Page 56 of Lost Then Found
“She practicing at all?” I ask.
Lark nods. “Owns the firm now.”
I snort, impressed but not surprised. “Of course she does.”
Miller was always the smartest person in any room, and she knew it. And as much as she used to drive me up the damn wall, there’s no one I’d rather have in Lark’s corner right now.
I close the folder and nod toward her. “Well, if you need anything, just let me know.”
She gives a small smile. “I will.”
I nudge her elbow. “I mean it.”
She rolls her eyes, but her lips twitch like she’s fighting back a grin. “Yeah, yeah.”
That’s the thing about Lark—she’s never been good at asking for help. But then again, neither have I.
She clears her throat and shifts her weight like she’s not sure how to land the next thing. “Thanks for coming tonight.”
I glance over at her, one corner of my mouth tugging up. “Your food’s a hell of a lot better than I remember.”
She turns toward me, eyes narrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I lean back against the counter, crossing my arms. “Just saying, there was a time your signature dish was instant mac and cheese. And somehow, it always came out crunchy.”
She lets out a dramatic gasp, grabs the dish towel off the counter, and whips it at my chest. “You’re such a liar.”
I catch it midair, smirking. “Hudson deserves to know his mom once cooked pasta so bad the dog wouldn’t eat it.”
“It wasonebox,” she argues, snatching the towel back. “And it wasn’t crunchy, it was…al dente.”
I bark out a laugh. “You cooked the water out of it.”
She mutters something under her breath while folding the towel, but there’s a flicker of a smile playing at her lips.
“And what about the time you made pancakes in a metal measuring cup and dropped it straight onto the burner?” I ask, grinning now.
She throws her hands up. “I thought it was one of those tiny skillets! Why did your family have industrial-sized measuring cups anyway?”
“Pretty sure my mom still talks about it,” I say. “You welded that thing to the stove top.”
She laughs under her breath, shaking her head like she doesn’t want to remember but can’t help it. “You’re lucky I didn’t burn your house down.”
I shrug. “Would’ve been worth it. Kept things interesting.”
She rolls her eyes, but I don’t miss the way her lips curve into a reluctant smile.
“Face it,” I say, shaking my head. “Cooking wasn’t exactly your strong suit back then.”
She scoffs, turning back to the counter to avoid looking at me. “Well, lucky for you, I got better.”
I crowd in behind her, just a little. Close enough that her elbow brushes my chest when she reaches for a dish.
“I noticed,” I say, voice low.
She pauses—just for a second—and that one beat is everything. Her eyes flick to mine, and there’s heat there, whether she meant to show it or not.
I back off before I do something dumb, like press my hand to the small of her back just to see if she still leans into me like she used to.
