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“Don’t care about food,” she muttered.
“Leila, answer me. Have you eaten?”
“Had a donut this morning when I went to the corner to grab coffee.”
“Dinner first, fucking second, then we can make love.”
“No,” she whined. “I haven’t gotten to see you and touch you in six entire weeks.”
“Remember this moment and maybe you’ll think about stopping off and getting something to eat from now on. You need to take better care of yourself, Leila. I worry about you.”
She plopped her forehead onto his chest. “I so should have lied.”
Linc laughed, then picked up her luggage and she followed him.
“Linc, you don’t always have to carry my stuff,” she said again.
“I don’t carry your purse,” he said as he put her bags in his bedroom, then headed to his office with her laptop bag.
“I’m being serious.”
“It’s my job to carry your luggage or the groceries inside. If my father ever saw me letting you haul things or opening your own door while I was around, he’d give me ‘the look.’ I never want to receive ‘the look.’
“You know, you haven’t talked much about your mom and dad. I’ve heard everything about your brothers and sisters. You’ve got to fill me in on them. They sound great.”
“George Hart is my stepdad, and he is great. I’d go so far as to say he is wonderful. My mom loves him, and he adores my mother. He treats her like she is fine china. He’s this big, gruff guy who used to drive trucks and he still goes ice fishing. Now he owns his own towing company. He’s still big and gruff, but whenever mom’s near, he’s a perfect gentleman. Me and my brothers definitely caught on to that.”
“You’re kind of describing my dad as well. Not the big and gruff part, but definitely the gentlemanly part. It’s funny, I’ve never seen my dad with his FBI persona, but I got to see Elijah with his a couple of times. Makes me really want to see my dad’s, you know?”
Linc laughed. “I guess so,” he said as he left the office, where he put her case on his desk.
“So, which do you want? I can cook you dinner, or we can order in.”
“Let’s go for home-cooked, as long as I can help.”
“I love mutual participation activities with you, Ms. Cloud.”
17
Linc loved seeing Leila in his home. She looked good there. Hers was nice, but a little more sterile. He was surprised she didn’t have more pictures of her travels on the wall. When he mentioned it, she showed him some picture albums, and said she always planned to, but never got around to it.
It didn’t take him long to figure out she’d never really built herself a real nest. A place to come home to. Instead, that was her parent’s house, but her apartment was nothing more than a place to rest between translation assignments.
She sat down on her corner of his couch, propped her plate up on her knees and used chopsticks like a pro to eat her Mongolian beef and noodles.
“So, how was your time in Quebec?”
“Boring. The people were nice, but the meetings were jaw-droppingly boring. I outlined the great American novel in my head during the first week of meetings.”
“What’s your book about?”
“It starts out about a strapping young man from Minnesota, who leaves when he is eighteen to find his fortune and fame in Hollywood. But he gets waylaid at a diner in Texas by the name of Dusty.”
“Hate to tell you this, but there’s a problem with your book right from the start. There is no way your hero would travel from Minnesota, down to Texas, then over to Southern California, just doesn’t make sense. Too much wear and tear on the tires.”
Linc tucked into his spicy shrimp and sighed with pleasure.
“I just decided that my strapping young man wanted to find his fortune in the oil fields of Texas.”
