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She blinked, lowered her gaze to her hands, and rubbed them as if they were sore.
“Do you think those motorcycles are associated with Mickey?” he asked softly.
“Could be.” She looked up and tilted her head. “It’s crossed my mind.”
Nutsbe glanced out his kitchen window. “What kind of security have you got on that house?”
“It’s a rental property, so none. Well, I have floodlights now.” She smiled. “What were you doing when I came over?”
“Making ziti and cheese for Hank and Milly next door. I like to keep an eye out for them. They’re having some health issues, and their kids live in other states. Hey, why don’t you have dinner with us so you don’t have to call for delivery?”
“Thank you, but I’ll eat at my desk. I’m behind on some things that need my attention.”
Nutsbe was chopping celery and, without looking up, said, “I bet you’re an only child.”
“How would you come to that conclusion?” Olivia asked.
“Isolation in your own space is a balm.” He let her have privacy to hear him say that by not glancing over to catch her gaze as he slid the vegetables into the bowl.
“What else do you think you’ve figured out about me?” She reached out a hand and gathered some of the celery, popping a piece into her mouth.
“Was I right?” He picked up the tomato.
“Well, yes. So far.” She smiled. “What else have you deduced?”
Again, he looked away as he sliced into the fruit. “You've got a toe on the ADHD spectrum.”
“Wait, how?” She sat up straight.
“Just say I recognize it from other relationships. For example, you were very focused today.” He sent her a smile.
“Of course.”
He lifted his brows in a question. “Did you eat?” He handed her a slice of tomato.
Accepting it, she drew her lips in and looked at the ground as if looking for the answer.
“I’m going to guess, no. Did you drink anything beyond your first cup of coffee?” he asked, pulling a glass from the cupboard, filling it with filtered water, and setting it near her elbow.
Olivia focused on it, “Thank you,” then lifted it to drink. “I left my coffee on my table this morning, so I don’t even think I got that.” She set the glass back on the counter.
“See? Very focused, and that's exhausting because you don’t have the calories or the water to fuel you.” He smiled and popped a bite of carrot in his mouth, then held out a piece to her, which she accepted.
“Knowing that about me,” She crunched into the stick, “then you know why I don’t cook. My mind is on a million things, and I lose track of time, which leads to kitchen disasters. Less smoke and fire alarms if I order in.”
“So beyond your liking space without anyone's energy in it, you would also need space to just sit and do something mindless. What works for you? Doomscrolling in a hot bath? Cooking shows?” He peeled a cucumber into the scrap bowl.
“Not a complete mind reader. It’s violence,” Olivia said.
“How's that?”
“Violence where the good guy wins, and the bad guy gets destroyed. I'm not the chick you used to date who likes baking shows.” There was the tiniest bit of scolding in her voice.
“That's not some chick. That's my mom and all three of my sisters. The only child part is from my observations in the military.”
“Oh, okay, spot on then with your observations. I get that. It’s your job to ensure your team is ready for the fight. Make sure you pay attention to even the smallest detail. You’re like a safety overlord, then?”
“It’s an aspect of my job, yes. The smallest factor is what makes or breaks a mission. As a company, that’s a philosophy.”