Page 35 of The Vigilant

“Your dad.” Or not. “Both my parents died when I was young. My grandmother tried to keep me in line, but she finally had to enlist the military to help. I was still a piece of shit—almost got kicked out. They stuck me with Jon as one final chance. I was prepared for a sound beating. Instead, he brought me to his house on base for dinner.” He stirred the pasta. “Or I guess I should say he brought me to his house and made me cook him dinner.”

Because Mom and Dad never married, we never lived on base with him. Always separate. Mom hated it. Knowing her and seeing those brief snapshots of the two of them together, I realized how bad it would’ve gotten had they married and lived together.

“Dad made you cook?”

“Trial by fire.” Tynan took scoopfuls of the pasta water and added it to the pot of meat sauce. “He taught me that you get respect by giving it, and I hadn’t been giving it; I’d been trying to fight for it.”

“The wise warrior avoids battle,” I muttered under my breath, thinking back to how he’d handled himself yesterday in the gym. He hadn’t laid a single strike on me no matter what I did and still managed to come out on top.

“The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.”

I stilled and forced myself to soften. “I guess I wasn’t the only one he forced his love of Sun Tzu on.”

Tynan grunted. “Definitely not.”

“Well, if you try and make me cook for you, all you’re getting is ramen,” I warned.

The smallest smile flickered on his face, and even just the tiniest break and the hardness of his expression were enough to make me catch my breath.

How he fought me yesterday was impressive. Tynan wasn’toldold, but he was what, seventeen? Eighteen years older than me? I didn’t expect him to move so fluidly, so gracefully, for such a large, rugged man.

It was the same way he moved around the kitchen. Stirring the sauce. One spice after another sprinkled onto the simmering pot. Adding salt to the pasta water. More stirring. It was a different kind of dance, but one that was equally as rhythmic and methodical as hand-to-hand combat.

And one that allowed me to admire from a distance the smooth coordination of his massive body in such a small space.

“I enjoy ramen.” His voice was lower as he spoke, almost as though he didn’t want me to hear him.

He flipped the burner off and then carried the pot to the sink, meeting my gaze for a second before he strained the pastaand plated the bowls in silence, serving me the dish that almost brought me to tears with how good it smelled.

Just to get him to leave.

“You don’t have to keep cooking for me,” I said as he put the plate in front of me, his gaze meeting mine and narrowing suspiciously. I shrugged nonchalantly. “I just mean it’s not necessary.”

“Sutton, you’re Jon’s daughter. The man saved my life more times than I’m smart enough to count. The least I could do is cook for his daughter while she’s staying with me.”

“I’m not staying with you,” I blurted out, unsure why I felt the need to correct him.

Something flashed in his eyes, and I felt a stroke of heat deep in my stomach.

“You know what I mean.” He rounded the counter and pulled out his stool, taking a seat beside me as we ate.

One bite was all it took to make my insides melt. The dish was so good—or maybe I’d just survived off of such bad food for so long—I dug in as though I hadn’t had food in weeks.

“Oww,” I whimpered, my fork clattering into the bowl as I started to wave my hand in front of my mouth.

“What—”

“Hot,” I garbled with a mouth full of burning pasta and broth, and without thinking about anything except cooling my mouth, I grabbed Tynan’s water bottle straight from his hand and chugged. I whimpered with relief, my mouth instantly calming down.

Only when the bottle popped from my lips did I find Tynan staring at me—at my mouth around his water bottle right where he’d just had his lips.

Forbidden heat ignited deep in my stomach.

“Sorry,” I murmured and set the bottle on the counter, pushing it in his direction. “It’s really good. Too good.”

He grunted and swiped his water bottle and set it on the other side of his bowl.

I was stubborn. Sarcastic. Maybe a little bit of a bitch. But damn, I knew how to give credit where credit was due. I could easily understand why this meal could be Dad’s favorite.

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