Bridges Burned (Going Down in Flames #2)(22)

“Then my secret plot is working.” She grabbed Valmont’s hand. “Can we go to Fonzoli’s? I’m starving.”

“I have a better idea. I’ll cook dinner for you.”

“I want a knight,” Rhianna said.

“No,” Jaxon said, like he was king of the world.

“I know how to get one,” Rhianna shot back.

Jaxon gave Valmont a look of loathing. “You don’t need a knight. We’ll have a chef.” He took his girlfriend’s hand and led her toward the buffet.

“That was fun.” Valmont tugged her toward the exit. “Come on. My car is out back.”

Bryn spotted Clint and pointed to Valmont and then pointed out the door. Clint gave a thumbs-up that he understood.

The drive to Dragon’s Bluff was exhilarating. Riding in Valmont’s cherry-red convertible with the top down and the wind rushing through her hair reminded her of flying. “This car is awesome.”

“I figured the car should match the owner.”

“Who can argue with that logic?” They sped past the main road into town. The winding side street he chose took them up into the bluffs.

“Where are we going?”

“Did you think I lived at Fonzoli’s?”

“No.” Maybe.

“My grandparents used to live in an apartment above the restaurant before they built their house next door. I lived there for a while with my cousin. The short commute to work was great, but I wanted to be on my own. I bought an old cabin, moved in, and I’ve been restoring it.”

The word “cabin” brought to mind creepy images of animal heads hanging on walls. “How rustic is it?” He had better mention the words “indoor plumbing.”

“Wait and see. You’re going to love it.”





Chapter Ten


Valmont pulled into a gravel driveway that led to a log cabin so old, the wood was bleached with age. Vines climbed up the walls, making it difficult to distinguish the house from surrounding vegetation, as if it had grown from the forest.

Warm yellow light flickered on and glowed from the front windows.

“Do you have a roommate?”

“No. Watch this.”

He shifted into reverse and backed the car up, and the lights in the house blinked off. When he pulled forward again, they came on.

“I had a sensor installed in the driveway to turn the lights on.”

“Cool.”

Once inside, Bryn was relieved to discover there wasn’t a single animal head in sight. Thank God. A pair of swords hung on one wall. They weren’t dusty antiques. Light glinted off their edges, like they’d just been cleaned.

A beat-up gray couch sat in the living room. On the other side of a half wall, a small table and chairs, which resembled the furniture at Fonzoli’s, sat in the kitchen.

“Bringing your work home with you?” Bryn pointed at the table and chairs.

“I may have borrowed those from the back room.” He grinned.

She walked farther into the space and saw a two-burner stove set in a black countertop. A black refrigerator, a sink, and oak cabinets completed the kitchen.

“This is great. Did you do all the work yourself?”

“My grandfather helped. He likes to hide here when my grandma has friends over to play canasta.” He opened the refrigerator. “Is chicken all right?”

“Sure.”

He pulled out a tray of chicken breasts and set them on the counter.

“What can I do to help?” she asked.

“I’m a messy cook.” Valmont retrieved a bottle of olive oil from the cabinet. “You can help, but we should find something else for you to wear.”

He disappeared down a hallway and came back with a navy sweatshirt and gray sweatpants. “You won’t win any fashion contests, but these should work.”

Bryn took the clothes and headed down the hall in search of the bathroom. The first door led to a bedroom. The second door revealed a minuscule bathroom—yay for indoor plumbing—but changing in the bedroom would be easier.

Valmont’s sweatshirt came down to midthigh. The pants were huge. She cinched in the drawstring waist. The too-long pants had elastic leg openings, so the extra material pooled around her calves and ankles like leg warmers.

Good thing she wasn’t trying to impress anyone.

The wooden floor was cool under her bare feet as she padded back into the kitchen, where Valmont had more ingredients gathered on the countertop.

“What can I do?”

He pointed at a pile of tomatoes and zucchini. “Dice those.”

She grabbed the knife he’d laid out for her and chopped. Splat. One of the tomatoes fought back, squirting juice and seeds on the front of her shirt.

“You were right. Good thing I changed.”

He winked. “I’m always right.”

She rolled her eyes and chopped the rest of the vegetables, passing them over to Valmont. He added them to the pan of chicken sautéing in olive oil, along with a healthy dose of Italian spices.

“Is that all there is to it?” she asked.

“This by itself would be okay.” He reached for a garlic bulb, broke it apart, and then put three cloves through a press. “Now it will be fabulous.”