Easy Nights (Boudreaux #6)

“You do know that you’re incredibly sweet, right?”

“With you, that seems to be true. But you can’t tell your brothers because they think I’m badass, and if this gets out, I’ll have to kick their asses extra hard in the gym.”

I laugh and follow him out of the elevator toward his car.

“Thanks for texting me the name and number of your tattoo guy,” I say once we’re settled in the car. “Is his given name really Buck?”

“I don’t know; he’s a man of few words, but he does a great job with ink.”

“That’s all that matters, I guess.”

“What are you going to have him do?”

I bite my lip, not sure if I want to share that yet. “You’ll see it when it’s done.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“Yep, I’m going in on Saturday morning.”

He glances over at me in surprise.

“What?”

“Buck usually closes on Saturdays.”

“He said he’d fit me in.” I shrug. “I might have offered to pay double.”

Ben laughs and nods. “That would do it.”

Before long, he parks in front of a cooking school.

“Are they running a special tonight?” I ask.

“You’ll see.”

He leads me inside and to a kitchen where a woman tastes something from a pot. She’s in a white jacket and a tall white hat.

“Hello,” she says with a kind smile. “You must be Ben.”

He nods. “And this is Savannah. Van, this is Chef Baker.”

“Hello.” I nod and smile inside when Ben takes my hand firmly in his.

“Well, you are my only students this evening,” Chef says with a smile. “Welcome.”

“Students?”

“That’s right,” Ben says. “We’re going to learn to cook a meal together.”

I blink at him for a moment and look around at the industrial kitchen. It’s spotless, full of stainless steel, and ingredients are already waiting for us on the countertop.

“Great. What are we making?”

“BBQ shrimp, grits, and bananas Foster,” Chef replies. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“I’m so hungry.”

I glance up at Ben, who’s been watching me intently.

So hungry. And not just for food.





Chapter Six


Ben

I’m on a date with Savannah. A second date, if we want to get technical. Our first date last night was more fun than I anticipated. I knew that Van already knew how to cook, but I don’t, and I thought it would be something fun to do together.

She smiled all evening.

And now, the morning after, I’ve picked her up and we’re at her favorite breakfast spot before we each go to work.

“Thanks for getting up extra early to do this,” she says as she studies her menu.

“If I have to choose between you and sleep, you win every time, sugar.”

She smiles sweetly and returns to her menu. “You did well last night.”

I snort. “I almost killed us both with the knife.”

She wrinkles her nose and then busts up laughing. “You didn’t almost kill us. But I was worried that you might take off a finger for a second there.”

“I think it’s best if I stay out of the kitchen. I’m not saying that in a sexist way at all.”

She’s chuckling behind her hand.

“I think I’m destined to eat take out for the rest of my life,” I say.

“I’ll cook,” she says, waving me off. “Not because I’m a woman, but because I like to.”

The waitress arrives to take our order, and Van accidentally catches the water glass with her menu, pushing it forward and spilling all over the table and my lap.

“Oh my God,” she says, her eyes wide with fear. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” the waitress and I say at the same time.

Van’s fingers have started to shake. “I am so stupid. I’m sorry, Ben.”

“Hey, it’s an accident.”

She’s shaking her head, not hearing me at all. The waitress quickly cleans up the water and ice cubes and passes me an extra napkin to wipe up most of the water on my pants.

“Hardly any of it fell on me,” I say. But Van is shaking, an anxiety attack moments away. I turn to the waitress. “Give us a minute.”

“Certainly,” she says and marches away. I reach over to take Van’s hand firmly in mine. “Savannah.”

“I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Look at my face, baby.”

Her eyes find mine. They’re full of tears and fear and every muscle in my body tightens in pure fury.

That fucker put this in her.

“Savannah, it’s okay.” My voice is calm, belying the blood rushing through me. I’d love the chance to have another go at that asshole. “Do you hear me?”

She nods, watching me with wide hazel eyes. Her hand is clinging to mine for dear life.

“Listen to my voice.”

“I like your voice,” she whispers.

“I like your voice too.” I smile gently and pull her hand up to my lips, kissing her gently. “You didn’t do any harm. It’s cleaned up, and it barely got me.”

“I’m so embarrassed.”

“Take a deep breath.”

I keep her gaze locked on mine as I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. On the second one, she joins me. The trembling has stopped.

“See? You’re great.”

She bites her lip and squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, and then I watch in wonder as she physically makes herself calm down, most likely using whatever tool her therapist has given her.

Jesus, she’s strong.

“I’ve been told I have some PTSD.”

“That makes sense,” I reply and take my own advice, breathing in deeply. “Does it happen often?”

“Not anymore,” she says and takes a sip of the fresh water the waitress delivered. “It used to happen all the time, but now it’s sporadic. I never know what might trigger it.”

“I think that at some point, not today, but sometime soon, we should talk about the worst of it, so I know what may or may not upset you.”

“You don’t have to treat me like I’m made of glass.”

“Did I just say that?” I ask.

“No.”

“You’re not glass. You’re fucking badass, Van. But part of my job as your man is to protect you, and if you think I won’t do whatever I have to to keep this from happening again, you’re mistaken.”

She blows out one last burst of air and picks her menu up, signaling for the waitress.

“Okay, Captain America. You can protect me.”

“I think I’m better looking than Captain America.”

She narrows her eyes as if she’s studying me over the top of her menu. “I’d say it’s close.”

I cock a brow, but the waitress interrupts us.

“Are you ready to order?”

“Yes,” Savannah says. Her voice is strong again, and she’s the confident, beautiful woman I’ve always known. “I want the sweet potato pecan waffles with a side of bacon.”

“And to drink?”

“Coffee is great.”

“And you, sir?”

“I’ll have the same, but make mine a double side of bacon.”

She takes our menus and leaves, and my hand immediately finds Van’s again.

“I have to go to a gala tonight,” Van says with a wince. “I get shy at these things, but we’re celebrating the completion of the contract with Signet Shipping.”