Holland let out a soft laugh. “You must be loaded. What are you doing living in a place like this?”
“This is a very nice community. There are a lot of people with money here.” She glanced at Holland. “I’m not one of them.” She hated to throw Brick under the proverbial bus, but she was done with this topic. It was time to move on. “Did your dad tell you he entered the baking competition with your mom’s coconut cake?”
Brick grunted again, this time not the happiest sound.
Holland looked at his father. “You entered abakingcompetition?”
Brick slanted his eyes at Blaise, and it seemed to her like he knew exactly what she’d done. He sighed, a big chunk of pork chop on the end of his fork. “Yup.” Then he put the chunk in his mouth.
Holland shook his head. “That doesn’t seem like you.”
“Why not?” Blaise asked, knowing she might be delving into dangerous territory. “Your dad is a great baker and that cake is phenomenal.”
Holland’s forehead furrowed. “How do you know?”
“I’ve had it. He taught me to make it.” The moment the words were out of her mouth, she questioned whether or not she should have said them.
“He taught you?” Holland seemed to love repeating what had just been said.
“Yup,” Brick answered for her. “Problem with that?”
Holland looked slightly steamed. “That’s Mom’s recipe.”
“Mm-hmm.” Brick sipped his water. “And it shouldn’t die with her.”
“It’s the best coconut cake I’ve ever had.” Blaise tried to lighten things up. “Your dad told me your mom was a fantastic baker.”
Holland nodded. “She was. She was great at everything.”
Blaise could see the wounded little boy in him, still not over his mother’s death, still protective of her memory. “Your dadtold me that, too. I wish I could have met her. She sounds like someone I would have been friends with.”
Holland said nothing. He was watching his father, who was polishing off his pork chop like his commanding officer had told him to. Holland went back to eating and neither of them spoke. Just ate.
The silence weighed on Blaise. This was what she’d anticipated happening. What she’d dreaded. She’d come up with a list of questions to ask, but now she wasn’t so sure about doing that. Holland didn’t seem to like her very much and Brick was his usual quiet self.
If she asked Holland about himself, would he think she was prying? She really couldn’t read him. But this silence was incredibly awkward.
She gave up, and gave in. “What do you do, Holland?”
“I’m a detective with Major Crimes, Tampa PD.”
Blaise smoothed her napkin over her lap, trying not to stare at the man sitting across from her.Manwas too mild a word. Holland looked like he’d been carved out of the same material as his father—broad shoulders, square jaw, that same flinty steadiness in his gray-blue eyes.
Brick’s eyes, only younger and sharper.
“Detective,” she said finally, forcing brightness into her tone. “That must be…stressful work at times.”
He cut his pork chop with precision. “Some days.”
That was all. No elaboration. So much like his father.
Brick reached for his glass of water, a glint of amusement in his gaze. “She’s tryin’ to be polite, son. You can give her more than two words.”
Blaise almost laughed. That sounded like the same thing she’d said to him last week.
Holland’s mouth slanted into something not quite a smile, more like a twitch of tolerance. “It’s not all car chases andshootouts. Mostly paperwork and people lying to my face.” He brought his gaze up to meet hers. “You’d be surprised how easy that is to spot after a few years.”
“Oh?” She speared a piece of roasted pepper, feeling that remark land squarely between them. “And what do you think you can tell about me?”
