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Monk nodded. “I spent a year undercover as a private chef.”
“Awesome,” said Razor. “Seriously. I can’t cook for shit.”
He looked over and saw a smile show through Ava’s haunted eyes. No matter how brief, he loved seeing it.
“Avarie, you think you could manage an omelet, or would you prefer to stick with plain eggs?”
This time the smile wasn’t as brief. “I’d love an omelet. Thanks, Monk.”
“Uh, you’re welcome, Avar—”
“That’s it. Just Ava. I’m the only one who calls her Avarie
.”
Monk went back to chopping vegetables, but Razor swore he smiled too.
“Damn, you’re a good cook,” Razor said, rubbing his belly.
“Chef.”
“Oh, sorry, Monk. Maybe we should start calling you that instead.”
“Chef Monk is fine with me.”
“So, Monk. Are you single?” asked Ava.
“Excuse me?”
“You know…not married, not dating anyone.”
Monk looked at Razor and then back at Ava.
“Yeah. Single.”
Razor smiled at Ava. “Are you gonna tell him anything else, or just leave him hangin’?”
“I wasn’t sure I should.”
“My sister has the hots for you, Monk. Beware, though. She comes with two of the sweetest little girls on the face of the earth.”
Monk nodded, but didn’t say anything. A minute later, he stood and went into the kitchen.
Razor heard the water running. “Hey, you cooked; I’ll clean up.”
“I got it,” he answered. “Your sister. Was she the one here earlier?”
“Yep.”
“She’s pretty.”
Razor winked at Ava. “My mom’s gotta be chomping at the bit to have us over for dinner. We’ll get Saylor to bring the girls, and we’ll bring Monk along with us.”
“Saylor? That’s her name?”
Razor nodded.
“Cool name,” said Monk before he turned back to the dishes.
