Page 27 of The Woman By the Lake

Lights were lit, not all of them, just enough to chase the shadows away and make the space inviting. Though, the kitchen was fully lit, and he smelled the garlic before he hit it, the kind of smell he knew, it wasn’t just spaghetti, but garlic bread.

His stomach suddenly reminded him he hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

He and Dave had told Brenda repeatedly that she was alienating at least half of the rental market with the girlie way she decorated.

But now, he saw it, and thought maybe Brenda was a weird kind of genius.

Because straight up, he wouldn’t mind hanging a good long while in this space with Nadia.

She’d made it her own, he could see, with more books in the bookshelves and framed photos scattered around. There was a candle lit on a nightstand, and a bunch of them around the fireplace. The door to the walk-in wasn’t fully closed, and it was a big closet, but from what he could tell from the glimpse he got, she’d filled that fucker up in a way he was guessing that most of the boxes he helped Dave lug for her were clothes and shoes.

She also had a digital photo frame on the far end of the back kitchen counter that scrolled through pictures.

Happier times for Nadia, and it looked like she had a lot of friends.

Those happier times included the picture that came up when he stopped at the island.

Nadia with an attractive older woman who looked a lot like her, a much older man, and a good-looking blond guy in a tux.

Nadia was wearing a wedding dress.

She looked amazing, happy, and only someone like Riggs would notice the pain shadowing her eyes.

“That’s my mom, my grandfather and Trevor,” she stated, taking his attention to her, and catching her watching him staring at her frame. “My husband. He died.”

This was succinct, matter of fact, and it was seven years ago, so he could see that. He could also see she said it in a way that meant she didn’t want to talk about it.

He should have told her that he knew, but he didn’t want her to know people were talking about her.

She’d know, obviously, especially considering how he earned his invitation to dinner.

But she didn’t need to know how much he knew, nor did she need that shit in her kitchen.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

“I am too.”

Time for another topic.

“Anything I can do?” he offered.

She put a wine key by the bottle of wine on the counter, along with a big-bowled, sparkling clean wineglass.

A vodka princess who kept her wineglasses sparkling clean and did that herself.

A piece of wisdom he liked to know about her, at the same time he wished he didn’t.

“You can open the wine so it can breathe,” she replied.

She took her glass, which was used but empty, to the sink and rinsed it out.

“Place looks nice,” he noted.

“Have you been in here before?”

“Sure, I renovated it.”

This made her stop drying her wineglass and stare at him.

---