So I am a terrible, awful liar. Here's the next installment a few days early. This chapter was inspired by the irresistible force paradox and the song 'Animal' by Neon Trees. I hope you guys like it.
It was almost six o'clock. They should be headed up the elevator by now. Any moment now they would be knocking at her door. She put the last basket, filled with warm bread rolls on the side of the table, leaving enough room for the main course that her father likely labored over for the last forty eight hours. A full day to marinade the meat and another to prep and cook it.
She heard the faint buzz. Another text message, she thought. She grabbed the phone just as the playful rapping could be heard at the door. The message was from him again. She opened it, thinking it was yet another one of his 'I'm so sorry for calling you a slut last night, please forgive me' messages. He had sent several since their short, but heated argument.
This one read: You only have yourself to blame.
And he calls me crazy, she said aloud.
The phone was set to silent mode and placed inside the drawer of the side table. Family dinner time was for two things: dinner and family. She ran over to the front door, bouncing at the thought of seeing her brother Elyan and her father Thomas for their once a month tradition. With work and everything else in her, she didn't get to see them very much. Nights like these were the highlight of her year.
"Dad, I'm so glad you're…"
"Hey you," her brother said, smacking her on the cheek and wasting no time with further pleasantries.
"Where's Dad?"
"Coming," she heard from the hall. The girlish smile returned to her face. She pulled the door wide open to greet her father, bobbing up and down on her toes. "Gwen, darling, look who we stumbled into on the way up." He was holding a covered casserole dish in one hand. He wrapped his free arm around her in a warm embrace, while her eyes narrowed at the man standing in the hall.
Tom broke his hug to look at her and she improved her disposition.
"It's Arthur right?" He asked his daughter.
"Yes, it is," she answered and then turned her attention to her boss. "But this is very odd. What are you doing here?"
"Oh, I thought you needed me to stop by tonight," Arthur replied.
"No, no. Remember I told you I was having a little family get together tonight."
"Ah, completely my fault. I'm sorry. I must have gotten the dates mixed up."
"You should stay for dinner. We brought plenty of chicken," Tom broke in. Her father enjoyed feeding anyone his chicken. He couldn't be more proud of it.
"Oh, no, we, we can't do that." She chuckled a bit when she said it in an attempt to conceal her true feelings. It almost sounded sincere. Almost. Her father looked her with a glare of unmistakable rebuke. He did not raise his daughter to be rude.
"I mean, I don't want to keep him." She continued, avoiding her father's eyes. "Single guy on a Saturday night, you probably have loads to do, out, there, somewhere…else."
"Actually, I am completely free since my plans were to be here tonight and," he paused for effect. "…chicken is my favorite."
"Well come on in then. Gwen's making some tapas and they're the best." Her father practically dragged the man through over the threshold.
"Really?" Arthur said raising his voice a couple of octaves to denote his interest in the subject. "You know, she never talks about her cooking at work." He raised both eyebrows and looked back at her angry face over his shoulders.
She spent another minute or two in the foyer. The men were already laughing out of her view deeper inside her apartment. This, he will pay dearly for. They were all seated around the television, but not watching it. They were like old college pals, army buddies or some other description that could illustrate the ease at which men could interact upon just meeting each other.
"I'm going to check on the tapas. Arthur, I could use your help."
"Oh you do not want see me in a kitchen Guinevere. I'm a terrible cook - all thumbs." He wiggled them in the air, then he gave her the 'two thumbs up' sign and a wide set grin.
"Well perhaps you could help me with the dishes then."
She was not amused. Arthur was brave, but he wasn't foolish. "Ah, all right."
He followed her into the kitchen. The swinging door almost smacked him in the face.
"What are you doing here?" She tried to whisper it but failed. Her hands were balled into tight little fists by her side.
"I came to apologize in person. I did actually just happen to stumble onto them on my way up."
"This is not some sort of game Arthur. This is my life and you are not permitted in it outside of work."
"That doesn't even make any sense considering what we've been doing for the past two nights."
"I told you that was over."
"Why are you the only one who gets a say in things?"
"Because," she answered firmly.
"Did you get my flowers?"
"Yes, I got your stupid flowers."
"But you wouldn't answer my calls or messages."
"I thought it could wait until Monday."
"I sent you a million messages."
"Because you're psychotic. If I needed any more proof of that, hijacking my family dinner night is certainly it," she replied.
"I was invited by your father."
"Oh yeah. God knows what you might have said to him in the elevator."
"He likes me," he replied.
"You've known each other for five minutes. You're not going to be hanging out together next weekend."
"We might. You look great by the way."
"Is everything all right in there?" Tom shouted.
"Yeah, we're fine Dad." She looked at Arthur who was about to take a bite of one of the bacon wrapped dates artfully placed on the white serving plate. She snatched it away and looked at him, eyes blazing. "You have to go."
"But I want to taste your tapas." He leered at her. She glared at him.
The kitchen door swung open again. "Come on you two, I'm starving," Elyan said, stepping between them and lifting the stack of dinner plates and the appetizers from the counter.
Arthur grabbed the wine glasses and followed behind her brother before she could utter a word.
She could have killed him. The Japanese made chef's knife was right there on the counter. She stared at it, imagining whether he'd be so smug if the bloody handle was protruding from his chest.
She grabbed a forth plate, knife and fork and a wine glass from the cabinet and left the knife in the block, for now.
A/N: More to come at dinner... Don't forget to review and tell me what you think. I think the next chapter will be the finale and I know I won't finish it until the weekend. Again, thanks for sticking with the story so far.
