Had he put them away out of respect, knowing I was coming over? Was he trying to forget and move on? The former made more sense. Dominique seemed to guard Angelique’s memory and wasn’t ready to share her, especially with me. They were together for fifteen years. How could I compete with that? I might always be second best, and although part of me had accepted that, it saddened me that I would always have to share him with a ghost.
Dominique returned as I examined a picture of Cosette in a high chair. An orange mess of spaghetti covered her face and hair, noodles glued to her cheeks and bare arms. A toothy smile and chubby cheeks. She’d been captured mid-laugh with gooey fingers clutched together like she was clapping.
“Her first birthday,” Dominique said, coming up beside me. “It only got worse from there. Homemade chocolate cake for dessert with far too much frosting. By the end of the meal, I wasequally covered and unable to take more pictures lest I ruin the camera.”
I chuckled. “Looks like a good day.”
“It was. Memorable.” Dominique stared wistfully at his daughter, and I remembered then that his wife had died the day Cosette was born. It was more than a birthday celebration. It was a sad anniversary.
“It took almost two hours to clean up the kitchen and her,” Dominique said. “I had to wash the walls, and the one beside the high chair remained permanently stained.”
“Was it worth it?”
He nodded, still lost in the photograph.
“You’re a good dad.”
He didn’t respond. A painful expression strained his eyes. Cosette’s mother had missed it all, but perhaps it was still too raw for him to talk about.
Recognizing I’d made the moment uncomfortable, I shifted and tipped my head high, sniffing the air. “What smells so good? I’m not going to lie. I’m starving.”
Dominique blinked from his funk, and a trace of a smile touched one side of his mouth. “Chicken parmesan, garlic toast, and a garden salad with homemade vinaigrette. Is that okay?”
“Sounds phenomenal.”
He led me into the kitchen, where a round, country-style dinette was set with plates and cutlery, awaiting my arrival. Fabric napkins had been neatly folded beside each plate setting. A pitcher of ice water with floating lemon slices sat in the middle of the table. It felt welcoming and romantic.
Dominique waved for me to sit as he used two pot holders to pull a covered dish from the oven. He removed the foil, and steam rose along with the rich scent of seasoning and savory sauce.
“Can I do anything?” I asked as he collected our plates.
“Pour water? I was going to open a bottle of wine, but then I remembered you’re still on the clock. Wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.” He paused. “You are still on the clock, aren’t you?”
“Actually, no. I’m done for the day. We’re talking to a handful of students tomorrow to see if we can’t answer some of our more elusive questions, but otherwise, things aren’t unfolding as we hoped. We don’t have any concrete leads, so linking our victims has become the priority. Navid in particular. If we can figure out how he connects to the other two, it might give us a better direction. My sergeant isn’t happy. The longer it takes for us to make an arrest, the more agitated the public becomes. The press is already hounding us.”
Dominique filled our plates. “In that case, would you like a proper drink? Sounds like you might need it.”
“I would, but I’m not much of a wine drinker.”
He set my plate down before sitting across from me with his own dinner. “A cocktail when we’re finished then. Call it a nightcap.”
“Excellent.”
We shared a smile, and Dominique motioned to my plate. “Eat. Tell me what you think.”
I cut into my breaded chicken, doused in sauce and layered with cheese, and put the piece into my mouth. Dominique waited with an arched brow.
Pleasure erupted across my tongue, and I groaned. “My god. It’s incredible. The man can cook, ladies and gentlemen.” I set my fork down and blotted my mouth with a napkin. “That’s it. I know it’s fast, but we’re getting married. If I don’t lock you in, someone will steal you from me, and I can’t have that.”
I earned the official Dominique smile that activated on one side only. It brought a rare sparkle of life to the surface, and I was glad to see his perpetual sadness gone. “You presume I’m agood enough person to marry based on my cooking?” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “What if I’m terrible in bed?”
“Good point. What was I thinking? Let’s revisit the marriage proposal in the morning, shall we?”
Dominique arched a brow as he stabbed the leafy greens of his salad. “You’re spending the night now? Awfully presumptuous. I recall inviting you for dinner, not for a sleepover.”
“What can I say? I’m an optimist.”
“Apparently.”
