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My pulse pounded in my ears. A large man stepped between us and caught Marcy by the shoulders when she tried to rush Richard again.

“Please,” she sobbed, struggling against him. “Just tell me why you killed her.”

Richard never looked back. He opened the passenger door and ushered me inside. The noise from the crowd vanished when he closed it, leaving me alone with her accusation.

The drive started tense. I stared out the window, fingers twisting in my lap as the scenery blurred by. I remembered the news reports about Jessica Harlan, the pretty redhead who’d vanished a month ago. Missing, presumed dead. They’d found a body in the woods, so damaged it was nearly unidentifiable.

“Richard,” I said hesitantly. “Who was that?”

He glanced over, one hand on the wheel, the other reaching across to rest on my knee. “Some drugged out woman who’s clearly confused. I’ve never seen her before in my life, Sam.” His tone was smooth and reassuring. “People latch onto anyone who vaguely resembles someone they know. It’s nothing.”

I studied his profile, searching for any crack. “But Jessica… the girl on the news. You didn’t know her at all?”

He shook his head, eyes focused on the road. “Sam, come on. I’d tell you if I did. I promise. Don’t let that druggie get in your head.” A small smile tugged at his lips, trying to lighten the mood. “You’re not about to start binging true-crime shows and interrogating me over dinner, are you?”

I managed a weak laugh. “No. It was just… weird. The way she looked at you, like she really knew you.”

He squeezed my knee gently. “Weird doesn’t equal true. Let it go. We’ve got better things waiting, like that pasta you promised to help me not completely ruin. Deal?”

“Deal,” I murmured, though the unease lingered.

By the time we reached his place, Richard had flipped the switch back to full charm. He pulled me into the kitchen, tying one of his aprons around my waist, his fingers grazing my hips in a way that made my breath catch.

“Look at us,” he murmured, lips brushing my temple. “Domestic gods in the making. Or at least one very talented domestic goddess and her incredibly lucky sous-chef.”

I leaned into him, trying to recapture the lightness from earlier. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

He chuckled and handed me a knife and a pile of vegetables. “It got me here…with you. For the record, I don’t hate this. Not when it’s with you.”

We fell into our rhythm quickly. Him at the stove sautéing onions and garlic until the kitchen smelled like heaven, me chopping beside him and stealing tastes from his spoon. He kept pulling me in for quick kisses between stirs, or dipping me dramatically against the counter until I was laughing so hard my sides hurt.

“You’re crazy,” I said, swatting him with a dish towel as he nipped at my neck.

“I’m crazy for you,” he replied, eyes locked on mine with that intense, playful spark.

I grinned, stirring the pasta. He stole another kiss, deeper this time, his hands sliding to my waist. “I could get used to this. You here with me every day…always.”

The TV droned softly from the living room. “…developing story in the Jessica Harlan disappearance. Authorities confirm new leads…”

Richard picked up the remote from the kitchen counter, pointed it toward the living room, and changed the channel. Smooth, sultry jazz replaced the news, saxophone curling low and lazy through the space.

He set the remote down and crossed to me in a few quick strides, pulling me flush against him with a wicked grin. “That’s better,” he murmured, as his hands settled on my waist. “Enough of that noise. I’d rather listen to something that matches how incredible you look right here, making my whole place smell like heaven and driving me a little crazy in the process.”

I laughed and kissed him back, letting the flirtation wash over me, the heat of his mouth, the way we fit together so easily.

He looked at me. For a moment, he didn’t say anything.

Then he exhaled.

“I haven’t exactly been myself since my parents died.” He gave a quiet laugh, but there wasn’t anything amused about it. “I’ve been angry. I don’t sleep half the time. Some days I wake up and still expect one of them to call me, and then I remember they’re both gone.”

I reached for him, but Richard caught my hand before I could touch his face.

“I don’t think you understand how bad it would’ve been if you hadn’t been here.” His eyes lifted to mine. “You saved me, Samantha.”

My chest tightened.

“Richard, I—”