“Quite the opposite, actually.” Ronan couldn’t believe his eyes. “He runs a non-profit food bank here in Salem called Skye’s the Limit.” He turned the screen around for Ten to see.
Ten sucked in a sharp breath. “Skye is spelled like her name.” He looked up at his husband. “Is the name a guilt trip or a tribute?”
Ronan snorted. “You’re the psychic. You tell me. As a former cop, I’m going with guilt trip.”
Frowning, Ten looked back down at the screen. “Says here the food bank was started in 2006, which would have been after Kyle’s stint in rehab. The optimist in me sees this move as Kyle reclaiming his life, but being the husband of a former cop, I’m wondering if the name is a guilt trip too.”
Ronan was able to see both sides of the picture Ten was painting. “You have the biggest heart of anyone I know,” Ronan began. “If I had a nickel for every ex-con who told me this was the last move in their criminal careers and then got re-arrested on a new charge, I could buy a professional baseball team.”
Ten sighed dramatically. “What the hell would we do with a baseball team, aside from ogle the young men in their tight baseball pants like a couple of dirty old men?”
“I suppose we can do that from the comfort of our own home.” Ronan couldn’t possibly be happier with Tennyson as his husband, but it was still fun to look.
“You already do that from the comfort of our home.” Ten rolled his eyes. “Anyway, back to Kyle Danner. We need to reach out to him as soon as possible.”
Ronan said goodbye to his dream of making it to the major leagues. “It’s a little late now, but we’ll call him first thing in the morning. I’m actually more interested in hearing what he has to say rather than listening to another one of Skye’s alleged best friends talk about the night she was killed.” Ronan couldn’t help but think the saying “with friends like these, who needs enemies” was custom-made for that trio of women. He had no proof to back up this assumption, but his near-twenty years of experience with the BPD and his gut instinct had never been wrong before.
“We need to talk about something else important.” Ten raised an eyebrow at his husband.
“I knew it!” Ronan crowed. “You rethought the idea of owning a baseball team. I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist young men in tight pants.”
“Seriously, Ronan? I resist you all the time. I don’t think it’s a problem to resist hot, young twenty-somethings.” Ten grinned.
“That’s just plain mean.” Ronan crossed his arms over his chest. “So, what is this other important thing you want to talk about?”
“Well, since it’s two weeks until Christmas…” Ten got up from the table with his empty mug. “But if you’d rather talk nonsense about baseball players, I’ll handle it all.”
Shit. Ronan was a dick. “Wait!” He was out of his seat and at Ten’s side. “I’m so dialed into this case that I’m not thinking clearly.”
“Obviously.” Ten pressed a kiss to Ronan’s lips. “Are we going to host again this year?”
Over the last few years, Ten and Ronan had started holiday traditions Ronan held close to his heart. After the death of his mother, Erin, he thought all the traditions they’d shared were gone. He’d learned, thanks to Tennyson, that it was possible to incorporate what he shared as a boy with his mother into what he was building with his new family. “Yes. Definitely. I was thinking we’d do a six-course dinner.”
Ten’s eyes bugged out. “You thought what?”
“Think about it.” Ronan moved toward the kitchen island. “We start with a fancy hors d’oeuvre, something like deviled eggs. Then we move on to a soup, maybe a spicy gazpacho or a seafood chowder. For the appetizer, fried squid rings or scallops wrapped in bacon.” Ronan reined in his enthusiasm. “What do you think so far?”
The longer Ronan talked, the more Ten’s eyes widened. “What’s next?”
“Salad course. Maybe a nice green salad or iceberg lettuce wedges with blue cheese. Next is the piece de resistance, the main course. I was thinking of a standing rib roast with fingerling potatoes and asparagus tips. Lastly, for dessert, lobster tail pastries or cannoli.”
“If we decide to do this, I know what I’m getting you for Christmas.”
Ronan waggled his eyebrows. “Oh really?”
“Bigger pants,” Ten deadpanned.
“I was just thinking the same thing. I have been rather restricted in the crotch department lately.” Ronan sauntered across the kitchen and pulled Ten out of his seat. “Maybe you could help a poor boy out…of his pants?”
Ten burst out laughing. “You’re ridiculous. You know that, right?”
Ronan humped his erection against Ten’s leg. “I am, but you love me anyway.”
“God help me, I do.”
Ronan grabbed Ten’s hand and tugged him toward the stairs. “You’re my only hope.”
“Sure thing, Chewbacca.”
Ronan opened his mouth to correct Tennyson, but then thought better of it. He was about to get down with the sexiest man on the planet, what did it matter if Tennyson’s Star Wars knowledge sucked Bantha balls. “Princess Leia,” Ronan coughed under his breath, hoping Ten didn’t hear him.
18
Tennyson
Ronan was in the shower humming “Jingle Bells”, but shouting out “hey” between choruses. Ten knew he was the reason for his husband being in such a good mood this morning. They’d stayed up way too late making love, but Ten didn’t care, losing sleep was worth it.
Ten was in Everly’s room getting the little girl dressed in a denim romper with a white shirt and red tights. Everly loved being girly. Ten was just pulling up the tights when Ronan’s phone rang from the bedroom. It was Cisco Jackson’s ringtone.
Carrying the baby with him, Ten ran into the bedroom and grabbed the phone. “Cisco?” Ten asked, out of breath.
“I thought I called Ronan’s phone.” The chief of police sounded scattered.
“You did. Ronan’s just getting out of the shower and I knew the call was important if you were calling this early in the morning.” Ten checked his alarm clock, it was quarter of seven.
“Ten? Who’s on the phone?” Ronan yelled from the bathroom.
“It’s Cisco.” Ten didn’t need his gift to know it meant bad news.
“Put him on speaker and come in here.”
Ten was a step ahead of his bossy husband. The call was on speaker and he was standing outside the bathroom door. When Ten opened it, steam puffed out. “We’re here, Ronan.”
“What’s up, Cisco?” Ronan had a towel wrapped around his waist, but his skin was damp, and his hair was sticking up haphazardly all over his head.
“We’ve got a murder,” Cisco said, now sounding as if he hadn’t slept all night.
“A murder? I thought you only wanted me looking into the Washington cold case?” Ronan shot Ten a bewildered look.
The last thing Ten wanted was a deputized Ronan working fresh cases for the Salem Police Department. Not that he would be able to stop his husband from digging in and helping out.