Page 76 of The SEAL and the Sheriff

The cashier scanned everything in silence for a while, then glanced up at him. “Your wife sick?”

Hudson blinked. “No.”

The cashier looked at the pile again. “Uh-huh.”

Christ.

He handed over his credit card, bagged the groceries himself, and escaped before the cashier could ask anything else about his wife.

32

The smell woke Sarah before anything else.

Garlic. Tomatoes. Coffee.

Why did her house smell like someone actually lived here?

Hudson.

The noise of a cupboard door shutting, a knife against the cutting board, the quiet clink of a spoon against a saucepan. Was Hudson cooking in her kitchen? She couldn’t remember the last time another person had done that. Her mouth watered.

She lay listening. Her house had changed around the smell, as if it wasn’t used to holding warmth this ordinary.

The kettle boiling. Drawers opening and closing. Everyday sounds. She’d spent years building a life that asked nothing of anyone. Today Hudson had been quietly taking care of her while she slept.

Finally, she pulled on her oversized green hoodie and padded into the kitchen.

“Hudson? What are you doing?”

“Cooking.” He glanced at her, one of her dish towels on his shoulder.

“I gathered that. Wyatt left?”

“After I got back. He’s on call.”

“Okay.” There were apples in her fruit bowl. She pulled open the fridge. Enough food to feed a small army. She closed the fridge, spotted flowers in a tall glass.

Flowers.

Nobody bought her flowers. She reached out and touched one petal. Her house no longer felt like somewhere she recovered between shifts. It felt looked after.

She swallowed against a rise in her throat.

His sleeves were rolled up, exposing his forearms. How had she forgotten those? Awareness moved through her, low and immediate, drawing her body tight and stealing the next clean breath from her.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“No.”

“You’ll eat anyway.”

“You always this bossy?”

“Only when your refrigerator requires an incident report.”

She made a sound that wasn’t a laugh, but it was closer than anything she’d managed since the hospital.

He shooed her back to the living room, then served pasta in two bowls. He carried hers to the couch and set it on the coffee table with a fork, water, and the hospital meds she was pretending not to look at. She stared at the bowl.