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“She’s coming over for dinner this evening,” Erik replied, keeping his voice level. “I’ll see what she can tell me. But from what I’ve gathered, it won’t be much. I walked up to her just as Birgit and she were discussing meeting up for the first time in years for coffee tomorrow. She probably doesn’t know a lot.”
Tucker nodded.
“Well, keep your ears open anyway,” he urged. “We didn’t know Anita had been treated for a burn on her hand the night of the fire until we spoke to Wendy the night she came over to patch Cynthia up.”
“Will do,” Erik agreed.
“Well then, I better let you get to cookin’. She’s probably going to be here soon,” Tucker stated, slapping his knees as he rose to his feet. “See you in the a.m.?”
“Roger,” Erik replied, nodding at his cousin as the man walked out the front door.
ChapterThree
Wendy took a final look at herself in her rearview mirror. She’d showered, re-curled her long, dark hair, and added a touch of extra makeup to her cinnamon complexion. Now able to be out of scrubs, she chose a maroon-red fitted turtleneck and black jeans. She’d pulled on her black, knee-high snow boots and declared it fashion.
Finding her reflection satisfactory, she climbed out of her car and walked toward Erik’s small country house. It was cute, almost too quaint for a man like Erik. It was a white, one-floor shotgun house with a wraparound porch covered in brightly painted pots filled with multiple color variations of poinsettia.
She wasn’t sure what made her say yes to Erik’s invitation to dinner. She wanted to believe that it was her stomach’s yearning forreal, unfrozen food. But she had a feeling that was only partly true. Whatever the reason, though, as soon as she stepped outside and smelled the savory aroma coming from the house, she forgot it. Wendy’s mouth began to water a little as she hurried toward the steps, considerately cleaned from the snow. Just as her hand was about to touch the doorknob, it opened, and she saw Erik smiling at her.
“You came,” he said, looking pleased that that was true.
“Well, I was promised food,” Wendy joked, “and in that aspect, I am easily bribed.”
Erik chuckled as he held the door wider and motioned her to come in.
“I’ll remember that. Please, let me take your coat, and I’ll show you where the kitchen is.”
“Thank you,” Wendy replied, letting him help her out of her knee-length black parka. “This is a beautiful home you have here,” she went on, taking a slow look around. It was small, to be sure, but everything within it was neat and clean and had a matching color palette of whites, grays, and browns.
“Thank you.” Erik laughed. “Pretty much everyone I’ve ever invited here has been surprised at my ability to be a neat freak. But it’s a trait I picked up from the service. Small quarters, lots of men. Had to make the most of every space.”
“I bet,” Wendy replied, accepting the glass of red wine he’d just poured for her. “Do you miss it?”
Erik shrugged as he began to wash his hands in the sink, turning his back to her for a brief moment.
“I believe life happens in phases. Each one connecting in some way to build the final version of you. The military was just one phase in a chain of many. I’m thankful for it, for what I’ve learned through it. But when it was over, there was no love lost.”
“That’s very deep,” Wendy noted, slightly surprised.
Erik turned to her, grinning. “You didn’t expect that, did you?”
“Maybe,” Wendy shrugged, looking away from his handsome face. “Maybe not.”
Erik chuckled as he dried his hands and brought a cloth-covered bowl over to the table where Wendy was sitting. He then covered the surface with a large mat and then sprinkled it with flour. When he finished, he lifted the cloth away from the bowl and turned it upside down, slowly releasing a puffy ball of dough.
Immediately, Wendy picked out hints of yeast, garlic, oregano, and other yummy herbs.
“Um, what is that?” Wendy asked, pointing to it just as Erik sank his fists into it. He looked up at her, his eyebrow cocked.
“I thought you wanted the cheesiest, garlicky-est bread in the world?”
“I mean, yeah, but I thought you’d just pop down some toast and slap some garlic powder and Kraft singles on there,” Wendy replied, laughing.
Erik stopped massaging the dough and looked back at her, horrified.
“Madam,” he stated, his tone deeply grave, “I wouldneverstoop so low.”
“Forgive me.” She laughed.
