Remembering what my mom had said, I smiled as she darted across the kitchen and entered the back room, returning a few seconds with her keys in hand and an accomplished expression on her face. “Found them!”
Wiggling my fingers, I watched her leave. Before my mind started thinking about everything she’d said, I hit the mouse pad on my computer and got back to work.
An hour later, Mom stuck her head inside the kitchen. “You have a guest.”
Before I could scrutinize the wide smile on her face, she pushed the door all the way open, revealing said guest.
Air caught in my throat as I sat straighter.
Cole stood beside her.
My first thought was damn, he looked amazing in dark trousers and a white button-down. No jacket, and it was pretty cold outside. My second thought was that even though I’d decided to contact him, I hadn’t done it yet.
“Hey,” he said in that deep, rough voice of his that sent the very right kind of shiver down my side.
Over his shoulder, Mom opened her mouth and eyes wide as she jerked her thumbs up.
Dear Lord.
She closed the door halfway as Cole stepped into the kitchen. “Hi,” I said, shutting the laptop. A hundred butterflies fluttered in my stomach and chest—a hundred carnivorous butterflies by the feel of them.
He walked across the kitchen, stopping at the island. His gaze coasted over my face, and it was at that moment I realized that I didn’t have a speck of makeup on and I hadn’t showered. I’d planned to—at some point. My hair was up in a messy knot, and I was definitely the kind of woman who benefited from some blush, mascara, lip gloss, and an entire face full of makeup.
“I know the last time I left, I gave you my number, which can easily be assumed meant I was leaving it up to you to contact me, but—”
“I was planning to contact you,” I blurted out, flushing. That sounded genius. “I mean, I was going to do it later this evening.”
“You were?” The half grin appeared, replacing the quick flicker of surprise, and my stomach tumbled in a pleasant way.
I nodded. “I was.”
“Well.” He chuckled as he propped his hip against the kitchen island. “That does make me feel a lot better about busting up in here two times already.”
My lips twitched into a grin. “Glad to hear that.” Lowering my lashes, I checked him out, because . . . well, because I kind of couldn’t help myself. Those slacks looked really good on him. “You don’t work today?”
“I don’t keep normal work hours, but I had court this morning and then I was heading back home.” He glanced at the door. “So, you were going to get in touch with me tonight because . . . ?”
I exhaled softly, feeling my cheeks heat. “I was going to take you up on your offer to catch up over dinner.”
Those intense eyes brightened. “I really like the sound of that. Do you have any place in mind?”
Thinking about what happened yesterday, I bit down on my lip. “Can we do takeout?” The moment I asked that question, I immediately wanted to take it back. Holy hell, that was a damn weird thing to ask considering everything and really sounded like I was—
“How about I make you dinner instead,” he asked, not missing a beat. “I don’t know if you remember, but I like to cook.”
Our gazes collided. I remembered. I wanted to scream that I remembered. “At . . . at your place?”
“If that’s okay with you.”
My pulse was thrumming unsteadily. Was that okay with me? Going to his house was intimate, but I was the one who made the suggestion about not going out. I smoothed my palms over my thighs. “That will work.”
“How about tomorrow night?”
Oh. Oh wow. That was quick. Nerves hit me. “I . . . I think it will be okay. I just need to make sure Mom is good with running the—”
“I’m good,” she yelled from the other room. “Been doing this by myself for about ten years.”
Oh damn it.
“Thanks, Mom!” I smiled tightly.
Cole’s half grin spread as I blushed. He bent his head, his eyes glimmering with humor as he said in a low voice, “I forgot how much I liked your mom.”
“It appears I am free tomorrow.”
“Perfect.” His gaze didn’t waver for a second. “It’s a date.”
*
She wanted to believe that it would all be okay, that poor Mrs. Banks was just a victim of random violence. Everyone wanted to believe that, but she was nervous.
No hiding that.
Could she sense it? Ripe and violent vengeance, righteous retribution, lingering just outside the inn, waiting for the perfect moment to strike? She’d pulled the curtain back, the light in the apartment outlining her form. She’d sensed it. Of course she had.
She just didn’t want to see it yet.
The front doors of the building opened, and there a slight body appeared. The young woman cleared the sidewalk, her bag thumping off her hip as she eyed the device in her palm. Not paying a damn bit of attention to her surroundings. She crossed into the parking lot, heading toward her car. A fucking tanker could plow right into her at this moment and she wouldn’t see it coming.
People needed to be more aware of their surroundings. Weren’t there enough 20/20 specials highlighting the importance of vigilance and personal safety? Apparently this little one thought she was invisible. They all did.
A horn blew in the distance, and she still didn’t look up, didn’t seem to hear the footsteps only a handful of feet away. So close, the apple-scented shampoo wafted into the air as the wind played with the blond strands of hair.
This one . . . this one was going to be really special but required a bit more patience. Not tonight. But soon.
She would see this one.
Chapter 8
It really wasn’t a date.
That’s what I told Miranda when I spoke to her Tuesday evening. That was also what I told Mom every time she brought it up, which was around a hundred times. And when Jason stopped by Wednesday during lunch, bringing a plate of cookies an employee had made and which he was obviously trying to unload on us, I told him the same.
Apparently Miranda had gone to Jason with an update.
Angela snatched a chocolate-chip cookie off the plate as she walked past the island, carrying an armful of clean dishtowels. “It sounds like a date to me.”
I was eyeing the plate, but was trying to behave myself. “How do you know about this?”
“Your mom,” she replied, popping the cookie into her mouth.
Jason watched Angela shove the towels into the drawer. When she pivoted around, he hastily faced me. “I think it’s a good idea.”
“It’s a great idea.” Angela all but skipped past us, snatching another cookie. “These are delicious. Thank you, Jason.”
“Y-You’re welcome,” he stammered.
Angela smiled brightly as she headed out of the kitchen, appearing oblivious of Jason’s gaze latched onto the sway of her hips. I arched a brow when he finally managed to drag his attention back to me.
“What?” Jason asked.
“Nothing.”
He grinned as he folded his arms on top of the island and leaned over, slightly bent at the waist. “I’m only a man.”