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Charity reached into the refrigerator and took out a Diet Coke. “What made you want to be a cop?”
I glared at my best friend. She needed to leave. Now. We were in the middle of some seriously hot flirting and she is throwing cold water on it.
“When I was seventeen my best friend got caught up in the wrong crowd.”
That was eerily familiar.
“He ended up getting involved in drugs and some pretty bad stuff. One day this punk guy walked up to him, pulled a gun and shot him. I chased the guy down while my other friend called the police. From that moment on, I knew what I wanted to do with my life.”
Charity was the first to talk. “I’m so sorry you had to witness such a horrible thing. I can’t imagine seeing someone killed right before my eyes.”
My hands shook as I was instantly taken back six years in time. Blood was everywhere.
On my hands.
The walls.
The loud bang caused me to scream and jump back.
Warm hands touched my arms, calmly pulling me from the nightmare I had been sucked into.
“Hey, are you okay? Gabi?”
Nic’s voice pulled me out. My eyes found his and a warmth spread through my chest. “Yes. I’m fine. I’m so sorry about your friend.”
Nic smiled then searched my face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Forcing a smile, I nodded. Nic still had a hold of my arms and a part of me wanted him to pull me in closer. It threw me for a loop how I felt safe with this man. I glanced down to where he had a hold of me and Nic quickly dropped his hands. I instantly missed his touch.
“Loud bangs always scare her.” Charity took a drink and added, “She’s a basket case anytime fireworks go off.”
Nic looked into my eyes again, almost as if he was searching for his own answers.
I cleared my throat and headed to the refrigerator to get the cheese out. “Again, don’t you have a date you need to get ready for?”
Charity laughed. “I do! Nic, it was a pleasure meeting you. Have fun with that meat.”
Nic chuckled. “It was nice meeting you as well.”
Pointing to me, Charity said, “Have fun, but don’t get wild. We both know how long it’s been.”
My jaw dropped as I stared at her in disbelief.
She disappeared and I wanted to crawl into a hole. Warm breath tickled my ear.
“I like her. She’s fun.”
Jumping, I turned and came face-to-face with Nic. My eyes drifted to his lips before I swung them back up. “She’s a pain in the ass.”
Tossing his head back and laughing, Nic went back to work on the chicken while I sliced the mozzarella cheese for the top of the chicken breast.
We quickly fell into an easy conversation about . . . of all things . . . food.
“So you grew up cooking?” I asked while mixed the flour, pepper, salt, and parmesan cheese into the bread crumbs for the breading.
“I did. Mostly all Greek cooking. My mother was big on my brothers and I learning to cook. What about you?”
I tensed up. How much should I share? The last thing I wanted to do was have a cop snooping in my past. But the connection I felt with Nic was different than anything I’d ever felt before with anyone. I quickly decided, I wanted to share more than I normally would.
“I remember being little and watching my grandmother cooking. She didn’t speak a word of English, only Italian. I couldn’t have been maybe five at the time. I’d pull up a stool and stand there watching her throw this and that into a pot. She never measured a thing when she cooked. I asked her once if she would write down her favorite recipes for me. She asked me why I wanted her to write them down.”
Nic was totally enthralled with my story, which made my chest flutter. “What did you say?” he asked.
I laughed and looked away. “I told her I needed to learn how to cook for my husband. She made me promise I’d marry a good Italian boy.”
Turning back to Nic, I watched as he raised his brows. “Did you promise her that?”
I shook my head. “No. At the time, I was madly in love with Jerry Knox. My first unofficial boyfriend from kindergarten.”
Nic chuckled. “Knox doesn’t sound Italian.”
“No, he was not Italian. My grandmother simply laughed.” I looked down at my hands. “She passed away six months later. When I graduated high school, my father gave me a box filled with recipes. She had done what I asked and written down her favorite recipes. I’ve treasured that box ever since.”
Nic placed his finger on my chin and lifted it. “You were lucky to have known her and even luckier she shared her love of cooking with you.”
