“Not even close.”
Terrific. “Can you talk about any of it?”
“Yeah. It’s a dirty little crossover that’ll involve several agencies,” he said. “Basically, someone stored a bunch off-the-shelf health supplements in a warehouse that burned down in Portland last week. Lab folks found volatile residue on the packaging, nothing I can sell in court, but enough to make the fire behave like it had a tailwind. That kind of language pulls ATF into origin-and-cause work, so now I’m running manifests, subpoenas, and keeping an eye on a few PO boxes that trace back to small retailers. It’s a joint task force with the FDA, TTB, FBI, and right now the local PD in Portland. Too many people.” He shrugged and gave a half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Welcome to my Tuesday.”
I frowned. “Health supplements?”
“Yeah, and most aren’t regulated. There’s a huge pipeline of iffy shit being sold as health supplements, in everything from vitamins to micro-dosed mushrooms.”
When we reached his cabin—well, our cabin now—he parked and got out first. Before I could grab my bag, he opened my door, reached in, and hauled me out with strength and his sweet gentleness. The rain hit hard, cold and sudden, and I tucked myself against his chest as he ducked his head over mine and jogged up to the porch.
I sighed. “Oh, I forgot. Brickhouse isn’t here.”
“I didn’t,” Aiden said, voice low.
He’d given me the adorable two-year-old protection dog for Valentine’s Day, and right now Brickhouse was having a playdate with my cousin Knox’s dog. The house felt too quiet without him. Though, with Aiden this close, I couldn’t exactly call it empty.
He opened the door and pushed it wide. Aiden walked inside. I was carried. He kicked the door shut behind us, rain dripping from his hair, and his arm tightened briefly around me.
“I forgot to ask,” he murmured. “Do we know what kind of lotion was in the pie?”
“Maybe? I guess they could smell the peppermint, which is Nana’s signature blend,” I muttered, pretty comfy in his arms. “I have no idea who could have slipped lotion into Gloria’s crappy mint concoction.”
He chuckled, low and rough. “You don’t know it was crappy.”
“I bet the lotion made it taste better,” I said loyally. “Nana makes the best pie. She always does.”
He raised an eyebrow. “More importantly, rumor has it your Nonna was sticking up for your Nana.”
“You should’ve seen it happen.” I leaned closer, my voice softer than I intended. His warmth was grounding after the chaos of the day.
“Does anybody have an explanation for their sudden, ah, friendship?”
Wouldn’t that be great? “No. More importantly, nobody knows how to ask. They’ve never talked about why they don’t like each other, so I doubt they’ll start now.” My head reeled for a second. “All of a sudden, Nonna was looking out for Nana.”
“Don’t read too much into it,” Aiden drawled easily, crossing to the sofa and dropping down with me cradled on his lap. His voice carried the same mix of calm and command that always made me want to argue and melt at the same time. “I could start a fire,” he said, glancing toward the empty fireplace.
“It’s not that cold.” My body relaxed even as my heart picked up. We’d been updating and decorating his three-bedroom cabin for almost a month, and I loved the place. “What do you mean, don’t read too much into it?”
“Well, your Nonna’s into that new detective agency she started,” he said, stretching an arm along the back of the sofa. “Chances are she figured she had a case on her hands.”
I snuggled into him. “Yeah, but she wasn’t acting like an investigator,” I said. “She was defending Nana.”
“I can’t explain that,” he muttered.
“None of us can,” I said quietly. “It was really weird.”
He looked down at me, his expression softening. “All you can do is talk to her about it.”
“Yeah.” My shoulders loosened, and I rested against him, breathing in that familiar mix of man and motor oil. “Hey, thanks for helping with the float. We’re still going to have all the St. Patrick’s Day events, right?”
“Yeah.” His thumb brushed over my arm, slow and warm. “I called in a favor with the techs from Spokane. They should have the shop cleared by morning. Everything will stay on track.” He smiled faintly. “I’d never miss Silverville’s St. Patrick’s Day week.”
Tingles exploded in my abdomen. “That’s good. You are Irish, you know.”
“So I’ve been told.” He leaned in and kissed me, soft at first, then more certain. More heat sparked low in my stomach, a pulse of something too real to ignore.
His phone buzzed.
