Chapter 11
Two months later
Kylie tilted her head and squinted at the stock pot full of marinara bubbling away on the cooktop in front of her.
It was her fourth—no, wait, fifth—batch this week, and she was finally close to getting it exactly right.
She stirred the sauce, breathing in the rich, almost sweet smell of tomatoes, garlic, and herbs as her muscles loosened.
In the nine weeks that had passed since she and Devon had arrived in Remington, Kylie had been through enough to make her head spin.
The investigation into Xavier Fagan had ended up being a rabbit hole the FBI was still sorting through, although the threat to Kylie had died along with the man.
Although she tried not to focus on too many of the details (she wanted to look forward, not back, thank you very much), she did keep tabs on the case.
Detective Moreno had taken an active interest in getting to the bottom of finding out which of Agent Collins’s team members had been working with Fagan, and she kept Kylie updated weekly.
The detective, who struck Kylie as both a workaholic and not someone to be crossed in any way, shape, or form, had apologized at least a half dozen times for what happened in the motel showdown.
But there had been no way for Isabella to know one of Collins’s agents had turned dirty, and holding a grudge definitely wasn’t on Kylie’s to do list (forward, not back).
Isabella had gotten the Feds involved quickly, and they’d ultimately taken Fagan down.
She was a tough cop. A good cop. Kylie had absolutely forgiven the danger of how it had happened.
Kellan, however, had definitely not. But the animosity her brother held for the smart, tart detective was something he’d have to figure out how to let go of on his own.
Since moving to Remington, in fact, Kylie had done a lot of letting go.
She’d learned how to start managing the anxiety that came with being a trauma survivor.
Xavier Fagan might be dead and his associates nearly all tracked down and charged for their crimes, but, as her therapist liked to remind her, a girl doesn’t witness a murder and get chased across half the country by a homicidal maniac without needing a few coping mechanisms. As it turned out, Devon had been the one to unknowingly give Kylie one of her best ones when they’d been on the run.
Only now, she didn’t need to close her eyes and picture the spaghetti dinner whenever she needed to find her calm.
She could slip into her kitchen and make the spaghetti dinner, and grow even calmer.
Focusing on the feel of the wooden spoon in her hand, Kylie smiled, her movements fluid and loose and she stirred the sauce one last time, then put the spoon in the spoon rest beside the burner.
She and Devon had checked out three apartments in Remington before finding one with an updated kitchen and enough space for Kylie’s fast-growing collection of cookware and chef’s knives.
Devon had even gotten her a spice rack with not only all the staples, but a wide range of things that sparked her creativity, like saffron and fenugreek and Moroccan rose salt.
They lived only ten minutes from Kellan’s apartment, twenty from the headquarters of the private security company Devon had taken a job with.
She and Devon woke up next to each other every morning and fell asleep wrapped in each other’s arms every night.
Kylie was safe. Happy. Loved. Everything had fallen into place.
Well, almost everything.
“How did I know I’d find you in here?”
Devon’s voice, still thick with sleep, tugged Kylie out of her thoughts, and God, her heart was never not going to squeeze at the sight of him.
She smiled, folding herself into the strong, warm circle of his arms and chest. “Because it’s my second-favorite place to be?”
“What’s your first?” Devon asked, placing a kiss on her temple.
“Right here, in your arms.”
His chest rumbled with a soft chuckle. “I love you, Kylie.”
“Mmmm. I love you, too, Dev. And I’m always going to.”
He held her just a beat longer before finally letting her go to pour a cup of coffee. Kylie looked around the kitchen, which bore all the signs of how long she’d been clanging around in it despite the early hour, and she bit her lip in guilt.
“I’m sorry if I woke you.” Devon had been working security at a concert venue until after midnight. She’d barely heard him come in. “How’s the rock star?”
“Safe,” he said, taking a long sip of coffee and looking around their kitchen, which—ugh, okay, really did look like a disaster area.
“So, is there a particular reason you’re awake and making marinara from scratch at”—he paused to look at the digital clock on the microwave—“oh-seven-forty on a Saturday?”
“Just for fun?” she tried weakly.
Of course, Devon didn’t buy it. “Look, I’m not complaining. It smells fucking great in here, and cooking makes you happy. But you also cook for stress relief and four batches of marinara in a week is a lot, even for you, so, do you want to try again?”
Kylie exhaled. She knew when to give in, and the kitchen might be her happy place, but Devon was her safe space.
He had been ever since he’d showed up in Coyote Flats.
“It’s been three days since my job interview.
I guess I was just thinking I’d have heard from Sariah by now. Especially if the news was good.”
“Okay, but you said the interview was great, right?” Devon asked, and she couldn’t say no.
“Yes. The interview was great.” Sariah, the manager at an up-and-coming restaurant called Loulou’s, had put Kylie through some pretty rigorous tests in the kitchen.
She’d watched Kylie do everything from dice an onion to whip up the restaurant’s signature remoulade to plate everything from appetizers to desserts.
Kylie had risen to the challenge, though, and she’d left the interview feeling like it couldn’t have gone any better.
“But I don’t have any formal training, my experience is sort of limited, and line jobs are competitive as hell.
There had to be other candidates. She probably found someone with more experience or skills. Someone better.”
“Hey.” Devon slid his coffee mug to the counter, reaching out to pull her close. “There’s no one better than you, Kylie Walker. If this job doesn’t work out, you’ll find one that does.”
Somehow, she managed a soft laugh. “You’ve always been able to calm my nerves.”
“I’m just calling it like I see it,” Devon said.
He pulled back just enough to slide his mouth over hers.
For a minute, Kylie found comfort in the feel of his chest, steady and strong against hers, the press of his lips, warm and sweet.
But then Devon slid his hands into her hair, parting her mouth with a slide of his tongue that deepened the kiss, and want shot all the way down Kylie’s spine, lighting her up inside.
“Devon,” she murmured, her heart pounding faster at the unmistakable feel of his hardening cock against her belly.
He kissed her again, deeper. Hungrier. “I might have just the thing to distract you,” he said, making her laugh and moan all at once with a slow, shallow thrust of his hips.
“Yes, please,” Kylie murmured. She moved to turn off the burner—as badly as she wanted Devon to give her multiple distractions, she also didn’t want to burn their apartment down—but the buzzing of her cell phone grabbed her attention from where it sat beside the spoon rest.
“Oh, my God.” Her heart began pounding for an entirely different reason. “It’s Sariah.”
Devon’s dark blond brows rose. “Aren’t you going to answer it.”
“No. Yes.” Kylie shook her head. This was so nerve-wracking!
But then Devon was right there, squeezing her arm in silent support, and okay, yes. Yes, she could do this. “Hello?”
“Hi, Kylie. It’s Sariah, from Loulou’s. I’m sorry it took me a couple of days to get back to you, and I know it’s early on a Saturday, but I wanted to call you before we got started today to formally offer you the job in our kitchen.”
“Really?” Okay, so she’d squealed a little bit, but it couldn’t be helped. This woman had just offered Kylie her dream job.
Sariah laughed. “Yes, really. You blew everyone else out of the water. We’d love to have you start on Monday, if you’re able.”
“Yes! Absolutely, yes.” They exchanged a few more details, and by the time they hung up, Kylie’s excitement was practically fizzing over.
“Good news?” Devon asked, and although it was obvious, she nodded anyway.
“I got the job. I’m starting Monday.”
Devon lifted her off her feet, spinning her in a full three-sixty before stopping to kiss her. “Congratulations, babe. They’re lucky to have you.”
“You know,” she said, pressing up to her toes to kiss him, “I can think of the perfect way to celebrate.”
Desire flashed through his eyes, his mouth forming a mischievous smile. “Then let’s not waste any more time talking.”
And as Devon scooped her up and carried her to their bedroom, Kylie knew she’d always be safe and happy and loved as long as she was in his arms.