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“You’re imagining things.” But she wasn’t. Not at all. Marsville’s police chief definitely had the hots for Horace County’s sheriff.
Tristan carried the pan of lasagna—made by his own hands, thank you very much—and the French bread into the kitchen. Katie had talked him out of the garlic bread, saying he didn’t want garlic breath. Good thinking, that.
He glanced at the microwave clock. He had an hour before Skye arrived, enough time to shower and get things ready. After preheating the oven to the temperature Katie had instructed, he headed to his room, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. He put his gun in the lockbox he kept high on his closet shelf, then finished undressing. Shower done, he shaved, slapped aftershave on his face, then went to his closet. What to wear?
It had been a year since he’d gone on a date—her fault, that—not that tonight was a date, but it kind of felt like it was. If he got too dressy, Skye would be suspicious. Casual was the way to go. He decided on gray cargo shorts and a dark blue T-shirt. Barefoot, he returned to the kitchen.
The oven had reached the correct temperature, so he slid the lasagna in. Next, he lightly sprayed water over the French bread, then wrapped it in foil. That would go in the oven ten minutes before dinner was served.
He called Parker. Everly answered, which meant Parker was painting. “Hey, kiddo. I’m home if you want to come up to the house. Bring Fuzz with you.” He’d dropped his dog off at home before going to learn how to make lasagna.
“Uncle Tris, I painted Jellybean.”
He pulled the phone away from his ear. Hopefully, this shouting stage wouldn’t last much longer. “Did you now?” Since Jellybean was winding around his ankles, that meant she’d thankfully painted his picture and not the cat, something she’d done before.
Between getting out of school and his arriving home, she spent her time in the studio with Parker when he was off duty. On the days Parker was at the fire station, Andrew—their housekeeper and babysitter—stayed with her until Tristan was home. She had her own paints and easel, and the kid had inherited her dad’s artistic ability. She was good, and he wasn’t just saying that because he was her uncle.
“Yes! You have to come see.”
“How about I’ll look at it after dinner, and right now you come help me set the table?” They needed to have a little chat before Skye arrived.
“Can I have some juice and a pickle? I’m hungry.”
This kid and her pickles. “Sure. Tell your dad...” He chuckled as he set his phone down. She’d hung up on him. He poured her a cup of juice, but he’d wait on the pickle until she came in. If he tried to guess what kind she was in the mood for, he’d inevitably be wrong.
She came barreling in with Fuzz on her heels and headed straight to the refrigerator.
“Whoa there, Ev, we need to get the paint off your hands and arms before you touch anything.” He used his foot to slide her step stool in front of the sink. “What kind of pickle you want?” he asked while she washed her hands and arms.
“Sour,” she yelled.
“One sour pickle coming up.” He put a dill pickle on a saucer, then set it on the kitchen island next to her juice. He shuddered at the combination.
“Two!”
“One, or you’ll ruin your dinner.”
After she was scrubbed clean, he lifted her and set her on a bar stool at the island. “Remember I promised I’d make you lasagna for dinner tonight?” So, it had come to this, lying to a child. How low could he go?
Everly shook her head. “No, don’t remember that. I want mac and cheese with hotdogs in it.”
“Lasagna is better. It has lots and lots of gooey cheese and is even better than spaghetti.” She should go for that since she loved spaghetti.
“Does it have hot dogs in it?”
“No, it has hamburger.”
“I want hot dogs in it,” she yelled.
“How about this? I’ll cook a hot dog, and if you want to cut it up and add it to the lasagna, you can. But first you have to taste the lasagna before you put the hot dog in it.”
“What the devil are you feeding my child?” Parker said, walking into the kitchen. He slid onto the stool next to Everly.
“Lousshauna,” she said.
“Lasagna,” Tristan enunciated.
“That frozen stuff from the store?” Parker said. “I think I’ll just make a sandwich.”
