Till Death(28)

My stomach grumbled as he placed the steaming pan on the counter. “Okay. Well, this is where my life is pretty boring compared to yours. Um, I tried to pick up a hobby while living in Atlanta. So I took up a painting class. I was so bad I got kicked out.”

He paused, silver prongs in hand. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” I sighed. “The instructor felt I wasn’t trying and I was taking up space. He hauled out all my poor paintings just to prove that I wasn’t improving.” I grinned as Cole transferred the meat and the sides to a platter. “I can remember staring at a painting that was supposed to be of a house—I didn’t remember it was supposed to be a house until the instructor reminded me.”

“What did it look like then?”

“It actually looked like . . . a shoebox with windows.”

Cole laughed deeply, and my stomach wiggled. His laugh . . . it was deep and sexy. “I would pay good money to see these paintings you were working on.”

“Ha.” We took our seats, and I picked up my knife. I cut off a piece of the roast beef and the moment it hit my tongue, my taste buds exploded. It was a perfect mix of spices and tenderness. “Wow. This is so good.”

“Did you doubt that it would be?” he teased, sending me a sidelong glance.

I shook my head. “You in for a career change? I could hire you as my personal chef.”

“Anytime you want me to cook for you, babe. I’m your servant.”

Flushing, I liked the sound of that way too much. I took another bite and then tried the potatoes. Perfect. “So what do you do in your department?”

“We focus on major theft and different types of violent crimes,” he explained. “Usually we’re called in by state or local authorities.”

Cutting into more of the roast beef, I put two and two together about his job. “When you say violent crimes, you mean things like what happened here.” I swallowed, focusing on my plate. “Those kind of crimes?”

“Sometimes but very rarely. There are more specialized units within the FBI that would be called in for cases where they believe there is a connection.”

“I remember those agents.” I continued cutting up my roast. “They came while I was in the hospital and afterward. They’d been here after, what? The third or fourth death? I never saw them in person though. Not until they came into the hospital. I remember thinking at first that it was stupid that they had so many questions.” I placed the knife and fork on the plate. “The Groom was dead. What did they need to know? I didn’t realize until later those agents were also collectors—collectors of information. I . . .” Trailing off, I let out a shaky laugh. “Wow. I really ruined that conversation. Anyway—”

Two fingers pressed under my chin, guiding my gaze to Cole’s. Air caught as his gaze latched onto mine. There was something in those blue eyes I couldn’t quite place. An emotion that was raw and unfettered. “You didn’t ruin anything, Sasha. Ever. If you want to talk about those agents, we can. If you want to talk about something else, we will. Just let’s talk. Okay?”

My gaze searched his and after a few moments, I nodded. “Tell me . . . tell me about your mom. Is she still working at dispatch?”

Cole didn’t answer the question immediately nor did he drop his hand. Maybe only a second passed before he dragged his thumb along the curve of my jaw, eliciting a shiver that effectively scattered my thoughts. He lowered his hand. “Mom retired five years ago. She and Dad are both enjoying their golden years.”

“That’s nice.” I refocused on my plate, and even though my stomach had soured, I couldn’t let this delicious food go to waste. That would be a crime. “I want that for my mom. I don’t want her to be working up to the day she dies even though I think she wouldn’t have a problem with that.”

“Your mom has always been one hell of a worker,” he said.

As we finished dinner, the tit for tat faded off, and the knots of uncertainty from earlier were back and multiplying like damn Mogwais fed after midnight. Why had I brought up the Groom? I was sure that was the last thing he wanted to talk about, no matter what he said. It was the last thing I wanted. And now I couldn’t unsee what I’d seen in his stare as I helped him clean up, wondering how we were doing this. A hundred questions started racing through me.

How were we talking and sharing dinner like there hadn’t been ten years between us? Like I hadn’t walked out on him? What was the point of this? For him to make sure I was emotionally stable after everything or for me to see that he was doing well after all these years?

I fell quiet as I helped place the leftovers into questionable-looking Tupperware. Once done, Cole opened the fridge door while I stood in the middle of the kitchen, my heart racing again. “Would you like a refill?” he asked.

Yes, I did. I wanted to go back to playing our game. I wanted those blissful moments where I wasn’t thinking about the Groom and everything I’d left behind when I fled this place. But I couldn’t go back and I wasn’t sure how he could pretend to.

As I lifted my head and looked at him, I didn’t see Cole. Not really. I saw the Cole from ten years ago, the last time I’d seen him. He had been staying behind to meet up with a study group for another class, but he’d walked outside with me, and we’d kissed. Oh God, no one had kissed like Cole. Each time had outdone the last and each one had been perfect.