point. I raise my brows to Mama and she gives me a thumbs-up.
“Okay, then. Let’s go. Just let me grab my backpack and I’ll meet you in the lobby.”
I zoom back to my room, the door left wide open, and survey my belongings, paying special attention that my knives are there. Thankfully nothing looks missing. After gathering my backpack with everything I need, I stop by the bathroom to splash some water on my face. Jeesh, hot mess alert. Seems like the flight west always takes something out of me. I gather my tight coils into a loose bun on the top of my head and use some water to smooth my edges since that’s all I have time for. I longingly look at the Jacuzzi tub which I can only hope I’ll have time for at least once while I’m here. Only thing left is to apply a little lip gloss and hope for the best, because my faded jeans and sweater will have to do.
When the elevator door opens, I thank the Lord the box is empty. Chatty Cathy I’m not. The doors close and I push the button, but before it moves, the doors ding and slide open. If he’s surprised to see me, he certainly doesn’t show it. Knox steps onto the elevator with a sly grin. I’d bet dollars to donuts he watched me get on the elevator and timed it just so. Fucker.
“Rowan.”
“Knox.”
Thank goodness I combed my hair. Not that it matters—it’s only him—but he’d probably have something snide to say.
The doors close and the air thickens with a chocolaty smell. Knox takes a bite of his candy bar and offers it to me.
As if I’d ever accept candy from him. I dish him out a scathing look in response.
He shrugs and turns his back to me, but his reflection bounces off all the mirrored walls. How can he eat all the junk in the world and still be this fit? He’s super thin but super cut too. It boggles the mind. At least today he has sense enough to wear long pants. Looks like he hasn’t forgotten San Francisco completely either. And the way he stands… I have no words for it. It’s as if whatever’s between his legs is too big or too much or too something, and he doesn’t want to smother it. Them? Ugh. Who stands like that?
I put my earbuds in and search my phone for an appropriate song because what’s between Knox’s legs is not anything I want to ponder. Gross. I spot “Nice Weather for Knives” and hit play. When the elevator dings again, the doors open up to the lobby. He saunters off without a backward glance, lifting his hand in dismissal.
And that’s how Knox Everheart ruined my first day in San Francisco. The competition hasn’t even begun. Then again, maybe it has. Only I’m playing checkers while he plays chess.
*
When I hurry into the studio, I have to turn and wait for Mama and Wyatt to keep up. They’re lagging behind, talking with the producer who met us at the hired car when we arrived downstairs. She’s balancing a clipboard, a tablet, and a phone, while alternately talking into her headset and with Mama. That’s way too much going on for me, and my nerves are already bad. We reviewed the packet they sent us before we came here, and I’ve committed everything to memory.
There are stainless steel kitchen stations set up for two competing families at a time, and there are four areas sectioned off for the families that are here the next two days to compete. Later this week, there will be four new families, sending two families into the semi-finals to compete against the families that come out of our heat. It’s a weird setup, but this is the third season and the show is super popular, so I guess they know what
