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We’d both done things that probably made no sense to outsiders. I was the last one who could judge. I hated that she danced, but I would never condemn her for it.
“You’re young,” I began.
“I’m not that young. And I’m not stupid, though I do a damn fine impression sometimes.” Without warning, she rolled off of me and tucked her breasts back in her new bra. “Let’s go to the store. Your kitchen is bare.”
Baffled, I sat up and ran a hand through my hair. “You want to go shopping at,” I checked the bedside clock, “three-fifteen in the morning?”
“Yeah. I do. I texted Ame and told her I was with Jenna, though Lord knows if she believes me. I don’t care. I’m here tonight, and that’s what matters.” She grabbed my hand and tugged me off the bed. “Do you cook? You have to cook. You’re Italian. It’d be a sin if you didn’t have recipes handed down from your mamma and nonna—” She broke off and looked down at our loosely linked hands. “Could I be any more insensitive? Probably not.”
“It’s fine. As you said, it’s been a long time.” I brought our joined hands to my mouth and gave her
fingers a quick kiss. “Yes, I used to cook a bit. Nothing fancy. I’m not in culinary school,” I teased, hoping she couldn’t hear the hollowness in my voice.
The more I tried to pretend morning wasn’t coming, the louder the clock in my head became. We might have tomorrow, might have the day after. But there were no guarantees.
After living with none for so long, suddenly they were all I wanted.
“But you do have recipes?” She bent to gather her clothes, finally relinquishing her hold on my hand to get dressed. “Like, mmm, some kind of delicious homemade marinara, with spices and hand-rolled meatballs? Or maybe your family made your own pasta. Spinach fettuccine is my favorite. When I have my own kitchen—” She stopped as she noticed my smile. “What?”
“The way you talk about food proves how much you love it.”
“Oh, yeah. Well, yes, of course, I do. It’s my passion.” She ducked her head, laughing a little. “Plus, I’m hungry. Starving, actually. It’s like I got the munchies without needing a joint.” She coughed. “Umm, not that I know anything about that.”
“Of course not.” My smile grew as I grabbed a fresh pair of jeans and a new T-shirt from my dresser.
My gun was lying in plain sight on top of the shirts. Clearly not where I’d left it.
I glanced back at Carly and watched her tuck my shirt into the hem of her skirt. Apparently, she wasn’t changing out of it.
I looked back at the gun and slipped under the clothes. She’d seen it. That was why her mood had changed between when I’d gone in for my shower, and when I’d come out. Either she’d decided to overlook it or she was in some serious denial.
Glad to know I wasn’t alone.
Once we’d dressed, we walked out into the crisp fall evening like any other couple. Hand-in-hand, laughing at nothing. It was late, but the city was up all night, and there were still people in the 24-hour corner store down the block. She grabbed a noisy, rickety cart and pushed it down the narrow aisles, excitedly pointing out everything to me. Rice flour, almond paste, fresh button cap mushrooms. Her adoration of food and all its combinations was truly something to behold.
And her joy made me smile in a way I hadn’t in too long to remember.
“What do you feel like?” She held up a package of sausage and one of bacon. “For our breakfast.”
“Hmm.” I pretended to consider. “How about both?”
“A man after my own heart.” Carefully, she placed both in the cart, then stopped to peruse the eggs. She settled on a half dozen and set those in the cart with the makings for an omelet she’d already selected—colorful peppers, ham for cubing, onions, and her button mushrooms. I’d be eating like a king, that was for sure.
A fitting last meal.
“Oh, and cookies! We need cookies.” She rushed up the baking aisle like a cook possessed. “Which do you like better? Oatmeal or chocolate chip? Maybe oatmeal chocolate chip, but we’ll use these peanut butter chocolate chips that—” She bit her lip around her grin. “Okay, so I’m hungry. I like food.”
“And you’re sexy as hell, so it’s working for you.” Playfully, I pinched her butt and she yelped and nearly dropped her package of chocolate chips. “Watching you is making me hungry too.”
“For cookies?”
I leaned closer and spoke near her ear. “For fucking you in the kitchen while you’re wearing nothing but heels, an apron, and a smile.”
“Oh. Hmm. I like to always be super hygienic while preparing food, but I suppose I can make an exception this once. Not ‘til we eat, though. I really am starving.” She dumped the chips in her cart and happily wheeled it away, muttering something about needing coconut milk.
In no time, we were back in the kitchen in my apartment, and she was humming her way through meal prep. I’d never had a full course dinner before breakfast time. Tonight would be the first.
From where I was stationed at the granite counter watching her work, I decided I’d had a few firsts this evening already. First night in forever I’d ever wanted an evening not to end. First woman I’d watched cook since my mamma. First time since Emilia that I’d ever longed for…
