Chapter 10
ten
Cole
Iarrive at the main building with a few minutes to spare.
Unsure where the entrance to her private quarters is located, I head into the front office, where I find Tink behind the reception desk.
She holds up a finger without sparing me a glance and continues her assault on the keyboard while I busy myself inspecting the various pictures on the walls.
When the clicking sound finally ceases, I turn to face her.
“Just had to send this order off so I can give you my full attention. Dinner is already in the oven and should be done shortly. I hope you like Italian. My nonna left me her recipe for this killer lasagna she used to make, and I swear it’s the best damn thing you’ll ever taste.”
“That’s a bold statement, considering I’m a federal agent who’s traveled all over the world, including Italy.”
“Nonna Lucia was as authentic as they come,” she states, seemingly unbothered by me questioning her cooking abilities. Like she knows I’ll find out the truth soon enough and is already looking forward to me eating my words.
Her boasting should be off-putting, but oddly enough, I’m beginning to find her no-nonsense attitude endearing.
“Well, let’s get you that drink you seem to be needing so badly to get through an evening in my company, shall we?
” Her eyes flash with mischief, and she shoots me a playful wink before she disappears through the open doorway behind the desk, leaving me no choice but to follow.
Of fucking course her apartment is located on the second story.
I do my best to keep my gaze fixed somewhere between her shoulder blades as we ascend the stairs.
Something I should be awarded some type of medal for, considering it takes a gargantuan effort.
Once we arrive at the top, Charlie pushes the unlocked door open and swings an arm out to grant me entrance to her domain.
It takes less than two seconds for her show horse to come barreling toward me.
I’m prepared this time, and even though he hits the brakes a little too late and almost takes me out at the knees, I manage to stay upright.
I give him a good scratch behind the ears, and Charlie produces a couple of treats before she tells him to go lie on his bed beside the L-shaped sofa.
I’m surprised when he does so with very little grumbling.
Shutting the door behind me, I take in my surroundings.
At first glance, her place doesn’t look like much, but I have to admit it’s cozy.
It looks lived in, like a home should, complete with throw blankets, decorative pillows, and colorful curtains.
Personal knick-knacks and pictures adorn a variety of surfaces, giving me insight into the person behind the tough exterior.
Her place is basically the complete opposite of my bachelor pad, which is devoid of anything not considered a bare necessity.
I push past her and into the open space that combines the living room, dining area, and kitchen.
A narrow hallway on the opposite side of the entrance leads to what I can only assume would be the main bedroom and bathroom.
Overall, her place appears simple but clean, and it smells fucking divine.
The mouthwatering scent of baked cheese and tomato sauce permeates the air, and, on cue, my stomach gives a loud rumble, reminding me I haven’t eaten since noon.
Charlie gives me a knowing look and crosses the room, heading straight to the fridge to pull out a couple of cold beers.
“You want a glass with that?” she asks, twisting the top off and bringing the bottle to her full lips for a generous sip.
Making my way over to her, I lean my hip against the counter and shake my head no.
It feels strange to be in her space. In any woman’s space, really.
About to share a home-cooked meal and enjoying a drink after a day of working side by side.
I’m not sure what the expectation is here.
Is she simply thanking me for helping her out, or is she hoping this leads to something entirely different?
We linger there, each of us sipping our beers to keep our hands and mouths busy, and I barely hold back my sigh of relief when the oven timer goes off. Talk about a saved by the bell moment.
Charlie sticks her hands into a pair of yellow mitts and pulls a perfectly browned lasagna out of the oven before she serves us each a generous piece.
She cuts the garlic bread into thick slices, tosses the garden salad one last time, then nods for me to help carry everything to the small dining table.
“Dig in,” she says once we sit across from each other.
She doesn’t wait for me to take the first bite, too busy shoveling food into her own mouth.
I follow suit, bringing my fork to my lips, and I kid you not, my eyes roll into the back of my head.
The pleasured moan escaping me should be embarrassing, but isn’t, and Tink gives a low chuckle.
“Told you.”
“I’ll never question the truth behind your words again. Holy Mother of God, how is this so good? What’s your nonna’s secret ingredient? Crack?”
“It’s all in the sauce,” she mumbles around a mouthful, pointing the tip of her bottle at my plate before washing it down.
“Most people make their lasagna or pasta dishes with store-bought marinara, and you can make a decent enough meal with those. But if you’re aiming for extraordinary, you have to make it from scratch. Nothing beats fresh ingredients.”
“You’re telling me you whipped this up between cabin repairs and sending off orders?”
“Nah, I made it a while back. Making a homemade sauce takes up a good chunk of time, so I always make a big batch and freeze whatever I don’t use.
Comes in handy on days like today. Now, if my nonna were still alive, she would’ve muttered something along the lines of it being a crime not to serve a perfectly good sauce with homemade pasta.
That woman wouldn’t have been caught dead buying lasagna noodles at the store, but one can only be so ambitious. ”
“So, you’re Italian then?”
“Only a quarter. My nonna met my gramps when he vacationed in Italy. She fell head over heels in love with him and followed him to the States. Never was able to shake her Sicilian roots, though, and I’m glad she didn’t.
I’ll be forever grateful to her for passing on her culinary skills and family recipes, even if my waist isn’t. ”
“You look fantastic,” I say, before I can think of the implications and awkwardly clear my throat when she lifts a brow. “I mean, you know? Nothing wrong with a little meat on your bones.”
“My ex disagreed.”
“Sounds like your ex is a dick.”
Charlie’s mouth twitches before she lifts her beer and clinks it to mine. “I’ll drink to that.”
“So?” I ask, while I serve myself a small mountain of salad, because greens are important. “What’s the deal with your ex, anyway? How long were you together?”
Her shoulders tense when she realizes where the conversation is headed, but she grants me an answer anyway. “Almost sixteen years.”
I rear back at her admission. “That’s an awfully long time to be with someone you obviously weren’t happy with.”
“Yeah, well,” she sighs, leaning back in her chair while she twirls the neck of her bottle between her thumb and forefinger.
“Jason and I were high school sweethearts. He wasn’t always an ass.
He was actually quite sweet when we first met and treated me like a queen.
I’d even go as far as to say we were truly happy those initial few years.
But somewhere along the way, he changed.
His father’s expectations of him pushed him into a life I wasn’t comfortable with.
Anyways, it’s a long story,” she says, flicking a dismissive hand into the air to let me know she’s ready to move on from the tedious topic.
“Just know that I stayed far longer than I should’ve, and we didn’t part on good terms. I haven’t seen or heard from him since I moved up here, and I’d like for it to stay that way. ”
I don’t speak, too busy mulling her words over in my head when she breaks the silence. “What about you? Any long-term relationships in your past, Mr. Federal Agent?”
The salad suddenly feels like I’m chewing straw, and I take a long pull from my bottle to choke it down.
“One,” I reluctantly admit. “Let’s just say, it also didn’t end well and leave it at that, for now.”
“Oooookay,” she sings, before she rises to her feet and begins gathering our now-empty plates, obviously having caught onto the fact that I’m not eager to talk about my past. I collect what’s left on the table and follow her into the kitchen, where she’s already filling the sink with hot, soapy water.
I don’t spot a dishwasher anywhere, so I place everything on the counter before I roll up my sleeves.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“You just fed me the most delicious meal I've ever had. The least I can do is help with the cleanup.”
Tink shrugs and I settle into my task, efficiently scrubbing each item clean before handing it to her to dry.
Not for the first time, I notice how well we work together, but this is all beginning to feel a little too comfortable.
Too domestic. Something I haven’t felt in a very long time settles in my chest as I catch myself sneaking glances at her side profile.
Something warm and soothing. I can’t deny that Charlie is an attractive woman.
The striking color of her hair alone is enough to make you stop dead in your tracks to take a second look.
Rich and unique, with natural highlights ranging all the way from a light strawberry blonde to a deep mahogany.
You simply don’t see a color like that every day, and paired with her emerald eyes and luminous complexion, it makes for a lethal combination.