She side-eyed me. “I just admitted to you that I’d cover up a murder for a child and you think it’s a good idea for me to have one?”
I laughed. “You might have a point.”
“Of course I do. I’m more suited for the role of crazy, sexy aunt who will bail you out of jail and fuck your probation officer to get you off the hook.”
“Wow. That’s really specific.”
“Yeah,” she conceded. “Might be a fantasy of mine.”
“Be careful, or you’ll end up in jail beside the niece or nephew you’re trying to help.”
She laughed. “Oh, honey, I would never get caught.”
For some reason, I believed her.
While I worked on another set of raviolis, Shari put a large pot of water on to boil. Then she melted butter in a saucepan before adding white wine, tomatoes, parmesan, and seasonings. By the time the water broke into a boil, her sauce was simmering, and I had the ravioli ready for the pot. As the ravioli finished, I threw together a Caesar salad and Shari put the finishing touches on her sauce.
“I do believe we’ve outdone ourselves this time, Hound,” Shari said, handing me a tasting spoon.
She was right. It was the best dish I’d ever tasted. I cleaned the tasting spoon before tossing it into the dishwasher. “You’re a fuckin’ wizard in the kitchen.”
“Oh, honey, I’m a wizard ineveryroom,” she corrected with a sly smile. “Let’s put this in warmers and get it out on the table.”
As anticipated, dinner was a huge success. Everyone raved, and Shari made sure to give me my undeserved props, since all I’d done was stuff ravioli and make the salad. Still, it felt good to contribute, and as I ate with my brothers, I basked in their compliments.
The only thing that would have made the meal better was sharing it with Mila. Unfortunately, she didn’t show.
After dinner was over, I helped the other prospects clean up. Still bothered by Mila’s absence, I made her a plate, grabbed a bottle of water, and headed upstairs to check on her. Pausing in front of her door, I considered calling first. I didn’t know where we stood, though, and it was a lot easier to ignore a ringing phone than someone physically at your door. Gathering up all the courage I could muster, I knocked.
When Mila answered, her eyes were puffy and red, and her cheeks were splotchy.
“You okay?” I asked, concerned.
“Yeah.” She sniffed, eyeing the plate in my hand. “What’s this?”
“You didn’t come down for dinner, and I thought you might be hungry.”
She stepped aside, gesturing for me to come in. As I passed, I offered her the plate.
“I wasn’t, but this smells really good. It’s making me hungry. Thank you.”
“No problem. I… uh… I stuffed the ravioli.” I sounded like a little kid bragging about coloring in the lines or following a dot-to-dot. It was such a stupid thing to be proud of that I felt my cheeks heat up with embarrassment. I wasn’t five and I had no business trying to impress a woman like Mila by telling her I’d helped in the goddamn kitchen.
“You cook?” she asked. Leaving her door open, she carried the plate to the loveseat and sat.
Her interest only made me feel like more of a poser. “I’m learning,” I corrected, leaning against the wall.
She took a bite. “Mm. Delicious. Thanks again.” She probably expected me to leave, but when I didn’t, she patted the cushion beside her. “You can have a seat if you want.”
Accepting her invitation with a nod, I peeled myself off the wall and closed the distance between us. As I sat, I tried to ignore the welcome heat of her leg against mine. This was the closest we’d been, and it felt… right. I liked it. I wanted to watch her enjoy the meal, but refused to stare at her like a creep and make her uncomfortable. Instead, I scanned the room. Nice, matching luggage was stacked against the wall beside her nightstand and her bed was made.
“Did you get all unpacked?” I asked, trying to make conversation.
Swallowing back a bite, she replied, “Mostly. I need to pick up more coat hangers.”
“I’ll snag some from my room. I have extras.”
“You don’t have to do that, Hound.”
