Evangeline doesn’t look away from me, merely stands there like she’s weighing my words. Testing them for truth.
“Give me a chance.”
“I’ll give you dinner.”
Challenge accepted.
“Do you want to go home and change first?” I ask as I let go of her and walk to the kitchen. If I’m asking her to trust me, the least I can do is trust her to go home and come back.
“My jeans are only a little damp, but I’ll take you up on that offer to borrow a shirt,” she says.
Astounded, I fill up a pot of water, add a pinch of salt, and then set it on the gas burner before replying. “Give me a second and I’ll grab one.”
“Anything I can help with?” she asks, coming to stand at the edge of the kitchen. Our bodies are only separated by a couple of feet but it feels like she’s crossed the ocean to be in here.
“Turn the burner on for me?”
“Sure.” As she moves toward the stove, I walk away, hurrying down the hall that leads to my bedroom. Yanking open my top dresser drawer, I grab the first shirt I can touch.
“Here you go,” I call out as I return.
With a small smile, she takes the shirt from me and gives me a questioning look. “Bathroom?”
I rub my hand over the back of my neck. “Down the hall. Third door on the left.”
“Thanks.”
While she changes, I stir the sauce, make a couple of scotch and Cokes, and get the ingredients out of the fridge to prepare a salad to go with our meal. There’s garlic bread in the freezer, but I won’t toast it until after the noodles are in the pot.
There’s a soft click. Her footsteps are light on the floor. “I took my shoes off, too,” she says, rounding the corner.
My eyebrows go up. Apparently, I grabbed one of my police academy shirts. It’s too big on her, coming down past her thighs, but it highlights her long, pale legs.
I blink and almost cut my finger off while I’m chopping lettuce. I’ve never seen her bare legs before. My guts clenches. “Jeans, too.”
Her gaze slides away. “They were a lot wetter than I thought. I hung them over the side of the tub to dry.”
“Fine with me.” I dump the lettuce into a wooden bowl and begin to cut up cucumbers. “Dinner should be ready in fifteen minutes.”
“I can help.”
“You can sit.” Setting my knife down, I grab one of the drinks and slide it her way. “Thirsty?”
She nods. “Very.”
“Let me know if I need to add more ice.”
Taking a sip, she pulls a face—it’s slight and if I hadn’t been paying attention to her, I wouldn’t have noticed.
“Too much scotch?”
“It’s fine,” she says, but when I go back to chopping, she pushes the glass to one side.
Fine, my ass. “It’s not fine.” Taking her drink away, I redo it, sans the scotch. “Better.”
This time her eyes close as she takes a sip and her face stays neutral. “Yes.”
“You’re allowed to not like something I make, you know…and tell me as much.”
“I don’t know that.” Her fingers wrap tightly around the glass.
“Now you do,” I say softly.
She glances around my apartment before settling into a barstool with a low back.
Jake’s in his bed, snoring away now that the excitement of a new person is over. “He can sleep through anything.” I resume chopping up vegetables and adding them to the lettuce.
“You can’t?”
“Hard to do when you’ve been a cop for so long.”
She nods. “I’d kill for a good night’s sleep.” Her gaze flies to mine. “Not literally.”
I grin at her. “Cops are familiar with sarcasm, honey.”
“How did you…know about me in the car?” Her forehead creases. “It’s obvious you were in the middle of fixing dinner.”
“One of the windows in my living room has a view of the parking lot. Happened to see you pull in, but I never heard you come up the stairs. Got a little concerned and decided to check things out.” Actually, it was more like I got a lot concerned and hauled ass downstairs after twenty minutes passed. The minute I stepped outside, I could hear her muted screams from inside her car. “Don’t be embarrassed.”
“Why, because you’ve seen me much, much worse?” she asks, laughing bitterly.
I set the knife down and place my hands on the counter, leaning in. “I will never forget holding you that night, never forget the way I wanted to protect you from everything and everyone. It’s my job to protect people, but from the first time I met you, what I feel is so much more than that.”
“I don’t remember much about that night, but I remember you.”
“Is that one of the reasons why you pushed me away?” I ask, even though I know the answer.
She nods.
“It’s not your fault.”
“I know, but—”
“It’s not your fault.” Pushing away from the granite countertop, I move to stand in front of Evangeline, ignoring the way my shirt is riding high on her thighs. “It’s not your fault.”
“Sure does feel like it sometimes.”
Gently, I frame her face with my hands. “It’s not your fault. I wish someone had told my mom that. I wish someone had helped her.”