What if they didn’t come back and she had to find her own way out?
What if something happened to—
No.
She refused to finish that thought.
So she’d turned up the music and started cooking. Finding ingredients for another meal took some time when faced with enormous cans of protein powder and almost nothing that had ever grown in soil.
But they seemed to have tomato sauce in bulk. Now she stood over a simmering pot and eyed the bare counterspace, thinking how nice this place would be if it had a window. If there were a window, she could grow herbs.
But she wasn’t staying here.
As the sauce simmered, she finished her romance novel. It ended in a rainstorm kiss and a declaration of love, and she set the book aside with a sigh that wasn’t quite satisfaction when her nerves were sharpened to lethal points.
She stirred the sauce again. She paced. She checked the clock on the range, though why the time mattered was the question of the month.
She took off through the hallways, wandering and exploring. When she found a strange little niche carved into the concrete wall, she stopped. Someone had shoved a metal desk into the space, leaving an inch or two on each side. It sat there in the shadows like it was being punished.
Poor thing.
Inspired to make it a little cheerier, she returned to the kitchen and washed out one of the empty tomato cans. She swiped some extra pencils from the common room and set the makeshift pencil cup on the surface.
She stood back to inspect it.
It wasn’t exactly what she’d call décor, but it was almost civilized. If she had flowers, she would add those too, and the thought made homesickness spread through her chest. She missed her family with a physical ache.
Memories drifted through her mind of Lara bringing a sweaty little handful of flowers she’d proudly picked from the neighbor’s flowerpot.
She raked her fingers through her hair. She needed out of here.
Maybe tonight.
She chanted that to herself as she went back to the kitchen and set a giant pot of water to boil for rigatoni. Meatballs browned in the oven and she had garlic bread waiting to go in at the last minute.
The radio played on, and she sang along badly to the chorus just to hear a voice—any voice.
Suddenly footsteps thundered in the corridor, and relief crashed through her hard.
“They’re back,” she whispered to herself.
Someone let out a groan. “She’s cooking again.”
The men flooded into the kitchen, bringing a wave of fresh energy that made her chest feel full for no reason at all. She scanned their hard faces. They were dirty and their eyes were tired…and they were alive.
She searched the room for Archer, and the second she saw him, a tiny place that was clenched inside her loosened.
He looked cold and dangerous and so damn good that she almost forgot how to breathe.
“I made rigatoni,” she announced, because sayingthank God you’re alivein front of everyone felt dramatic.
She picked up a spoon to keep her hands busy and waved it at the food. “I still say this meal should include salad.”
Archer gave her the faintest twitch of a smile. “But there’s garlic bread.”
His smile made her heart tumble.
They filled plates fast and ate faster, and Jolie settled into the familiar rhythm of feeding people. Caring for people.
