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Vann never cooked for a date. Part of that don’t-get-attached thing. Not that he thought so highly of his cooking skills he feared they’d never leave, but cooking for someone made a statement.
Speak of the devil. He backed out of the fridge at the rhythmic vibration of his phone ringing on the granite island. “What’s up?”
Hale Larkin’s low voice resonated through the phone. “Has it been so long since I’ve called just to chat, that you assume I’m calling for a particular reason?”
A delight in his voice, too damn happy about the next few hours, he said simply, “Can’t chat right now.”
“Busy? This little town you’ve settled in sounds like the picture of serenity.”
“You know me better than that.”
The mirroring delight faded, his father’s deep rumble darkening. “I do. How bad is it?”
“It’s bad and unknown. I’d love to run a few ideas by you. Later.”
“Please tell me you’re trying to ditch me because you have company.”
“Not at the moment, but I will soon.” While they talked, he stared into the fridge. Steak and bagged salad. Way too cliché for bachelor food.
“Good for you. It’s important to indulge in a little romance now and again.”
His spine stiffened. “Romance? Dad… what’s going on?”
Innocence lilted in the two-hundred- and -fifty-year-old demon hunter’s voice. “Nothing. Nothing worth bothering you over while you’re expecting company.”
“Are you seeing someone?” He leaned back against the counter and forced a deep inhale. Fuck, he smelled like he’d bathed in sweat and seawater.
“Let’s make a deal. You call me tomorrow to tell me how your date went, and I’ll tell you why I actually called.”
Son of a bitch was cagier than Vann on a lousy day. Although, he supposed, his father had to have been, growing up with the bitch who raised him—and flipping a one-eighty on parenting. “I’ll hold you to that.”
Hale chuckled, his grin shining through the line. Bastard better tell all. His dad was due for a happy relationship. “Is she there yet?”
“Who?”
“This date of yours.”
“It’s not exactly a date.” He pushed off the counter and stalked toward his bedroom. “She’s my neighbor and a busy ER physician. Most importantly, she doesn’t do relationships.”
“Must be a dream come true for you.”
“You know it.” He pushed open the closet door and stood in front of his basic daily wardrobe.
Jeans with many holes.
Jeans with scant holes.
Or any of the tactical cargos he’d modified for hunting.
And the long sigh. “After your mother up and ran before the wedding? I wouldn’t put it past your grandmother to spin a fake prophecy to stop you from making the same mistakes I did.”
Fuck. Not this again. He knew she hadn’t been lying. “I don’t have time for this, Dad. I’ve got to shower and figure out dinner.”
“Make that cider-braised pork shoulder you made at Christmas.”
“Glad you liked it, but this isn’t… isn’t that.” He tossed his jeans and t-shirt onto the bathroom counter. “I really have to go.”
Hale snorted a laugh. “Hang on. One more thing. I love you. I love that team of yours. The rest of us only wish we were half as tough, and I’ve got an extra two hundred years of experience. Like you did with Typha when she was about to rip open the veil between worlds. With the original vampire sire, who would have been a plague on this realm. With an army of modified feral werewolves. And the first to survive trolls, for fuck’s sake. Stop running from this. You can handle anything fate throws at you.”
