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His resolve kicked in, good and hard. She had to be famished by now, and he’d sworn to keep her safe—which included making sure she got the sustenance she needed—so he rolled through a few fast, easy options in his head. “I don’t mean to brag, but I make a mean grilled cheese sandwich, if you’re up for that.”
“Ooooh,” Camila said, her smile sparking a feeling in his chest that he really didn’t want to examine too closely. “That sounds great. I think I saw some tomato soup in the cupboard, too.”
She shifted away from the fridge, rummaging in the cupboard beside it for a minute before coming up victorious. “Ta daaaaa!” she said, holding up two generic cans of soup.
Roman laughed. “That’ll do for tonight, but when we get out of here, I’m going to cook you a meal from scratch.”
Camila looked as surprised as he felt at the promise. “So, not only do you dodge bullets and kick ass at trivia, but you cook, too?”
“Yeah,” he admitted. He took the butter and cheese out of the refrigerator, placing them both on the counter, then opened a cupboard to pull out the bread. The self-preservation part of him that had been honed so sharply over the past six years warned him not to elaborate, to put Camila at arm’s length, especially after the sex they’d just had. But she looked so sweet, so wide-open and perfectly herself even in her borrowed, baggy T-shirt, that Roman just opened his mouth to let the words out.
“My mother taught me how to cook when I was still a kid. She was half Hawaiian, half Black, and she brought the best of both cultures to the kitchen. One night, we’d havelaulauandlomisalmon, and the next, she’d whip up a double batch of gumbo. She made the best peach cobbler in the world, no exaggeration. She taught me how to prepare all of it, although it took a lot of patience on her part. Not to mention, more than one disaster in the kitchen.”
“Wow, those dishes sound incredible,” Camila said. “I take it you two were close, then?”
“Very, although I’m a lot more like my old man. There was just something special about my bond with her.” He moved to the sink to wash his hands, and having a task to focus on eased even more of the tension from his shoulders. “She named me after her grandfather. She wanted to be sure I carried on some of my Hawaiian heritage because my old man is Black, so that’s how I ended up with Kai.”
Camila smiled. “My family has some mixed heritage, too, although we’re mostly Mexican. I’m pretty sure our names all came from baby books, though.”
“Be glad,” Roman told her, and damn, how he meant it. “I was teased pretty mercilessly. Kai isn’t exactly a common name to begin with, and definitely not common for a Black kid. But it was important to my mother, so I guess it was worth it.”
“Are you an only child, or do you have siblings who got cool names, too?” Camila asked. She slid into the spot Roman had just vacated at the sink, washing her hands and drying them on a dish towel, and even though the memory of his mother was bittersweet, something about being here in the kitchen with Camila made him feel safe enough to share all of it.
“I’m an only child. My parents had me later in their lives—my mother was forty-one and my father was forty-three when I was born. She always said I was her life’s ‘greatest surprise’. Once I got old enough, I realized that meant I was anunexpectedsurprise.”
Camila laughed, moving around him to take a saucepan from a cupboard next to the stove. “My sister Marianna’s got one of those. He’s about three months old now. Cute little stinker. We all adore him.”
The way she spoke about her family with such obvious affection, despite the tension Roman knew she felt over how they babied her, sent a pang through his belly. He hadn’t known closeness like that —and all the complex emotions that went with it, good, bad, and ugly—in so long.
“My parents thought they couldn’t have children,” Roman said, taking a skillet from the same cupboard where Camila had found the saucepan and placing it over an unlit burner, then turning his attention to the bread. “Then, one day, when they were least expecting it, my mother found out she was pregnant with me.”
Camila smiled, her dark brows lifted. “Ah, so you were a miracle baby. That bond with your mother makes even more sense now.”
“I was close with my mother my whole life,” Roman said, an ache spreading out in his chest. It had been so long since he’d let himself think of his mother for more than a passing minute that the pain felt almost fresh, and he chased the ache with a slide of his hand over his T-shirt. “She was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was twenty-one. It runs in her family. She caught it early enough to do chemo and radiation, but…”
“It’s an aggressive and horrible disease. I’m so sorry.”
Camila’s voice was as full of empathy as her stare, and Roman soaked in both, letting them give him strength. “Thanks. She died less than a year after her diagnosis.”
As if sensing his need to breathe for a minute, Camila worked quietly next to him, opening both cans of soup and pouring them into the saucepan, then placing it over the cooktop and clicking the burner to life. “How about your dad? You said you’re more like him. Are you close, too?”
Hell if that wasn’t a question more loaded than his Sig. “Not so much, no. He’s a man of few words,” Roman said, prompting Camila to huff out a laugh.
“Ooohhh, yeah. You’re definitely a chip offthatblock.” Her brows gathered on a delay, her chin springing up a minute later. “So, your father is still living, yes?”
“Yes.” Roman’s heart kicked, but he forced his hands to remain steady as he slid one sandwich, then the other, into the skillet he’d warmed. “We…don’t really talk, though.”
Camila didn’t say anything, her silence offering him the chance to air out the rest, and even though he knew it made him vulnerable as hell, he took it.
“I’ve never doubted that both my parents loved me, but my old man was never the type to put it into a lot of words. When my mom died, I was devastated.” It was an understatement—God, he’d felt the sadness all the way to his soul, especially in those first few months. “My father was grieving just as much as I was. He never talked about it, and I didn’t know how to ask. I definitely didn’t know how to share my grief with him. I mean, I knew he was in so much pain of his own. Burdening him didn’t seem right. But there was just this…I don’t know, this silence between us without my mother there. Like we’d lost our bridge when she died, and we didn’t know how to reach each other without her.”
Camila stood beside him, seeing everything with those big, brown eyes, and damn it, he couldn’t stop his words even if he wanted to.
And he didn’t.
“Gabi and I were together by then, although we weren’t married yet, and she helped me through the worst of my grief. She pushed me toward therapy, which, to be honest, was a smart call. My father and I kept in touch, of course, but things were never the same. Then, when Gabi died a few years later…”
Roman stopped for a breath, but Camila was right there, holding him up.
