“Don’t spoil me too much,” I warn him.“I could get used to this.”
He chuckles.“In that case, mission accomplished.”
I’m surprised at how much flavor a little paprika, mayo, and Dijon mustard adds to the relative simplicity of the egg sandwich he serves me.
“That was really good,” I share after I brush mine off in record time.“I bet my boys would love them too.”
“Simple enough to make,” he comments, collecting the dirty plates and dumping them in the sink.
“You mean simple enough for a mediocre cook like me?”I tease him.
He growls as he makes his way back to me, swinging me around on the stool and stepping between my legs.
“Nothing mediocre about you,Ilusake.”
The way his tongue curls around that last word makes it clear it’s an endearment of some sort.
“What does that mean?Ee-loo…whatever you called me.”
He kisses me sweetly before answering, “It’s Estonian for beautiful one.I remember my dad used to call my mother that.”
I reach up to run the backs of my fingers along his scruffy jaw.
“I like it.”I pause for a moment before adding, “I likeyou.”
Clem
“I’m not usedto seeing you here on a Sunday night.”
I turn to find Buck Wilson, our local veterinarian and one of my Thursday night poker buddies, sliding onto the stool beside me.
The original plan had been for Tessa and I to go out for a bite to eat tonight.Our first official date, even though it’s a bit like tying the horse behind the cart.But she’d decided to go into the station to do a bit of work and, unfortunately, got hung up with a domestic case that turned into a hostage situation somewhere out in the county.She called me half an hour ago and explained she wouldn’t be able to make dinner.
It’s her job, I get it, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel some anxiety around her being out there, putting herself in harm’s way.So, rather than sitting at home, waiting for her to get home and probably stressing myself out, I decided to head out to The Kerrigan for a bite to eat and some distraction.
“Probably because I’m not usually here on Sunday nights,” I reply dryly.
“Don’t be a smart-ass,” Buck fake-grumbles, nudging me with his elbow.“That’s my job.”
“My bad.What are you drinking?”I ask the older man.
I already have a beer in front of me.
“A Miller will do me.”
Catching the bartender’s eye, I motion him over.
“Hey, Len.Jacob not here?”Buck asks, looking around for the owner.
“Under the weather.What can I getcha?”
“Miller,” Buck answers, cocking his thumb in my direction.“His tab.”
“Nice,” I mutter, adding, “Might as well order something to eat too.Stella made shepherd’s pie.”
His face lights up.“Hell, yeah.You heard the man,” he addresses Len.“Sign me up for the shepherd’s pie.”
I know it’s coming, but Buck holds back until he’s had a swig of his beer.
