“Yeah. She lived with us for a few years before she died.” I add more stock and watch it absorb. “She made me practice this same risotto every Sunday until I got it right. Let’s just say I wasn’t a natural.”
A smile tugs at Tierney’s lips. “How long did that take?”
I chuckle. “Six months. I kept rushing it, getting pissed off when it didn’t turn out the right way.” I glance up at her. “She'd make me throw the whole damn thing out and start over every single time.”
Something flickers across Tierney's face, a faraway look that disappears almost as quickly as it came. “Sounds like she cared about you.”
I turn away from the stove and look at her.
“She was the best. When we were younger and she’d babysit, the two of us would always stay up to watch The Late Show. She’d give me two pieces of my favorite chocolate. It was like our little secret.”
“That’s sweet,” she muses.
“Did you have someone like that?”
Her jaw tightens. “Yes. My ma's ma. Gran. She died when I was fifteen.”
“What was she like?”
“Oh my God, she was so tough. So no-nonsense. She used to tell me stories about how she grew up while teaching me to braid my hair.” Tierney's eyes drop to the marble countertop. She drags a finger over the black vein that runs through it. “She said a woman needed to know how to be softand hard at the same time. How to look pretty while hiding a knife in her boot.”
She raises her eyes to me and shrugs. “Basic life skills.”
I grin. “Smart fucking woman.”
“The smartest. When Ma died, Gran was the only one who understood that I wasn't just angry. I was lost.” She looks down at her hands. “She taught me how to shoot even before Da. She said if the world was going to be cruel to me, I better be ready to be crueler back.”
“Sounds like someone I would've really liked.”
“Yeah, she would've liked you too. She had a thing for dangerous men with smart mouths.” She raises an eyebrow and shoots me a pointed look.
I turn back to the stove and grab a ladle from the drawer. Then I scoop each of us a serving and slide a plate across the island toward her. “Sorry that you lost them both.”
“Yeah, well. Life happens.” Her voice cracks just a little.
She scoops some of the risotto onto her spoon, blows on it, and pops it into her mouth. Her eyes drift closed, a soft sound escaping her lips. It goes straight to my dick.
“This is incredible,” she says.
“You like?”
“I love. This is the best thing I've eaten since I got here.” She winks at me. “Don’t tell your ma. I don’t want her to hate me more.”
I chuckle and take a bite, watching her eat. A tiny burst of pride makes my chest swell. She savors it instead of just shoveling it down. “So what'd you cook back in Dublin?”
“I could barely boil water. Da had people for that.” She shrugs. "Besides, I was usually too busy with other things to careabout food.”
“Like what?”
“Training. Target practice in the basement range Da built.” Her voice gets wistful. “I had my own setup down there. It was a great way to let off steam. I’m an incredible shot, too, in case you were wondering.”
“Not a shock,” I say. “Do you miss it?”
“Every day.” She meets my eyes. "I don’t want to lose that skill, either. And here I can't even carry a knife without setting off your security.”
It’s pretty clear why she's been so restless and pissed off. No way to channel the emotions. I mean, I could think of ways but she’d probably try to cut off my dick if I suggested them. “When's the last time you shot?”
“A week before our wedding. I went to the range with Damien, let him think he was teaching me.” A small smile tugs at her lips and my spine stiffens when I hear his name. “Poor guy thought he was impressing me.”
