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“That’s genius.”
Moxie grinned, then shoved the bag into the pocket of her jacket and started to go upstairs but paused at the bottom and looked back at Sara. “You know, my mom had a cookie jar in the kitchen when I was growing up.” Moxie ran her fingers over the worn cuff of her jacket, then finally shoved her hands into the pockets. “When I was little, I’d climb up on a chair every day to check if there were cookies yet, and there never were. I thought cookie jars were just magic. I didn’t realize someone had to bake them and put them in there.” She pulled the little brown bag of cookies out of her pocket and turned it over in her hand. “I know this must sound stupid, but I can’t believe that there are always cookies in your jar. Like, every time I look.” She paused, meeting Sara’s eyes. “It’s kind of a big deal.”
“Moxie, there will always be cookies in our kitchen for you.” Sara leaned back into Sam’s chest. “Always.”
Moxie smiled and went upstairs to her room, closing the door softly behind her.
“Well, Mrs. Draper,” Sam said, leaning against the counter and uncapping a beer she’d just pulled from the fridge with a flick of her thumb. “Let me ask you something.”
“And what is that?” Sara said, glancing back up the stairs and smiling.
“How do you feel about what Moxie just said?”
Sara smiled, the meaning starting to sink in. She picked her wineglass up and clinked it to the rim of Sam’s bottle.
“Happy.” Sara said, leaning into the warmth of Sam’s chest a
nd wrapping her arms around her waist. “Happier than I’ve been since the day we decided we wanted to make a family.”
* * *
A couple of hours later, the doorbell rang, and Sam went to answer it, realizing too late she had a knife in her hand. Sara’s favorite music, the Gypsy Kings, played in the background, and the air was warmed by a deeply savory spice that Sam was fairly sure had something to do with the pots covering every burner in the kitchen.
“Whoa, man.” Alex took a step back as Sam opened the door. “You said Sara was cooking, so I brought her some flowers, but you can have them if you put that knife down.”
“Smartass.” Sam laughed and waved Alex through the door, leading her to the kitchen and dropping the knife back into the Wüsthof block in the kitchen. Alex gave Sara a quick hug and handed her the bouquet of wildflowers, which Alex mentioned she’d rowed to Rock Island to pick.
“Damn, dude, you’re making me look bad here,” Sam said, holding up a handful of tiny key limes in a green mesh bag like they’d just committed a crime. “But I’ll forgive you if you can tell me what the hell a Caipirinha is and how to make the damn thing.”
“Are you joking?” Alex did a dramatic swoon with her hand over her heart. “We’re making my favorite drink from Cuba? It’s Brazilian, actually, but we claim it.” She did a quick inspection of the liquor bottle on the counter and punched the air in excitement. “And you got actual Cachaça?”
“And…” Sara looked up from filling a vase for the flowers. “Amber agave to sweeten it.”
Alex reached for a chair to steady herself in dramatic flair. “I’ve literally never been so happy in this country. Step aside, Chief Draper, the Cuban has landed.”
“Gladly.” Sam laughed, wiping her hands on the kitchen towel and heading for the table. “I’ve got real limes, too, if you need them. Those seem kinda tiny.”
Alex and Sara both turned slowly around to face her, rolling their eyes in unison.
“Nope?” Sam tried again. “And what about some actual sugar? I mean, what could possibly be wrong with that?”
“Have a seat, Draper.” Alex grinned as she halved one of the key limes and sliced it into paper-thin rounds on the woodblock cutting board, then rolled the rest of the tiny bright green citrus carefully under the heel of her hand. “I’ve got this.”
“Take your time,” Sara said, sprinkling spicy flaked salt over the steaming pan of rice. “Dinner won’t be ready for another fifteen minutes at least.”
Alex hummed along with the acoustic Spanish guitar as she muddled some of the citrus with agave and a touch of caster sugar that Sara had in the cupboard, then added some freshly cracked ice, the agave, and several squeezes of the key lime juice. A generous shot of Cachaça completed the masterpieces, and Alex handed Sam and Sara their glasses and proposed a toast.
“What should we toast to?” Sara said, popping the lid back on the shrimp dish as richly scented steam swirled around her.
“Here’s to…” Sam raised her glass. “Nailing those bastards.”
“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” Alex grinned, sipping her cocktail and pulling out a chair at the table. She’d dropped a leather bag over the back of it as she’d come in and now reached in and pulled out her laptop. “Is Moxie joining us tonight?”
“No, she’s playing basketball with a friend, so I made them some sandwiches and drinks to take down there. My kitchen manager has a daughter going into her junior year of high school too, so I introduced them the other day at the restaurant, and they were like, instant friends.”
Alex looked at her watch and sat back in her chair. “The reason I wanted to talk to you both is that I may have something that will help us infiltrate that mansion.”
“Well, I’m all ears.” A vein in Sam’s forehead throbbed, and she tightened her jaw. “Because short of sending Moxie back in, which I would never do, I haven’t been able to come up with a plausible scenario.”
