Page 24 of Midnight Secrets

Time enough for that later, if she wanted it. For the moment she was happy to cook for Joe, and now for his friends. And the future, well. That would come soon enough.

As she cleaned up after making the baked ziti, Isabel looked deep inside herself. She liked cleaning up, she liked creating order where before there had been the mess of cooking. She liked every aspect of it.

But now there was another element creeping its way back into her life. Hope. It felt so faint, so delicate. Like tendrils of smoke. It was hard to take it out and look at it, it was so incredibly fragile.

Hope that maybe she was coming back to life. That life could hold pleasure again. Guests, tomorrow night. Seeing Joe again. Maybe going over to watch a hand of poker, see how he won all the time. SEALs were known for being tough and laconic, right? It must take someone really tough to bluff them.

She smiled at the thought and a second later realized—she’d smiled!

Isabel stood in the middle of her kitchen, holding a washcloth, frozen in place. She hadn’t spontaneously smiled since—since then.

Since the Massacre, she thought.Say it to yourself.

And she did. She hadn’t really smiled since the Massacre. Thinking the wordmassacrehad been like a sharp punch to the heart, every single time.

The punch was less sharp. She rolled that idea around in her mind. The Massacre was horrible, tragic, she had lost her entire family. But, they were gone. No tears, no despair would ever bring them back. If tears and despair and heartbreak could bring people back, her family would be here with her.

Nothing would bring them back. They were gone.

Butshewas here. Right here, right now, she was alive in her house in Portland, Oregon. She could feel the hardwood floor beneath her bare feet. She could feel the softness of her sweats against her skin. She could feel her heart beating in her chest, slow and steady. She could still feel hope and joy, though for the longest time she’d thought they had fled her life forever. She could still have feelings for other people.

Like Felicity and maybe her friend.

Like Joe.

She stood back, looking at her gleaming kitchen, taking as always keen pleasure in order. Tomorrow she’d mess it up again cooking for her new friends. The thought gave her enormous pleasure.

A meal for chicks, unlike the cooking she’d been doing for Joe and his friends.

Grilled zucchini dressed with a balsamic vinegar reduction, orange and fennel salad, mini lentil burgers, slices of provolone with wine jelly, baked radicchio with grated parmesan cheese.

Yes.

For dessert, raspberry white chocolate mousse. And, if they were to join the guys, she could make chocolate-espresso cheesecake. Or a big pan of apple crumble, with brandy butter. It was one of her favorite party dishes and could make grown men weep.

Well, maybe not Navy SEALs, probably a little brandy butter wouldn’t make them weep, but still. It would be fun to watch them put that first bite in their mouths.

She had brandy, didn’t she? In some cupboard somewhere. The cupboards of this house were deep, so she went to get the powerful flashlight Joe insisted she keep handy. He’d chosen it for her and the light could probably be seen from the moon.

The brandy was under the sink, hidden in the back. The trusty super flashlight lit it up as if it was on stage. So, okay, there was the bottle of brandy. Brandy butter tomorrow night.

Tomorrow night would be fun.

Fun.

She rolled that idea around in her head. Having fun. It felt odd even saying the word in her head.

The girls over. Then going over to join the guys. Laughing at the grumpy ones who’d lost to Joe. Maybe they could go over in time to see the last couple of hands. She’d really like to see that. Watch Joe’s face, watch his hands holding the cards.

His hands. Joe had the most beautiful hands she had ever seen, totally unlike the hands of any man she’d ever known. Her dad had always had his hands manicured. She smiled gently. He’d been such a dandy, her father. They’d teased him about it. His suits were always well cut, he sometimes changed his shirt during the day. Shoes always polished, hair barbered twice monthly by the best guy in town.

He’d said once that he considered it a sign of respect for people but she also knew he liked being well turned-out.

Joe was the exact opposite. Everything he wore was clean, but well used and rarely ironed. Presumably when he started working that would change, but maybe not. His buddies Jacko and Metal wore work clothes, not suits.

Joe’s hair was getting shaggy and his hands definitely did not have manicured nails.

Those hands were strong, though. The strongest, most fascinating hands she’d ever seen. Enormous, callused, even rough. With large raised veins on the back that ran up his muscled forearms. Hard, tough hands. But delicate. When he fixed things or assembled them he had an incredibly delicate touch, gentle and steady.

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