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“What are you looking for?” I asked.
“The condiments. I was going to cook an omelet.”
Soft, pinkish lips distracted me for a bit before I stomped the thought away. The woman was tempting, but that didn’t mean that I didn’t have self-control.
“They’re way up there and you can’t reach it. Here, let me get it and cook for you.”
She stepped back when I stepped forward, watching me as I reached up to get the condiments and line them up on the counter. Then I was getting the eggs and other ingredients.
“You don’t have to—”
“It’s fine,” I said, waving her doubts off. “I like to cook.”
And cooking would keep me distracted from her.
Or you could just go to your room, you idiot.
I could, but I didn’t want to go to my room and lie alone just yet. I was tired from running around the city all day, turning my charm up a couple of notches, and asking the right questions. In the end, it got me nowhere as I came home from the investigation empty-handed. Matthew wouldn’t like that, but he would have to deal with the frustration like I did.
Cooking helped. She seemed to accept the idea, too, as she walked around and sat on the other side of the counter to continue watching me. I glanced at her, still unable to believe she was here.
“What do you want in your omelet?”
“Anything,” was the prompt response. “I’m Sophie, by the way. Sophie Grace Jones.”
It was unusual for a hookup to offer their name so freely. It was even weirder that Matthew would invite a stranger into our home, let alone someone this young and, well, innocent. My buddy had discreet hookups with polished, sophisticated women he wined and dined with until recently, when the man’s head was in too deep with work and he didn’t even bother with women anymore. Not my style, but…
“It’s nice to meet you, Sophie.”
“It’s nice to meet you, too.” She hesitated. “Matthew’s my father’s friend and he offered me to stay here after I lost my apartment.”
Oh. That solved it, then. I absorbed the information quietly and tilted my head.
“You lost your apartment?”
“Yeah. Long story.”
Her expression closed up just a bit to indicate she didn’t want to talk about it, so I didn’t press the issue. I mixed up the ingredients and heated the pan, then tossed the former in and waited for it to sear. When I flipped it to the other side, her eyes widened.
“What?” I asked.
“That was smooth. Are you a chef?”
Amusement slid in. “No, I’m not. I’m just a really good cook.” And eggs were basic, but she made it seem like I was cooking a five-star meal. I couldn’t help the humming pride as I divided the eggs into two plates and handed her one.
“Thanks.”
“Orange juice?”
“Yes, please.”
I got two glasses and handed her one, then returned to my plate.
“How long are you staying here?” I knew it wasn’t the right question to ask when she stiffened, so I backtracked. “And I’m not asking because I want to kick you out or anything. I was just curious.”
That had Sophie relaxing. To my surprise, she smiled, too.
“A few weeks, give or take. I don’t think I could do anything if you kicked me out,” she mused.
