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She shuts the door and pauses her hand next to the lock.
It was satisfying watching her go back into her house for her keys to lock her door. Because her safety is paramount. But watching her decide if she should lock herself into my house is amusing.
With a small shake of her head, she decides and leaves the door unlocked, then toes off her sandals next to the door.
“Okay.” She crosses the living room toward me, stopping on the other side of the plain coffee table I currently have my feet on. “I brought a few things.”
Cassandra sets an honest-to-god picnic basket on the coffee table. It’s wicker, with two arched handles, a lid, and a red and white checkered lining that folds over the top edge of the basket.
I lift a brow.
Her cheeks turn a soft shade of pink. “It was my grandma’s.”
Cassandra folds the handles down and pulls the lid open.
“I don’t know that she got it from anywhere special, but she kept my grandpa’s ashes in it for the longest time.” I lift the second brow just as she darts a glance up at me. “Not likeinthe basket. He was in an urn. His ashes…” Her hands go up in a stop gesture, and she takes a breath. “Pretend I didn’t tell you that.”
I have to work to hold my features steady and not smile as I give her a nod of agreement.
“So.” She reaches into the basket, and I stare down her shirt as it gapes open. “I have ginger ale, cough drops, these fizzy tablets you can put in a glass of water—” She sets the items down on the table as she names them. “I brought my favorite tea, stuff to make a hot toddy, and soup.”
I pull my gaze away from her tits to see her plunk down a frosty block of something next to the bottle of whiskey.
“The soup is still frozen,” she rattles on. “But if you don’t mind me in your kitchen, I can heat it up for you.”
I lean forward and pick up the cold plastic. “What kind?” I scratch the words out.
“Italian wedding. It’s homemade. Not sure if you’ve noticed, but I like to make food.” She gives me a smile that’s so vulnerable and happy I let the edges of my mouth tip up the smallest bit.
“I’ve noticed.”
My voice cracks, and her smile pulls into a grimace. “Okay, that’s enough talking.” She takes the soup from my hands, then scoops up the whiskey, lemon, and honey until her arms are full. “I’ll get the soup started. You rest.”
I should really stop her.
For her sake. For my tastebuds’ sake.
But instead, I crack open the can of ginger ale and prepare myself for what should be an interesting Saturday night.
CHAPTER19
Cassie
I bitemy cheek to stop myself from squealing.
I’m in Hans’s kitchen.
Like his living room, it’s not flashy. The counters form a U along the side of the room closest to the road, and at the back of the kitchen, under a window showing the backyard, is a small dining table.
It’s remarkably clean. Not even a pile of mail on the table. And, not for the first time, I wonder if Hans is in the military. Or if he was.
Not the time, Cassie. Focus.
I debate for a second but decide that the stovetop is the best way to go for heating up the soup. I could try to do it all in the microwave, but it’s frozen solid and the stove just seems easier. Then I can use the microwave to heat water for the toddies. Because I’m having one too.
It doesn’t take long to find a pot with a lid in the cabinet next to the stove. I have to run hot water over the outside of the Tupperware, but then it only takes a little shaking and squeezing to slide the frozen block of soup into the pot.
I set the lid in place and turn the burner to medium heat, then turn my attention to the drinks.
