Chapter 9
Chapter nine
Lake
The sound of a key in the lock sets Hades off. He barks and runs in a few circles and then bolts for the door, ready to give Grady an enthusiastic greeting. I might have done the same thing if I wasn’t busy trying not to burn dinner.
Riley stops mushroom-chopping duty and stiffens as footsteps approach the kitchen.
I open my mouth to ask what’s wrong, but then I catch sight of Grady, and I forget what words are.
My brains fall out, and all I can focus on is getting into his arms and greeting him with a kiss.
It’s been hours, and I’m starving for him.
Grady lifts me off my feet, and my stomach swoops. He wraps a hand around the back of my neck, keeping me close. When he puts me down, I’m not sure I can remember my own name. I think I have a bracelet somewhere with it on it; I should find it. A good backup, just in case.
Riley’s looking pointedly away from us, all but hacking at the mushrooms now. I guess they’ll cook the same though it won’t look as perfect as Grady makes all his food look.
“What are you making?” Grady asks, the arm around my waist stopping me from stepping out of his hold.
“We’re having risotto!” I enthusiastically reveal. I found a recipe that said anyone can do it, and the instructions seemed fairly easy. Also, we had all the ingredients, and it was the fourth recipe we’d looked at before we found one that cooperated with our pantry. Jackpot.
Grady looks down at me sceptically. I can’t take it personally since my history with food is sketchy, at best. “Do you know how to make risotto?”
I poke him in the side, hiding my wince at the flash of pain that lances up my digit. “I’ll have you know we haven’t even burned it yet.”
“It’s the yet that worries me.” The exasperated expression on his face holds a fondness that warms me all the way to my toes, and I can’t help but beam at him.
“I was just holding the fort till you got here.” That’s what he’s here for, right?
“I know how to cook,” Riley says stiffly, the defensiveness in his tone obvious enough I bet the aliens on the moon heard it.
If only we could communicate and ask them.
I’m sure it’s at least loud enough that the neighbours heard.
I could go over and ask them. If I take some risotto with me, they might even answer the random question.
I’m pretty sure they have a teenage boy too. They’d get it.
“I wasn’t talking about you; I was talking about him. Lake burns water and shouldn’t be left unsupervised in the kitchen. He needs to come with a warning label.”
I think Felix got me one for Christmas one year. Don’t ask me where it is, I have no clue. Packed away in a box. Under my bed. In the closet. Under the kitchen sink. Could be anywhere.
“I didn’t burn the water,” I protest just for the principle of the thing. I’d forgotten about it and burned the pot. That’s not the same thing at all. Totally different. Water can’t burn, that’s just weird.
Does boiling water count as burning? Like the lake in Dante’s Peak. Poor grandma.
“I think that should have been a disclaimer before we started,” Riley splutters. “I let you use a knife!”
“I can use a knife just fine.” They put a gun in my hands at work, not to mention over a million dollars’ worth of technology every time I go up in my bird.
I can handle a kitchen knife. Most of the time.
I only accidentally slice myself when I get distracted.
“I spent years cooking for myself, thank you very much.” Okay, most of that involved basic meals, and I lived off my mother and brother dropping food off to me. And takeaway. That’s not the point.
But it’s a good thing my job’s so physical, now that I think about it.
“You want a medal for keeping yourself alive all these years?”
“If you have one handy, I won’t say no.” What would it say? Survived. Or, like, I made it to adulthood. A+. I’d wear it. Proudly. Make sure I draw attention to it every time someone new comes around. Shove it in their face, make them read it and praise me for my mad survival skills.
Grady kisses my cheek and then moves me to one of the stools on the other side of the counter. “What’s left to do?” he asks Riley. “Lake can be supervisor.”
“Yes!” I fist pump. “Joke’s on you; they get paid more.”
Riley’s mouth moves like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how words work anymore. I get that affliction a lot too.
Grady picks up on the underlying tension. Of course, he does, his skills of observation are crazy good. “Do you have something that you want to say to me?” he asks. “There’s no need to be shy, spit it out.”
Riley scowls, face wrinkling at the intensity of it. “Why aren’t you telling me to leave?”
Grady studies his face without giving a hint about what he’s thinking.
Fuck, that’s Grady’s detective face. A flush runs through me at just how hot my man is.
I don’t know how I don’t combust every day, being able to touch and kiss and do all the other naughty things with him.
I want to climb him like a tree and rub myself all over him.
Maybe I’ll do that later. He’ll enjoy it. So will I.
“Why would I do that?”
“I basically bullied your boyfriend into letting me stay here.” Riley’s entire face is like granite as if he’s waiting for one of us to throw his words back in his face and confirm that he’s not wanted. I’d like to know who’s made him feel that way and shove my foot right up their ass.
“No one can bully Lake,” Grady replies. “He’s a tornado.”
I laugh and somehow manage a “Hey!” in the middle of it.
“Not to mention, an officer in the Army. Do you really think he couldn’t be assertive if he felt like it?”
Riley’s eyes widen, gaze swinging back to me.
I could probably choose to take offence at that surprise, but he’s not the first person to be shocked by my rank—or assumption of rank, I suppose, since Grady didn’t exactly specify that part—or my choice of occupation.
When I say Army, they always assume enlisted.
Nah, those guys are way too smart for me.
“And if he wanted to get rid of you,” Grady continues, “he could have just dropped you back off at the station. Or called me or Quinn. He wouldn’t have brought you home and made you help him cook dinner.
And if I wanted to throw you out, I’d already have you in the car on the way home.
Yes, unlike Lake, I happen to know where you live.
I called your foster parents—yes, I have that, too—and they don’t seem to care where you are or who you’re with. You want to tell me about that?”
Riley’s face hardens and he refuses to answer, dropping his head and staring intently at the counter.
“No? Then stop giving me that look like you’re waiting for me to kick you, and let’s finish dinner before Lake decides to kill us both for meat.”
I snicker at the imagery. “Then I’d have to cook you, and I don’t know how to do that by myself.”
Riley’s issues are stemmed for the moment, and we actually manage to finish off the risotto without burning anything—I’m totally taking some of the credit for it because I started it and kept it going while we waited for Grady. Group effort, and that means I get the final mark too.
Riley hesitates with his bowl in hand, looking from the counter to the kitchen table that I just finished setting.
Looks pretty good if I do say so myself.
Especially with the place mats and matching coasters that we picked up at Kmart the other week.
I’d never given much thought to interior decorating before Grady.
Well, not to the extent he does, anyway.
This is a long way from the cozy gorgeousness of his old rental, but we’re getting there.
Once the bathroom’s finished, it’s gonna be great, I’m sure of it.
“What is it?” Grady asks gruffly.
I bite my lip and study my work. “Are you left-handed?” Shit, which way does that go? I can’t remember. Knife on the left or right?
“No—I mean, yes, but that’s not—I usually go to my room to eat.”
Ah. And he doesn’t have a room here to go to.
Even if he did, that’s not happening. I pull out a chair and slap the seat to let him know it’s his spot.
“Well, my parents always had a rule for dinner: we eat together, no distractions—mostly that was because Avery kept trying to paint while he was eating, and let me tell you, it’s not a great combination—we had to answer questions about our day. ”
Riley grimaces. “Like a daily interrogation?”
“Exactly,” I say, beaming. I’ll forever be thankful for my parents and how much time they put into Avery and me.
I’m positive it’s what made us better people.
Having loving parents who were so involved in our lives, without being overbearing, made a world of difference.
Avery’s grumpy and ready to throw down at a moment’s notice, but he’s still a good person.
Zach and Felix wouldn’t have fallen in love with him otherwise.
They’re good judges of character. And Avery hasn’t killed anyone yet, which is about as much as we can hope for.
“I really have to talk about my day?” Riley asks, reluctantly sliding into his allocated seat.
“It’s the price you pay for having dinner with us.” The toll’s steep, but he’s stuck now.
I don’t wait for Grady to finish pouring juice and placing glasses in front of us. I tuck in straightaway, shoving a piping-hot spoonful into my mouth. Oh, man. My eyes slide closed of their own volition, and I groan. “This is so good; I want to make love to it.”
“Eww.”
“This is why I don’t take you out to eat very often.”
“That is a lie, you take me out at least once a month.”
“That’s my limit.”
I wink at Grady and then eat about a quarter of my bowl before I say, “Alright, first question. How was school?” It was always the first one Mum asked, especially while we were in school. The easiest question to start with, lulling us into a sense of false security.