38. Hope & Surprises
HOPE & SURPRISES
PATRICK
Excitement, not nerves, quickened his step as he walked the short distance from the driveway to Frank’s front door.
Well, maybe there was a touch of anxiety, too.
It wasn’t every day you told a woman she was your croie.
Assuming she still wanted answers, that was.
She might have decided she really didn’t want to know why he was so—
The door opened.
He stopped on the second step and looked at her, and for a moment everything else went quiet. The anticipation. The anxiety. The rationalizations. All of it went quiet and there was just… her.
His mind vaguely registered that her dress was a deep, jewel-toned green.
Her hair was down, artfully styled into dark waves that cascaded over her shoulders.
She was holding her wrap in both hands with an uncertainty he hadn’t seen her wear before, which was the most endearing thing he’d ever seen.
He climbed the last step.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.” He offered his hand.
She looked at it for a moment that felt like an entire lifetime… then put her hand in his.
Behind her, Frank appeared in the hallway. He said nothing. He simply looked at Patrick with those dark, steady eyes.
I’m trusting you, the look said. Don’t fuck this up.
Patrick nodded back. I won’t, sir.
Frank gave one slow nod, and the accord was struck.
Patrick helped her down the steps and opened the passenger door, waited until she was settled, then closed it and walked around to the driver’s side, feeling like a man who’d just won the lottery.
He was smiling before he’d started the engine.
The mountain road was dark and quiet, the sky a clear, deepening blue filled with stars.
“Thank you,” Morgan said, a few minutes into the drive.
“For what?”
“For this. For… everything.” She looked at her hands in her lap. “I’m sorry. I’m not very good at this.”
His heart thumped as he reached over and gently took her hand in his, pleased when she didn’t protest. “I disagree. This is already the best date I’ve ever had.”
She laughed. “Yeah. Right.”
He smiled along with her, but he was one hundred percent serious. She was his croie, which made everything he did with her ten times more pleasurable. Dinner. Solving murder cases. Sex.
Especially the sex.
He shifted slightly in his seat, trying to discreetly adjust himself. Just thinking of their time together shot his desire up several notches.
He glanced at her. The dashboard light caught the line of her profile, the slight smile she was suppressing, the rosy tint to her cheeks. She was thinking about it too.
He returned his eyes to the road before he drove them into a ditch.
“Okay,” she said several moments later. “You said you’d tell me why. Start talking.”
His lips quirked. “Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because we’re in the car.”
She waved her other hand. “So?”
“So,” he said with exaggerated patience as he stroked his thumb over hers, “I want to be looking at you when we have that conversation, and I can’t do that while I’m driving.”
“That bad, huh?” she murmured. “So this dinner is a way to soften me up? Because I have to tell you, I’m a firm believer in ripping off the band-aid quickly.”
He laughed. “I didn’t realize you were so impatient.”
“I’m not usually.”
He lifted their twined hands and pressed a kiss on her knuckles. “Just trust me, okay?”
She exhaled. “Fine. I… do.”
He knew. Because the fact that she was sitting there beside him looking like a goddess said more than words ever could.
He heard her quick intake of breath when the Celtic Goddess became visible.
Built right into the mountain, it was an impressive sight, especially at night.
Morgan’s eyes grew wider as they wound their way up to the columned entrance, taking in the way the white stone caught the light, the floor-to-ceiling glass with the warm glow of the dining room behind it, the mountains rising like dark sentinels behind it.
After handing his keys over to the valet, he put his hand lightly on the small of her back as they walked. She didn’t stiffen. If anything, she calmed.
“Patrick,” she said quietly, her eyes scanning the white marble and gold fixtures.
“Impressive, isn’t it? It was custom-built about thirty years ago when the co-owners decided Pine Ridge would become their flagship location.”
“No offense, but why Pine Ridge? Aren’t their other locations in big cities?”
Someone had been doing her research. He hadn’t expected any less. He wondered just how deep she’d gone. Clearly, not deep enough if she didn’t know who owned the Goddess.
“Yes,” he confirmed. “But the executive chef decided to make Pine Ridge her home.”
“I suppose that makes sense,” she said as they traversed the white marble foyer.
Inside, the ma?tre d’ greeted Patrick by name with the warmth of someone who had known him since before he was old enough to appreciate a good restaurant. Because he had.
Morgan gave him a sidelong glance. “Come here often, do you?”
Pleasure skittered happily through his chest. That seemingly casual question, combined with the intensity with which she was watching his expression, suggested what she really wanted to know was, “How many other women have you brought here?”
“I’ve been here a few times,” he replied, suppressing his grin at her territorialism.
She pressed her lips together and said nothing.
A waiter showed them to their table, one tucked into a semi-private alcove with a stunning view of the waterfall and gardens beneath.
Intimate and cozy, the table for two was draped in gold-accented white linen, topped with a beveled crystal vase of fresh flowers, and ivory candles.
Patrick pulled out her chair, then took the seat across from her.
He watched her look around and absorb it the way she absorbed everything.
And the look in her eyes when she turned back to him? Awe. Absolute wonder.
Once seated, a server poured water into crystal goblets and left.
“Don’t we get menus or something?” Morgan asked in a hushed voice.
“Already taken care of,” Patrick said.
“Oh.”
“Relax.”
“I am relaxed.”
She wasn’t. He could see the questions burning in her eyes.
The sommelier came and poured them each a glass of wine. Patrick thanked him, then slid his phone across the table, opting to ease into the croie discussion with something Morgan felt more comfortable with.
Morgan looked at it in confusion. “What’s this?”
“Answers.” It wasn’t the full package Riley had assembled, just a precis of the important points.
“Your Philly case. The victim, Daniel Caruso, was a mid-level contract administrator at the city procurement office. He’d been funneling information about an inflated contracting scheme to someone outside the organization. ”
Morgan looked at the screen. He watched her reading. Saw the moment she began to connect the dots.
“His name appeared in the financial architecture we uncovered,” Patrick continued. “One shell entity, three steps removed from the Virginia law firm. Caruso was moving documents out right under their noses. They found out.”
She was quiet, reading. He gave her the time.
“The injection site was wrong for an accidental overdose,” she said, half to herself.
Her uncertainty all but disappeared as her MDI side rose to the forefront, just as he’d intended.
“Caruso was right-handed. The site was the left antecubital. And the lividity—” She stopped.
Set the phone down. “Someone staged that scene and assumed no one would look past the tox screen.”
“But you looked.”
“And I wasn’t supposed to be there.” Then something else moved across her face, something careful and internal, and he knew she’d connected the biggest dots of all. “The contracting scheme. I recognize the name. My stepfather’s family operates in the same… ecosystem.”
She didn’t say it as a question. He didn’t answer it as one.
Her eyes met his. “Does this mean my stepfather was involved in…?” She let the question hang.
“Probably not,” Patrick said. He’d looked into Constantine DeStefano. The guy was no choir boy, but he was also basically an insignificant cog in a very large, complex organization.
“Probably not,” she echoed. “Did you send this information to the US Deputy Marshal you told me about?”
“Yes. If there is a connection there, the federal inquiry will uncover it.”
She thought about that for a few seconds, then nodded. “Good.”
Their server arrived with a selection of amuse-bouche. Patrick reclaimed his phone and slipped it back into his pocket. The business portion of the evening was officially complete.
The snacks, like the seared scallops that succeeded them, were excellent.
His favorite part by far was spearing a scallop on a fork and holding it to Morgan’s lips.
The act was intimate and oh-so-satisfying.
He now understood why his father did it.
The primitive instinct to feed his woman was powerful.
They were awaiting the arrival of the main course when Morgan’s eyes widened.
Patrick turned his gaze to see a familiar figure making her way across the dining room in chef’s whites.
The gleaming jacket was for the diners’ benefit only, because his mother lorded over the kitchen in jeans, soft T-shirts, and Chuck Taylors.
“Patrick,” Morgan whispered. “I think that’s the chef.”
The atmosphere shifted in the way it always shifted when Lexi Callaghan entered the room. He set his fork down quietly.
He gave her credit. His mother was at least trying to look casual about it as she greeted people on her way over to their table.
“Hi. I’m Lexi,” his mother said, extending her hand to Morgan. “You must be Morgan. My husband Ian speaks very highly of you.”
Morgan blinked. Looked at his mother. Looked at him. Looked back at his mother. Looked back at him. While he had his father’s hair and eyes, he definitely shared some of his mother’s features as well.
Morgan shook her hand. Turned to look at Patrick with an expression that was somewhere between I can’t believe you didn’t tell me your mother is the executive chef of the Celtic Goddess and Holy shit your mother is the executive chef of the Celtic Goddess.
She turned back to his mother with the professional courtesy of a woman who had been managing her reactions her entire life. “I’m honored to meet you, Mrs. Callaghan. I can honestly say this is the best meal I’ve ever had.”
His mother beamed. “I’ve got a great staff.”
“Did you teach Patrick how to make Chicken Marsala, by any chance?”
“I did. Did you like it?”
“Very much so.”
“I’m so glad. Well, I’ll let you two get back to it. I just wanted to come out and say hello.”
Lexi made her way out the same way she’d come in—with a genuine smile and a down-to-earth friendliness that people instantly responded to.
“Your mother,” Morgan said as soon as Lexi was out of earshot, “is the head chef of the Celtic Goddess.”
“Yes,” Patrick admitted.
“You failed to mention that.”
“Did I?”
“Patrick.” She said with a little growl he wanted to hear more of. A lot more. “A heads-up would have been nice.”
“Would it have made a difference?”
“Maybe.”
“Exactly. It’s no big deal.”
“No big deal,” she murmured, shaking her head. “Well, now the chef quality kitchen in your parents’ house makes a lot more sense.”
“She did how-to videos during the lockdown,” he said with a shrug.
Morgan looked at him. “Anything else I should know about your family?”
“Absolutely,” he said easily as he refilled her wine glass. “But we’ll work up to that. Exposure is best done in small doses.”
She looked at her plate. The almost-smile appeared, then she sipped her wine.
The duck special arrived and the dining room grew quieter around them as the evening deepened. The conversation between them flowed as it had from the beginning. Easily. Effortlessly. Like they’d known each other their whole lives.
When the mignardises—small dessert sweets—arrived with cups of decadently rich coffee, she looked at him across the table.
“Okay, enough stalling. Tell me why,” she said.
For a while, he’d entertained the thought that perhaps she’d forgotten the condition of a full reveal. He should have known better.
As he was trying to work out the best way to present it without scaring her off, she beat him to it.
“Does it have anything do with croies?”
“How do you know about croies?”
“Riley explained the concept to me when we had lunch,” Morgan said.
“She did, huh?” Patrick didn’t know if he wanted to thank his cousin or replace her imported coffee beans with dirt. It would depend on how Morgan reacted.
“Yes. She said it’s basically the same thing as a soul mate. That one right person.” Morgan turned her demitasse cup slowly between her fingers.
“What else did she tell you?”
“I asked if she thought that was what was happening between us, and she said that was a question only we could answer.” She paused. “The thing is, I’m not sure I believe in soul mates.” She lifted her eyes to his. “Do you?”
“I’ve seen it happen too many times not to believe it.
” He leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, closing the distance without closing it entirely.
“It’s not like getting hit with a bolt of lightning.
It’s far more subtle than that. The moment you find the right person, everything realigns.
Not dramatically. Just… like something settling into its proper place. ”
“Do you believe there’s a croie for everyone?”
He held her gaze. “No. It’s not guaranteed. It’s a gift. And certainly not something I expected to experience when a woman walked into a café and I ended up wearing my coffee. But there it was.” A pause. “There you were.”
Morgan was very still.
“Riley said I’m not imagining things,” Morgan said, after a long moment.
The tension in his chest eased. “You’re not imagining things.”
“I’ve been trying very hard not to hope for more than what was in front of me.” She looked at the table, then back up at him. “Because historically, hoping hasn’t worked out very well.”
“This is different. I can’t explain the hows or the whys, I just know it’s real.”
She wanted to believe that croies were real. That there was a possibility that he was hers and she was his. He could see it in her eyes. But this was a big ask for someone who hadn’t grown up surrounded by them.
“Listen, Morgan, I know this is a lot. I’m not asking you to say or do anything you’re not one hundred percent comfortable with. All I’m asking is for you to be open to the possibility.”
She looked at him, and there it was. Real hope. Real vulnerability. Real fear. “That’s the thing, Patrick. You make me want to believe that it is more than just a possibility. That maybe… maybe it’s already happened.”
He reached across the table. She put her hand in his without hesitation and smiled, her expression softening.
Pine Ridge had a way of keeping the people who belonged here, his grandfather had said.
It appeared that the old man was right again.