Chapter Ten
Kenzie woke to the sound of the front door closing.
She’d slept like crap, tossing and turning with more nightmares of fire and smoke, and Ben Singer’s bindings around her wrists and ankles.
She’d considered calling Garrett again, but the meeting with the insurance agent had been pushed off until today, and she wanted her brother to be on his A-game. She missed Cassie, but knew she’d only get a recording. So she’d stared at the ceiling, waiting for Cole to come back.
He was definitely hiding something. She knew he had to prepare for the opening of his restaurant, and that he wasn’t afraid the men who’d attacked him before would kill him, but that didn’t make her feel better about the situation. Something was going on. He was working something out in the giant brain of his, and she intended to find out.
But as the minutes passed, her mind had turned to his kiss, and his hands sliding up her sides, and her imagination had gone wild. She could remember the feel of his jaw rasping against hers, and his hardness on her belly. How crucial she’d felt in his arms.
It was thoughts of his touch that had finally quieted her mind, and let her drift to sleep.
She rose, the sunlight starting to light the sky outside a pale gray, and shuffled to the bathroom, wondering if she should even bother doing her hair. Yesterday she’d spent eight hours watching daytime TV. She doubted Ellen cared if she used a blow-dryer.
With a sigh, she went to the kitchen, intending to make yet another bowl of instant oatmeal, but instead found four paper grocery bags on the table, along with a smaller, purple plastic tote.
A note sat beside them.
Impressive list. Hope the results don’t disappoint. PS. Thanks for the blanket.
She smirked. The quilt she’d left him was folded neatly at the end of the couch. Opening the fridge, she found milk and three kinds of gourmet cheese, organic chicken breasts, and half a dozen bottles of hard-to-get cooking supplies. The drawers were packed with produce—everything from raspberries to star fruit to Swiss chard. Pulling out a cantaloupe, she set it on the counter, and made her way back to the bags on the table.
He’d gotten everything.
The laughter burst from her tight-lipped smile.
Everything.
White wine and fingerling potatoes and two kinds of maxi pads and loose-leaf tea and chocolate syrup. Flour and sugar and raw sugar and wheat flour. Soy sauce and extra-virgin olive oil and panko crumbs and chocolate chips. Half a dozen spices she’d only heard of on cooking shows.
She was laughing so hard her eyes were watering by the time she opened the small purple tote.
A three-speed waterproof vibrator, color: neon pink, she’d written.
The one he’d gotten had four speeds. But she supposed she could let that slide.
“Well played,” she said aloud. “I guess I owe you dinner, Cole Talent.”
• • •
At six p.m. on the dot, she heard the door open again. Automatically she reached for the knife on the small kitchen counter, but the nerves turned to butterflies in her belly as she leaned over it to find Cole locking the door behind him. A leather satchel hung from one shoulder. The white dress shirt stretched across his back and tapered to his waist, giving just a subtle hint of the undershirt beneath. For a moment she let her gaze dip lower, to the gray slacks that covered his perfect ass and shifted against the long, lean muscles of his legs.
He turned, and her gaze shot up. Heat rose up her neck as a small smile quirked his lips. It was a subtle expression, quiet, like he was, but true. The kind of look people had when they let their guard down, when they didn’t care who was watching.
He was the kind of man who had no idea he was sexy.
Focus, she told herself. They were going to talk tonight, figure out a plan. She was going to find out exactly what was going on inside that head of his.
But for the first time in the history of forever she found herself tongue-tied. He’d gotten new glasses—brown plastic frames that screamed Clark Kent. His hair was tousled, not on purpose, but like he’d driven with a window open, and his jaw was just beginning to show a shadow of stubble.
The butterflies must have been on steroids, because their fluttering had turned into a MMA fight.
“I got your message.” He took a step toward her. Paused. “You said six, right?”
He didn’t put down his bag, holding on to the strap as if he might leave if she said she’d meant seven. His brows pinched together, and she felt a sudden urge to smooth out the lines that had formed there with her thumb.
Answers.
“Yes,” she said, over the boiling pots on the stove. “I’m glad you could catch a break.”
She pulled the lid off one of the pots, the garlic sauce she’d made wafting into the air around them.
He frowned. “I’m sorry I’ve been gone so much.”
She waved a spoon at him to stop. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I’m just glad you’re here.”
“Oh.”
Now she was the curious one. Did that surprise him?
“It smells pretty incredible.” He shrugged, tapping his fingers against his thighs. He never seemed to know exactly to do when his hands weren’t busy. He finally took off the satchel and set it on the floor. “You didn’t have to cook for me.”
“I didn’t.” She winked at him when he looked unsure again. “The cooking I did for me. The eating is where you come in.”
The return of Cole’s grin was noted victoriously. Things weren’t going to be awkward because they’d kissed. They had dinner to bridge the gap.
“So how’s everything going?” she asked. First she had to ease him in, then she would get to the harder questions. “You were out late last night.”
“I, um . . . walked around the Bellagio for a while.” He rounded the corner into the kitchen. “Can I help you with something?” He rolled up his sleeves, showing the corded muscles of his forearms.
She was still replaying the last thing he’d said, and couldn’t help the flare of irritation. She was all for getting lost in the crowds, but taking unnecessary risks and exposing himself was just plain dangerous.
She turned off the stove.
“All right. Sit down.” She pointed the spoon at him and he took a seat at the small kitchen table. “I get you’re the strong and silent type, but you’ve got to give me something here.”
His heel tapped against the tile floor. Tap, tap, tap.
“You think a hundred thoughts a second. I can see the smoke coming out of your ears.” She took one of the chairs beside him, pulling it closer so that she could face him. “Just tell me.”
“Tell you what?” The way he looked at her made it hard to remember her own train of thought. His eyes weren’t just brown, they were milk chocolate, growing darker around the edges.
“Anything,” she said. “How about this? Just tell me the first thing that comes to your mind.”
“What? Now?” He looked vaguely panicked.
“No,” she said, realizing she was coming on too strong. If she kept this up he’d shut down again and she couldn’t risk that. “No. When I say the code word.”
She’d left the bottle of wine he’d bought open on the table to breathe, and poured it into two glasses she’d found in the cabinet. Clearly they were going to need it.
“What’s the code word?” he asked suspiciously.
“Hmm . . .” She tapped her chin with one finger, pushing a mug toward him with the other hand. “Hobbit.”
He chuckled. Took a sip.
“Hobbit,” he said.
“That’s right.” She rose, and returned to the stove to prepare their plates. “Be prepared, it may come at any point.”
“I’m terrified.”
It was probably the truest thing he’d told her so far.
“So you were walking around the Bellagio,” she prompted, placing a chicken breast on his plate and covering it with garlic sauce. Taste-testing was part of the cooking gig, something her grandfather had taught her when she was a little girl, and while she knew this was good, she was dying to see his face when he took a bite.
“I parked in the garage last night and went inside for a while. If someone was following me, I figured I’d lose them there.”
Her hand paused over the green beans. “Someone followed you?”
“No.” He stared down at his mug of wine. “I was just being paranoid. Taking extra precautions. I didn’t want to lead anyone back here to you.”
“To me.”
He looked up at her. Nodded.
Her heart did a little flip-flop.
She returned to the plates, face warm, and finished them with a sprig of parsley.
“Wow.” His eyes went wide as she carried them to the table.
“I call this Chicken a la Kenzie, served with a light but zesty garlic-and-star-fruit chutney, green beans, and a side of four-speed, waterproof vibrator.”
He choked on his mug of wine, and coughed into his hand.
“Oops,” she said with a grin. “I meant polenta.”
“I see how you confused the two.”
She handed him a fork. “Try it.”
Sitting on the edge of her chair, she bit her bottom lip, watching him take the first bite. The look on his face when it reached his mouth went from restrained to subtly sexual, and when he closed his eyes she focused on his thick, dark lashes, magnified by his lenses, and his high cheekbones, and the way his throat moved when he swallowed.
His eyes opened. She pulled back, not having realized she was leaning forward.
“It’s terrible,” he said.
She gaped at him.
He tried to keep a straight face, but couldn’t hold her gaze.
She punched his arm. He rocked away, rocked back. The smile he offered was quick but genuine.
“You should probably just stay here in Vegas and cook in my restaurant. I can’t let you subject the poor innocent people of Ambrose to this anymore. It’s not fair to them.”
As predicted, good food made everything better.
“So how’s it going with your restaurant?” she asked.
His smile tightened. He stared down at his plate. “Busy.”
And they were back to awkward again. It was like he’d built a wall around anything even remotely personal. Small talk he’d mastered, but anything deeper and he shut down.
She picked up a green bean with her fingers, chewing the end.
“What’s it like?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, is it fancy? Is it another steak house? Will you have juggling circus clowns serving sushi? Will there be an active volcano in the seating area?”
“It’s . . .”
“Hobbit,” she said.
He looked over at her. Shook his head. Sighed. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”
Finally. Something.
“You managed the restaurant in Reno, right? Won’t this be the same?”
“Yes. No. Marsi set everything up in Reno, I just followed through. This has to be different. Rare is classy. This has to be . . . Vegas.”
“Chic,” she said. “Fancy. A little gaudy.”
He side-eyed her. “I thought you said you’d never been to Vegas.”
“I haven’t. But I know what you mean. You want something hot, not something cool.”
“Yes.” He set his fork down. “Yes. That’s exactly right.”
He didn’t look particularly thrilled, despite the relief that she understood.
“What are you serving?”
“Chicken a la Kenzie,” he said, making her laugh. “A limited menu. Upscale. I haven’t hired a head chef yet.”
For a moment she imagined what it would be like to work in a big, fancy kitchen with a staff of people to do her bidding. She could design the menu, change it out on a weekly basis. Experiment with things like star fruit whenever she wanted.
“What’s the theme in the dining room?”
“I don’t know.” He rested his elbows on the table, and set his head in his hands. “We have a soft opening in three weeks and I don’t even have chairs and tables.”
She put a hand on his shoulder, feeling him stiffen beneath her touch.
“You want my advice?”
He turned to face her fully, taking her a little off guard. Most of the time he was edging away, or at a distance. The only time he’d been this directly attentive was when he’d kissed her.
“Don’t do any of that,” she said.
“What?”
“There’s a reason you’re three weeks away from opening and a theme hasn’t stuck yet. You’re looking in the wrong direction.”
He sat back in his chair, grabbing his wine. “Okay.”
“This is Vegas,” she said. “And people expect Vegas when they come here, but there’s a whole strip of hotels and night clubs for that. You don’t strike me as the fast-and-furious type.”
“I don’t,” he said slowly.
She shook her head. “You have a different pace. You think about everything. You care about things, deeply. Like family—that’s why you came for Cassie, right?”
He took another drink.
“This restaurant should be a reflection of you. Otherwise you’ll resent it. You’ll hate being there.”
His shoulders sagged. She wondered if she’d crossed the line. It was the truth, though. Flapjacks was home to her for a reason. She lived and breathed it, welcomed everyone in like family. Sure, there were changes she wanted to make, but the structure would remain the same. It would always be an extension of her grandfather’s kitchen. The kind of place where people slowed down and talked.
“So what do you suggest?” he asked.
She studied him, realizing this was the most he’d opened up to her since he’d first shown up at the diner.
“A break from all the city noise,” she said, waving her hand. “Somewhere quiet and homey, where people can be with people they like, not people they don’t know. Somewhere that people feel cared about and special, not like they don’t matter since they’re leaving Monday anyway. That’s the kind of place I would go—that I’d make a point to come back to the next time I was here.”
He stared at her, his expression hard to decipher.
“But that’s just my opinion,” she said.
“You’re right,” he said. “Everything you just said is right.”
She beamed. “I’ve been in this business a long time. My grandpa taught me to flip pancakes when I was three. It’s been in my blood ever since.”
“Was he a chef, too?”
She nodded. “He owned Flapjacks before me. Gave it to me when he died.”
Cole’s hand flinched, as if he might reach for her, but instead he picked up his fork again. “What was he like?”
She smiled. “A talker. Like me.”
“Then I would have liked him.”
A warm quiet filled the space between them. She wasn’t sure if he was just being kind, or if he was saying he liked her, but it made her happy either way.
“He and my grandma raised Garrett and me.” It had been a long time since she’d talked about her grandpa to someone who hadn’t known him, and she found herself regretting the fact that they’d never meet.
“My mom was in the military overseas in the army when she met my father. He was from Spain. All I really know about him is he had another family at home. She found out after I was born, and brought Garrett and me to live in Ambrose with my grandma and grandpa.”
“She went back?”
Kenzie nodded. “To Germany, to finish her service. And then to marry a German guy and live happily ever after.”
“Wow.” Cole shook his head. “Do you ever talk to her?”
“Not really,” she said. “She missed my grandpa’s funeral. Garrett and I kind of gave up on her at that point.” She squeezed his shoulder lightly. “Don’t feel bad for me. We had a great childhood. I think kids should only be with parents who really love them, you know?”
He focused on his food. “Yeah.”
She cringed, wishing she could stick her foot in her mouth. There was so much she didn’t know about his family. From Cassie she’d only learned the basics. Their mom had left. Their father was a psychopath.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“Is your grandma still in Ambrose?” he asked quickly.
Kenzie shook her head, chest swelling with emotion. “She died of breast cancer when I was in high school. Grandpa held on a few years after that, but he wasn’t the same. He didn’t want to keep her waiting on him too long, I think.”
She remembered her grandparents sitting at the counter of Flapjacks, sharing a chocolate milkshake after closing. Whenever she thought of forever love, that was the image that came to mind, though it wasn’t until she was older that she realized how rare it was.
She didn’t dwell on the fact that that counter at Flapjacks was now gone.
Cole’s plate was completely empty, and when she saw him eyeing more food she offered him seconds. He told her he’d get it, and returned with a heaping pile of everything.
“So much for leftovers,” she laughed.
He laughed with her, but grew quiet after a moment.
“You really loved that diner, didn’t you?”
Her stomach tightened. “I grew up there. I did my homework in the corner booth. I learned to ride a bike in the parking lot. Garrett made the best ice cream sundaes when I was in high school. My girlfriends used to all come in just to order from him.”
She breathed in, throat tight. “It was where we went after Grandma died, and where I had my graduation party, and my wedding reception.”
He paused. Took another bite. Chewed.
Too late she realized what she’d said. She was normally an open book, but her marriage wasn’t something she discussed a lot.
“Hello, elephant in the room,” she said. “Won’t you please join us?”
Cole’s ears turned pink.
“Are you still married?” he asked.
She burst out laughing.
“No, I am definitely not still married.” She waved her left hand in front of her face. “Jeez. You think I’d come out here with a handsome stranger if I was?”
He paused. “Handsome?”
She smirked. “Definitely.”
“So what’s the story there?” His gaze shot to hers. “If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s okay.”
She sort of did, though she wasn’t sure exactly why.
“We were high school sweethearts,” she said. “We were stupid in love. He asked me to marry him and I said yes. At eighteen, can you even imagine?” She plucked another green bean and bit off the end. “I learned my lesson. I won’t be making that mistake again.”
She laughed.
He didn’t.
“What happened?” he asked.
Her stomach churned, as it always did when she thought of that time.
“He wanted to see the world. I didn’t.” That was part of it, anyway.
“He left?”
She nodded. “I think I stayed is closer to the mark. I love my home. I love my family. I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.”
“That’s . . . nice,” he said after a moment.
“Well, Levi didn’t think so.”
Cole’s brows drew together. “Not everyone has that—a place pulling them back.”
It was more than a place, though. It was a home. It was her roots. It was everything that was her, that she’d made, that she was proud of.
And she could tell by the scowl on his face that he didn’t have the same thing.
“I think they do, they just have to find it.” She tapped her fork against her lips, watching the way his gaze lowered and stuck there. “Even Levi did. Before we’d even signed the papers he’d found where he was supposed to be. And who he was supposed to be with.”
Carrie. Her ex–best friend. Time healed all wounds—except maybe that one. She was never happier than the day those two moved to Minneapolis.
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” Cole said.
“Don’t be,” she said. “We were only married a year. Anyway, it was his loss.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder, an echo of hurt lingering behind her ribs.
“Yes, it was,” said Cole. Again, the space between them warmed, making her skin tingle and her pulse skip.
“I guess you’ve never been married,” she said.
He shook his head.
“Are you seeing anyone?”
A slow smile warmed his face. “You think I’d invite a beautiful woman to stay with me if I were?”
“Whoa,” she said, holding up her hands. “That wine’s making you a little punchy, sir. Let’s tone it down.”
He chuckled. “Sorry.”
She was grinning, and maybe the wine was making her punchy, too, because she liked this. Liked being close to him and talking to him. Liked the way he listened with his whole body, leaning toward her, stopping everything he was doing.
“Anyone serious?” The outside of her socked foot touched his shoe. It was an accident, and she should have moved away, but she didn’t.
Her foot flexed, skimming his ankle, and then coming back down.
He shook his head too quickly. “Not really.”
There was more to that story, but for now she wouldn’t pry. She liked Cole, but she still hadn’t gotten what she needed from him. Getting him loosened up was one thing, but digging through his exes would make things messy.
“So,” she said, leaning a little closer. “I guess it’s okay then if I give you a little birthday present.”
His gaze was back on her mouth, and when she moved closer so that her knees touched his, his eyes widened, just the slightest bit.
I’m sorry, he’d said yesterday morning. They’d just see about that.
“My birthday?” He blinked. “Is today. Today is my birthday.”
Clearly he’d forgotten. She didn’t understand how people ever forgot their birthdays. When hers came around she made announcements for a month, making sure everyone in the vicinity knew they had to attend to her every whim.
“That’s what I hear.” She moved a little closer. She could feel his breath on her lips now. See the way he fought to hold still, even while his hands were gripping his thighs. “So do you want your present or not?”
“Yes?” The question seemed to confuse him. She laughed.
Then she stood, and walked to the pantry, hearing his chair creak as he leaned back and blew out a heavy breath.
She smiled, but her heart was racing. Playing with him, at least a little, seemed necessary, but the effect he had on her was undeniable. She wanted him in a way that she hadn’t wanted anyone in a long time, maybe ever, and that scared her more than a little. She was already relying on him too much for her safety; she needed to keep what control she had.
Opening the pantry, she pulled out the cake she’d made this morning, and turned, stuffing all the feelings swirling around back into that deep place inside.
“Ta-da!” she announced as she turned. And then began to sing.