“I did. Yeah. No idea if I would have been any good at it.”
“What happened?”
“My life changed…I guess I changed.”
“Teaching has to be a damn hard job.”
“Right?” I ask. “It must be so challenging with the current political climate and everything. The book banning and lack of funding and the rest of that bullshit. You would have to really want to be there. To really believe in what you’re doing.”
He nods in agreement.
“I envy people who have a calling. Who just know what they want to do. Is that how you felt about being a chef?”
“No.” He laughs. “I just kind of fell into it. A friend of the family owned a restaurant and was after an apprentice. So, I thought why not give it a go. But I was always interested in what was going on in the kitchen. My great-grandmother lived with us for a while when I was little, and she was always cooking. Thewoman just never stopped. Bread and soups and stews. She grew up in Poland and knew every recipe by heart. Never needed to look up a damn thing. I thought she was amazing.”
“That is amazing. I can barely remember how to put a grilled cheese together.”
He grins, and how dare he be so gorgeous. Seriously. Shame on the man. “You come here every night?”
“Not always.”
“What else do you do?”
We’re basically back to the what-do-I-do-for-fun question. I have given it some thought and have a response prepared. “Sometimes I lie in the backyard and stare at the stars. We have that in common. I have a fire pit and…I don’t know. I just like hanging out and reading.”
“That sounds good too. I haven’t looked at anything that wasn’t a cookbook in forever. What’s the last thing you read that you loved?”
“They were romances.I’ll Come Back for Youby Charish Reid. It’s a spooky one. AndMorgue to Loveby Megan Montgomery. The heroine is a medical examiner.” Because even my reading tends toward the morbid. There’s a small chance I am obsessed with death.
“Interesting,” he says, taking a step closer for some reason. He stares down at me and holy shit. I think he’s going to kiss me. My stomach flip-flops in the weirdest way. The truth is, I want this so much it hurts. But then he leans in and asks in a low voice, “Do you really have a taser and pepper spray on you?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” he says. “That’s good. Because not to scare you, but I think somebody is following us.”
My smile disappears as I turn to face the quiet street. I should have been more aware of my surroundings. There’s always an element of danger being out this late at night. I’m not stupid. Iknow this. Though the benefits have always outweighed the risks for me.
It takes me a minute to find the person standing in the shadows beneath a fir tree in someone’s front yard. When she sees me watching, she steps forward into the light to show herself. Long blonde hair falls down over her shoulders just how my ex always liked it.
Noah relaxes at the sight of her. He shouldn’t. It’s been guesstimated that one in every hundred people are psychopaths. And some of those are definitely female. Women make up a small percentage of serial killers, but they tend to get away with their murders for longer. They’re also more likely to be motivated by revenge than their male counterparts. Though profit is also a favored reason for womenfolk. Which doesn’t mean there aren’t female thrill killers. They just tend to be a bit of a rarity. I doubt homicide is why she’s here, however. The bitch is just messing with me—which is confirmed when she turns and walks away without saying a word.
Maybe I should use this moment to explain things to Noah. Take a chance and tell him about my past. Though, let’s be honest, my complicated situation and difficult history are hardly going to appeal to someone looking to relax and enjoy life for a while. Ignore my raging hormones. There’s a good chance that friends is as much as we’ll ever be.
“Strange,” says Noah, watching as my stalker walks away.
“Yeah.” I breathe deep and say, “We should head back.”
We’re close to home when a cop car slows down and stops beside us. The way my stomach sinks below street level. Something like this was bound to happen sooner or later. But this is really not my night. Fuck my life.
“Sidney,” says the man in uniform sitting in the vehicle.
“Officer Smith.”
He scowls at me, and I stare back as blank as can be. Giving nothing has proven to be the best way to handle these encounters over the years.
“Is something wrong?” asks Noah.
“Just checking to make sure you’re okay,” says the officer.
