Page 21 of Silverstorm

“Definitely.” She needed to do this, even if it was just to prove that she wasn’t some weak, pathetic girl who crumbled under the weight of a few hours of being interviewed by an overbearing detective. She was stronger than that. Besides, it’d give her something to do to take her mind off her predicament. “See you at seven, then.” She waved and closed the door, making sure she locked it.

What could she possibly make for dinner? On her way home from her first day working at Stargazer, she’d stocked up on the basics from the local grocery, using her small stash of money that she’d been keeping for an absolute emergency, figuring that she had a job now, and money wouldn’t be a problem soon. She’d bought pasta, flour, milk, sugar, salt, cheese, a few tins of beans, and some cookies. Not a lot to choose from if she were to make even a half-decent meal. But then she remembered seeing a few remaining tomatoes still clinging to a vine in the back garden. The garden was full of weeds, as if Jude hadn’t tended to it for a while. Perhaps that’d been his mother’s thing. But surely, Jude wouldn’t mind if she picked some of those. If she was lucky, she might even find some basil in the little herb garden she’d noticed by the back door. She knew a pasta recipe that incorporated all those things. Yes, that would do nicely.

CHAPTER TEN

JUDE KNOCKED ON the door of the cottage. He’d just arrived home and was yet to change out of his uniform, but he was desperate to check on Aria first. His mind had been only half on his job all afternoon as he worried about her, and he’d worked himself up into a lather of anxiety. The more he’d thought about Tango and Iliana, together with what he now knew about Dimitra, the more agitated he’d become. Something was going on. This was connected somehow, he just didn’t know how.

“Coming,” a voice called from inside, and his hands unclenched from where they’d been rammed up against the door. If she hadn’t answered in another two seconds, he might well have busted the door down. He took a deep breath and straightened his jacket, running a hand through his hair. Perhaps he should’ve taken the time to change. But then it was too late, as the door opened and light spilled out onto the doorstep.

“Hi,” Aria said brightly. “You’re right on time,” she added as he remained rooted to the spot, staring at the vision in front of him.

Backlit from the cottage, her slim, willowy figure made him catch his breath. She’d answered the door in bare feet, wearing a pale green midriff top with long sleeves, and jeans, her long hair a halo around her shoulders. She looked like an angel come to life. The bare strip of skin around her waist called to him, and he could hardly tear his gaze away. He wanted to place his hands on her hips and pull her close, rub his thumbs over the exposed skin of her stomach.

“Are you coming in?” She gave a slight shiver as a cold wind gusted in past him.

“Sorry, yes,” he apologized, stepping into the bright warmth of the cozy cottage. She closed the door behind him and then rushed back and busied herself in the small kitchen. Quickly removing his jacket and gun belt, he placed them over the back of one of the wing chairs and strolled over to lean against the kitchen island.

“Something smells amazing,” he said.

“It’s just spaghetti pomodoro. Nothing special.” She shrugged lightly. “And some homemade biscuits.”

“Well, it smells special, even if you say it’s not.” He caught her eye and smiled, trying to remember the last time a woman had cooked for him, apart from his mother. His last serious relationship had ended over two years ago. And Samantha had been the first to admit she wasn’t good in the kitchen. The best she could manage was eggs on toast, breakfast cereal and heating frozen meals. Which hadn’t bothered him at the time; their relationship had many other problems, and her lack of cooking was at the bottom of the list. But still…to have a partner who cooked would be something.

The kitchen looked like a bomb had hit it. There were unwashed dishes piled in the sink, plates and utensils scattered all over the countertop, an open packet of spaghetti had spilled near the stove, and there were dustings of white flour everywhere. She might be a good cook, but she sure was a messy one.

“Can I give you a hand?”

“Gosh no, you’ve been hard at work all day. You just sit down and put your feet up. If I had a beer, I’d give you one.” Then Aria clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh. My. God. I’m so sorry. I realized how much I sounded like a clichéd wife just then. That wasn’t my intention, at all.” Her cheeks colored a lovely shade of pink, and he couldn’t help it, he erupted into laughter. It felt good to laugh after his stressful day. It was the first time he’d really let go all day. She was funny, and he liked it.

When she saw that he hadn’t taken offense at her faux pas, she picked up a knife, turned to the bench with her back toward him, and began chopping tomatoes on a small wooden board.

He stared at the back of her head for a few seconds. “Much as I appreciate being told to put my feet up, I couldn’t just sit here and watch you cook.” That wasn’t his style, never had been. “So, put me to work.” As he spoke, he sidled around the corner of the kitchen island.

Aria hesitated for a second, still not quite meeting his eye, and he studied her profile, noticing that her cheeks were still pink. Was she still embarrassed?

As if coming to a decision, she lifted her head, her back still to him. “Okay, you asked for it. I found a few salad items in your garden, if you could chop them up for me, that’d be great.” Then she quickly added, “Oh, I hope you don’t mind that I raided your garden?” She whirled around at the same time he came up behind her. Instinctively, he flinched backward as she nearly sliced him with the knife that she still held in her hand.

“Oh. My. God,” she said for the second time, dropping the knife with a clatter to the floor. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I’m not normally this much of a motormouth. Or this much of a klutz.”

As he bent down to retrieve the knife, he finally figured it out. Aria was flustered. She was cute when she was flustered. And it made his chest expand that he was the reason she was flustered.

Holding the knife in one hand, he took one of hers with the other, and said, “I don’t mind that you raided the garden. My mother would love that you’re using up the veggies she planted. And while my knife skills aren’t quite chef quality, I can at least make a salad for you.”

“Oh, good.” She released her breath in a gush, then looked down at their hands still entwined. And back up at him. He suddenly forgot all about the food, forgot they were even standing in a kitchen, as their gazes locked. Then her cheeks went that gorgeous shade of pink once more, even as she tugged her hand free. “I, ah… I better stir the sauce. I don’t want it to catch on the bottom.”

“What? Oh, sure.” Reluctantly, he let go of her hand and turned to the chopping board to attack the tomato that Aria had left half-chopped. Great, now he was the one getting flustered. She was making him feel like a teenager again.

He stood with his back to her but could feel her presence as she flittered around the kitchen, opening the oven to check on the biscuits and rattling some plates as she set the small table in the corner. There was a pile of climbing beans on the bench, which he proceeded to top and tail when he finished with the tomato. He added them to the bowl that Aria had already filled with late-season endive lettuce that must’ve self-seeded from the early crop his mother had sown this summer. This whole thing felt suddenly so domestic. Him and Aria preparing dinner together, like they were some old, married couple.

He turned and leaned his butt against the countertop, watching her openly. She was bent over the table, making sure the knives and forks were lined up against the plates.

“What?” she asked, straightening up.

“Nothing.” He raised an eyebrow.

She went back to fussing with the table, rearranging a posy of pink daisies—which must also be from the garden—in the middle of the table.

“What?” she asked again, the corner of her mouth twitching as she glared at him.