Harlow scanned the foyer and turned puke green before backing up, apologizing a thousand times and leaving the house in a hurry.
Brook Lynn could hardly believe the seemingly timid, softly spoken mouse was the same bold femme fatale who’d once terrorized kids at school. Including Kenna. Brook Lynn remembered holding her friend time and time again while she sobbed about the awful things Harlow had said.
If her new demeanor was the real deal, something had happened to the girl. More than the loss of her mom and her home. Or maybe that was what Harlow wanted her to think. For once in this small town, rumors were scarce. All Brook Lynn knew? Harlow had left public school in the middle of her junior year in favor of being homeschooled. She’d stayed in town, but few people had seen her out and about. And when they had, she’d kept her head down and her pace swift, discouraging any kind of interaction.
For now, Brook Lynn wasn’t going to worry about what Harlow had said, some strange man who may or may not have come to the house to do...something? Nothing? And how did Harlow even know that?
“No one’s gotten the message yet,” Jase said. “The way to a man’s heart is not through his stomach.”
“Duh. It’s through his ribs.”
“Funny.” He pointed to the platters. “There’s a bite missing from each one. Why?”
“I thought I’d do my due diligence and test everything for poison.” Nothing compared to her creations, and that wasn’t bragging; that was pure fact.
“If there was poison, what would you do? Feed it to me anyway?”
“There’s only one way to find out.” With her sweetest smile, she offered him a fork.
He took it, saying, “If I die today, you’ll be the first one the cops question.”
“I’m willing to risk it.”
The corners of his mouth twitched as he motioned to the stove, his first undeniable display of amusement. It did funny things to her insides. “That casserole is still intact. Why?”
“I made it, and it’s fresh from the oven.” Steam wafted all around it, scenting the air. This one contained chicken and waffles, even maple syrup, and it was one of her favorites. “But it’s for Beck, not you,” she said. “I’m sure you already have dinner plans.” Oops. My bitterness is showing.
His gaze landed on her and narrowed. “Tell me, honey. Between the two of us, who do you consider the boss, and who do you consider the employee?”
The starch in her spine dissolved. How could she expect him to respect her if she wouldn’t respect him? “You are the boss,” she said without any heat. “Would you like me to fix you a plate?”
“No,” he grumbled, and after the fuss he’d kicked up, she kind of wanted to slap him. Then he added, “I’ll do it,” and totally redeemed himself.
He stalked past her, careful not to touch her, and gathered a plate and ladle. The itch intensified in her ears, and she scratched gently, always making sure hanks of hair covered the big, bulky implants. Everyone who’d ever seen them had either flinched or stared in morbid fascination. A few kids had even called her Frankenlynn.
Jase filled his plate with the casserole she had prepared and faced her with a frown. “Are those waffles I’m seeing? Mixed with chicken?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
Lord save me. “Just try it.”
Standing there, he scooped up a forkful...and then simply peered at the sample with distaste. She rolled her eyes and approached, claiming the fork and shoving the food into his mouth.
His eyes widened as he chewed. “What else did you put in it? Crack?”
“Only a little,” she said, deadpan. Then she flinched. Maybe she shouldn’t have teased a cop about drugs. Former cop? But he didn’t even blink at her comment. “While you eat I’ll just go and remove the necessary improvements I made in the living room. Even though I don’t understand why you asked—commanded—that I do it.”