Page 97 of Fraud
Amused, I answered, “Generally, yes. Is that your way of telling me you don’t cook?”
She shook her head. “Not much. I mean, unless it involves a microwave.”
“Seems I have a bit more to teach you,” I said, giving her a knowing glance.
Her cheeks flamed, as she obviously remembered our heated interludes from the night before.
All four of them.
“You know how to cook?” she asked. “I mean, more than eggs and grilled cheese?”
“Yep. Takeout in New York is expensive, and working on—” I caught myself.
I didn’t want to lie to her anymore. I’d made mistakes. I’d treated her poorly, but it all had ended the moment I got in that car last night and made my choice.
The moment I madehermy choice.
“Anyway, it’s expensive,” I said, correcting myself. “My mom, before she died, was a great cook. I’d sit around in the kitchen, doing my homework, and when I’d get stuck on something, she’d have me help her with dinner. She said the mind worked better if the hands were busy, so she’d have me chop tomatoes and dice onions. Eventually, I graduated to making sauces and stews. By the time she was diagnosed with cancer, I was in high school, and my skills ended up serving our family well.”
Her hand found mine, dragging it away from the cat, who was snuggled up to my chest.
“I’m sorry. I know how hard that is.”
I pulled our joined hands to my lips, kissing each one of her knuckles. “I know you do. You probably understand better than anyone. But I see you and how well you’ve coped, Kate. I wish I could have been strong like you. Instead, I just ran. Hell, I still am.”
She shifted suddenly, rising higher on her elbow to meet my gaze. “You think I’m strong?” she asked. “I haven’t been on a plane since my parents died. I haven’t left Oregon. I barely take a single vacation day because I don’t have any friends, Killian. It might not look like it, but we’ve both been running. Maybe not in the same way or the same direction, but it’s still running.”
“Maybe we’ll find a way to stop together.”
She smiled. “Maybe.”
“But, first…” I grinned, briefly kissing her hand before grabbing her waist.
She yelped as I flipped her over on the bed, unceremoniously dumping the poor cat on the floor.
“I think I need a reminder of exactly how good this body feels wrapped around me.”
She giggled. “But what about breakfast?”
“Later.”
By the time I ran out for sustenance, it technically wasn’t breakfast time anymore.
Most people wouldn’t even consider it lunch.
But, whatever time it was, I was headed to the grocery store, ready to stock Kate’s refrigerator with everything I’d need to make her a dinner she wouldn’t forget.
But, to start I needed a good bottle of wine.
Remembering my Italian mother’s training well, I headed to the nearest wine store, knowing I could get far better help there than the corner grocery store.
Luckily, the closest place wasn’t too far from Kate’s, and with a little help from the GPS on my phone, I was there in no time.
“Holy shit,” I muttered the second I walked in.
The place was huge, like the fucking Costco of wine.
Having grown up in downtown New York City, the never-ending space Oregon seemed to have was sometimes overwhelming.
