Till Death(27)

Casting a sheepish grin over his shoulder, he shrugged. “Yeah. I’m a beer-and-whiskey man. Wine is not something I know shit about.”

For some reason, picturing this grown man calling his mom to ask about advice on what kind of wine eased the knots of tension cropping up over my body. It was sweet of him. “I’m not picky when it comes to wine.”

He popped the cork like a pro, facing me. “I’ll keep that in mind for the future.”

For the future.

I got a little giddy as I grinned. “So what did you cook?”

He poured the wine and walked over to the island, placing the glass in front of me. “I remembered that you’re a meat girl. Hopefully you haven’t turned vegan.”

I laughed. “Absolutely not.”

“I made pot roast, complete with potatoes and carrots.” He pushed up the sleeves of his shirt and leaned against the island, drawing my gaze to his arms. “Should be ready in about twenty minutes.”

Realizing I was developing some weird kind of fixation for his arms, I took a sip of my wine, welcoming the bite. “Thank you for doing this—the cooking dinner and everything.”

One side of his lips kicked up. “I always welcome the chance to cook. Thank you for giving me one.”

“Do you still find it relaxing?”

He nodded. “Until I try to pan sear something and want to burn the whole fucking house down.”

I laughed. “Pan searing is a bit hard-core.”

“One of these days I’m going to master it.” Winking, he pushed away from the counter and walked to the fridge, grabbing a beer. “So, Sasha,” he said, popping the lid of the bottle. “Tell me what you’ve been up to.”

I watched him walk over to the island, and my heart skipped a little beat when he took the stool next to me, thighs spread. He angled his body toward mine, leaving very little space between us. Cole was like that before. Always close. He liked the physical closeness and contact.

I found that I still liked that.

“It’s not very exciting.” I sipped the wine. “Kind of boring.”

“Doubt that.” He took a drag of his beer. “Nothing about you is boring.”

I laughed softly. “You may change your mind.”

“How about we do tit for tat then?” He raised his brows. “You tell me one thing and I’ll tell you one thing.”

Our gazes met. “We’ve done that before.”

“On our first date,” he finished, leaning one arm against the counter.

“Yeah,” I whispered. Our first date had been after class, and we’d gone to a small café. We sat there for hours, and I ended up missing my afternoon class.

It had been one of my best days.

“We can do it again,” he said, pale eyes intense and focused as he lifted the mouth of the bottle to his lips. “Can’t we?”

“We can.” I watched his throat work on another swallow. “I went to Florida State and graduated with a degree in business.”

“I graduated from Shepherd with a BS in criminal justice.”

Running my finger over the wine glass, I smiled. “While living in Florida I realized that I could never stay there, because it’s so damn hot. There’s only like three months when you don’t feel like you’re on the cusp of hell. Even in Tallahassee, where you actually have all four seasons.”

“Haven’t been there,” he said, tipping his head back. “Let me see. I’ve lived here. Don’t really have any plans of living elsewhere.”

“I then moved to Atlanta, where I was an executive assistant,” I said, taking a drink. “I traveled a lot, all around the States, once to England and one time to Japan. I pretty much was in charge of his schedule, which was a lot.” I lowered the glass and looked over at him, flushing when I found that he’d been watching me. “I liked the job, but I don’t . . .” Lowering my gaze, I took a deep breath. “I don’t think I was really happy. I mean, it was good but it wasn’t what I wanted to do.”

“Running the inn was what you wanted to do,” he said quietly, and I nodded. He set the bottle on the counter. “I continued to work as a deputy while I was in college, spent another two years in the cruiser, and then I applied to the FBI. I started with them six months later and have been working in the Violent Crimes Unit since.”

“Wow. That’s impressive. I didn’t know there was a department like that around here.”

“There isn’t.” He paused as a buzzer went off and slid off the chair. “I work in Baltimore.”

“Can I help?” I popped off the stool.

“Sure.” He showed me where the plates and silverware were, and I got to pulling them out. “My schedule is all over the place. I’m rarely home when there’s a case, but I’m not out on the street.”

“Are we eating in there?” I asked, noticing a dining room beyond French doors. “Or at the bar?”

“I haven’t eaten at that table yet.” Grabbing oven mitts, he said, “Don’t plan on starting tonight.”

I laughed. “Works for me.” I placed the plates on the island. “So what do you mean about not working on the streets?”

“I’m not undercover and my department does more than just focus on gang activity.” He paused, sending a sly grin in my direction. “I’ll tell you more, but it’s your turn to tell me something.”