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Desiree glanced at the empty plates in the sink. “He did. It was actually good.”

His mother beamed at him, then leaned closer to Desiree, hand cupped like she was about to reveal a secret. “The trick is getting him to remember the bay leaf. It took me ten years to get him trained.”

“He remembered.” Desiree nodded with approval.

His mother leaned back, eyes wide in mock astonishment. “Well, you must be a miracle worker. Usually, he’s more likely to burn the garlic and then pretend he meant to do it.”

Brandon tried to steer things back. “We were just—uh—going through old incident reports from Dad’s study. Cold case stuff.”

His mom was already opening the fridge, rifling through Tupperware containers with the single-minded focus of a bloodhound. “Did he offer you dessert? I made a cobbler on Sunday. It’s peach, but I threw in a handful of raspberries to keep things lively. That’s what we always did when money was tight. You wouldn’t believe what you can stretch with a good box of Bisquick and the right attitude.”

Brandon attempted to intervene. “We’re actually fine. We were about to⁠—”

“Nonsense,” his mother dismissed, already scooping cobbler into bowls. “You can’t send a guest home hungry. It’s not Christian.” She handed one of the bowls to Desiree with a grateful smile.

Desiree took a bite, and her eyes immediately widened with appreciation. Brandon watched as she composed herself, then nodded in solemn appreciation. “This is delicious.”

His mother clapped her hands together, delighted, then turned her gaze on her son. “See, I told you. If you’d just learn to follow a recipe instead of improvising like some TV chef, you could have had a wife by now.”

Brandon sputtered, then shook his head, giving up all hope of regaining control. “We’re working a case, Mom.”

She made a dismissive sound, already rooting through the mail on the table. “Cases can wait for dessert,” she insisted, then to Desiree, “I hope my son isn’t working you too hard. I hear female investigators have to do the work of three men just to get noticed. I read an article.”

Desiree snorted, the sound involuntary and almost a laugh. “That’s—accurate,” she admitted.

His mother looked smug, then patted Brandon’s arm as she passed. “This one’s got a good work ethic—I can tell.”

He shot Desiree a pleading look. She just shrugged, as if to say, "You’re on your own.”

“So,” his mother continued, now settling into her own barstool at the island counter, folding her hands like a boardroom president. “You two been at it all day?”

“Most of the afternoon,” Brandon informed his mother. “Trying to connect some old witness statements to the new fires.”

“Well, I hope you’re making time for some fun. You know what they say, all work and no play…” his mother let the old saying trail off.

Desiree raised an eyebrow. “Makes for a dull investigator?”

“Exactly,” his mother smiled and tapped the table for emphasis. “Let me know if he’s not pulling his weight. I can call in a favor with his old Sunday school teacher.”

Brandon rolled his eyes but couldn’t help smiling. This was his mother, weaponizing his childhood. It was both exhausting and oddly comforting.

After a few more minutes, the conversation wound down. His mother excused herself, claiming she needed to “get the guest room ready just in case,” but Brandon knew she’d spend the next hour on the phone, telling every church friend that her son had brought a woman home for dinner.

He stood in the kitchen, arms folded, cheeks still a little warm from embarrassment. He looked over at Desiree, who was licking the last of the cobbler off her fork.

“Sorry about that,” he apologized.

She set the fork down, and for the first time all night, her posture relaxed, shoulders dropping, a smile—small but genuine—on her lips. “She’s…not what I expected.”

He grinned. “That’s what everyone says.”

They stood there for a second, neither knowing what to say. Then Desiree pointed to the door. “It’s getting late. I should probably get back to the inn.”

He nodded. “Let me walk you out.”

From the back hall, his mother’s voice floated, “It was so nice meeting you, dear. Come back anytime.”

Desiree politely shouted back, “Thank you for having me, Mrs. Holloway.”