“They didn’t eat it. They went out to dinner.”
Nathaniel stares at me for a moment, then shakes his head. “After you spent all day cooking for them?”
“It’s their food. Their house. They can do what they like.”
I’m trying to sound careless and matter-of-fact. But the disappointment remains heavy inside me. Nathaniel puts down his rucksack and inspects the sea bream. “Looks good.”
“It looks like congealed, overcooked fish,” I correct him.
“My favorite.” He grins, but I’m not in the mood for his good humor.
“Have some, then.” I gesture at the dish. “No one else is going to eat it.”
“Well, then. Shame to waste it.” He helps himself to everything, piling his plate ludicrously high, then pours himself a glass of wine and sits down opposite me at the table.
“To you.” Nathaniel raises his
