I’d wondered what had happened to her. The last time we met, she’d told me she might have a new angle and when she knew more, she’d let me know. All that she’d said was that it might shed some light on a recurring injury. I hadn’t heard from her since.
Sitting at Dylan’s breakfast bar, I remembered what I’d wanted to ask him the night before; however, instead of jumping into real estate that I knew he couldn’t afford, I asked, “Do you need any help?”
“No, we don’t have time for fires.”
“Very funny. Fine. Have I told you about my parents?”
“A little,” he said with his attention more on the food. “Do you want an egg?”
“Sure.” I looked down at the third message.
Dina Rosemont: STELLA, IT’S DINA. WE’VE BEEN GETTING A FEW CALLS FROM OUR FLYERS. I’VE CONTACTED DPD, BUT IF YOU HAVE A MINUTE, CAN YOU CALL ME? I’D LIKE TO DISCUSS YOUR THOUGHTS ABOUT THIS WOMAN WHO’S CALLED TWICE.
“Stella?”
I looked up. “I’m sorry. What?”
“How do you want it?”
I moved my head back and forth. “Want what?”
He inhaled and exhaled. “Sex. Do you want it on the table or the floor? Maybe the counter?” He held up the spatula. “I’ve been thinking about our conversation last night, and I’m ready if you want to break my rules.”
“You’re hilarious.” My tone wasn’t amused.
“Your egg . . . scrambled, fried?”
“Oh, I don’t care. No matter how you make it, it’ll be better than the breakfast bar I usually eat.”
“What about your parents?” he asked. “I know they live in Chicago. You went to visit them a month or so ago.”
I had. After spending time with the Rosemonts, I’d wanted to hug my mom and dad. “Where are yours?” I asked.
He turned, his face suddenly solemn. “Umm. I’m sorry. I guess I planned on telling you this . . .”
I put my phone down and walked toward him. “What is it? I’m sorry. Is it bad?”
He shook his head as his shoulders moved up and down. “My parents died in a robbery gone bad. Same old adage: wrong place, wrong time. I was a senior in high school and they were on a business trip.” His glistening eyes drew me toward the blue. “That may be why I’m the way I am about you and Highland Heights. I don’t think I could take another . . .” He turned toward the sizzling pan on the stove.
I rubbed his back, not knowing what to say.
After he’d flipped the egg, he turned back and kissed my cheek. “You’re trying to distract me from my cooking, aren’t you? You’re secretly into firemen more than cops and didn’t know how to break it to me.”
I stepped behind him, wrapped my arms around his waist, and put my cheek against his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just blurted that out. Do you have other family?”
“No siblings, I had grandparents. My mom’s parents stepped in after . . . well, since I was already eighteen, it was more of a formality. They’re both gone now: grandfather by cancer and grandmother, six months later, by a broken heart. See, there’s nothing good in that story. I guess that’s why I haven’t said anything.”
I feigned a smile. “So no rich uncle?”
He spun toward me. “Why would you even say that?”
I shook my head. “It’s nothing. I just . . . in a couple of months it’ll be our first Christmas together”—I shrugged—“unless you get rid of me before then because of my cooking.”
He reached for a plate and plopped a fried egg in the center. “No need for two cooks in the kitchen. I’ve been doing this as long as I remember. Cooking was something I enjoyed doing with my mom, and after . . . it reminded me of her.”
I swallowed my sorrow. “With everything . . . I guess more because of Mindy . . . I want to spend time with my parents at Christmas. I was wondering if you’d be willing to come with me to Chicago.”
He walked our plates to the breakfast bar. “I usually work the holidays. That way the people who actually have families can have the time off. Besides, I look forward to that check: it’s overtime—time and a half plus holiday pay.”
“You’ve been with DPD long enough, you can get the time off, can’t you? Please see if you can get it off. My folks will love you. My mom talks way too much, especially after a few glasses of wine, and my dad is great, a little quiet until you get to know him. We just can’t tell him you’re a Tigers fan. He’s really into baseball, and the Cubs have always been his team.” I tried lightening the mood. “However, I’m warning you right now, watch out for my little sister. She’s recently gone through a divorce.” I tightened my smile and moved my shoulders. “And I’ll be honest: I don’t think there’s a male who’s safe within fifty feet of her, but don’t worry, I promise to run interference.”
Dylan winked as he took a bite of his toast. “Wait, before you run interference, let me know, can she cook?”