The threat is still out there. The surveillance, the fires, the man with patience and a camera, and just enough skill to be dangerous.
“I’m walking you to your car,” I tell her.
“That sounds even less optional than it used to.”
I take her laptop bag and guide her to the parking lot with one hand at her back.
When we reach her SUV, she turns before I can open her door. “Weston.”
I look down at her. The fear is still there, and the fatigue, but under both, there’s something new and bright that makes me want to drag this whole town tighter around her until nothing bad can reach her.
“Be careful,” she says.
I touch her jaw once, briefly this time. “Always.”
It’s a lie, maybe. Men like me don’t always know how to be careful—not in the way she’d want me to be. But for her, I’ll learn.
CHAPTER 23
ELENA
I’m not surprised to see Weston’s truck in my driveway when I get home from work on Friday. I am surprised when I open the front door and am greeted by the smells of garlic, tomatoes, and something rich enough to make my stomach clench.
“Weston?”
He was at the school for lunch duty today, as usual. At some point, I mentioned T.J. was going to sleep over at his friend’s house tonight. Later in the conversation, when Weston asked for my house keys, I assumed he and Buck or Calder were going to do something with the security equipment.
It smells like I was wrong.
Weston calls back to me, and I find him in my kitchen, a wooden spoon in one hand and a dish towel draped over his shoulder like this is the most natural thing in the world. I’m vaguely aware of a big pot bubbling behind him on the stove, but my attention snags on the pale blue t-shirt thatfits his upper body like it was specially made to highlight his muscles.
In jeans and socked feet, he looks the most relaxed I’ve ever seen him, and something low and hungry wakes in me that has nothing to do with dinner.
“I wasn’t expecting you so early,” he says with a crooked little smile.
Despite that, the dining table is fully set for two, complete with white tapered candles, folded napkins, and a bottle of wine.
“I wasn’t expecting any of this. What’s going on?”
He sets the spoon down and starts toward me. “I’m trying not to ruin dinner. I can cook about three things without embarrassing myself, and this is the best one.”
“What is it?” I smile up at him as he gently takes hold of my shoulders with his big hands.
“My grandma’s spaghetti recipe.”
He bends to greet me with a sweet press of his lips to mine, and my throat tightens. “I’m honored,” I say when he straightens.
He lifts a brow playfully. “Was it that good a kiss?”
I wrap a hand around his arm in answer to his teasing, but really, I’m looking for an excuse to touch him again. “Honored by you cooking a family recipe for me,” I clarify.
“It’s one of my best secret weapons.” He gives me a dark, flirty look before he returns to the stove, leaving me wondering what other secret weapons he has, and whetheror not we can skip dinner and head straight into the bedroom.
I follow him and peek around him to see the stove, where, in addition to the red sauce, there’s a big pot filled with water where tiny bubbles are just starting to rise, and a pan with browned sausages. The oven’s on, too, radiating a buttery garlic smell.
“I had no idea this was why you asked for my keys. How long have you been here?”
“Long enough to look through your bathroom cabinets and your lingerie drawer,” he says. “Love that racy hot pink thong.”
