Remi followed after me with the water glasses. “You are such a liar. You could barely swallow.”
“My throat was dry.”
“Yeah, from my crusty chicken breast. I told you that you didn’t have to finish it.”
I scraped the remnants of the most taste-bud-disintegrating meal I’d ever had the misfortune of consuming into the trash and then placed the dishes in the sink. “No, the chicken was delicious. The breading on the outside was just extra crispy. No biggie.”
“The breading?” She set the glasses on the counter. “That wasn’t fried chicken, Bowen. It was grilled.”
I bit my bottom lip, fighting back a laugh, and stared at her. I couldn’t quite decide if she was genuinely upset she’d ruined her first attempt at cooking me dinner or if she was just embarrassed. Either way, I felt bad for her. That didn’t make the situation any less humorous though.
After closing the short distance between us, I wrapped her in a hug. “You know I love you, right?”
“Well, I knew you did before I forced you to eat that travesty of a dinner. Now, I’m not so sure.”
A bellowing laugh shot out of me before I could hold on to it. “It’s going to take far more than some bad chicken for me to stop loving you.”
She buried her face in my chest. “Well, there is still time. I brought all the stuff to make my dad’s famous loaded ooey-gooey brownies. He sent me a copy of the recipe, but you saw what I did to the risotto.”
“Risotto? Dear God, I thought that was mashed potatoes.”
She slapped my chest, but I chalked it up as a win because it finally earned me a laugh.
Then she groaned, adorably frustrated. “Gah, you’ve cooked me so much amazing food recently. I really just wanted to make you something for once. I even made enough for leftovers so you could take it to work with you for lunch tomorrow. Now, we’ll have to feed it to the dogs.”
There was no way in hell I was subjecting either of my dogs to that kind of torture. Not only would it be animal abuse, but a trip to the emergency vet after they choked on it was not how I planned to spend the rest of my evening.
I wasn’t about to tell her any of that.
Swaying us from side to side, I said, “Babe, you do not need to repay me for cooking every night. I enjoy it. So relax. It’s not a big deal.”
She put her chin on my chest and peered up at me. “I was really looking forward to ooey-gooey brownies.”
“So make ’em.”
“You say that now, until I turn them into bricks and you break a tooth.”
I grinned. “Rest assured, I have amazing dental insurance. Hockey players make missing teeth look cool. I could pull it off.”
She squinted at me for poking more fun. I felt little remorse for damaging her ego though. She and Tyson had dragged me through the mud the other night, so I couldn’t resist giving it back as good as I’d gotten it. But my girl must have really wanted some chocolate, because she didn’t bother defending herself.
She walked to the grocery sacks she’d been carrying when she arrived that afternoon and started unloading all the baking essentials, including a disposable tin pan.
I didn’t keep flour, sugar, or cocoa powder in the house, so I was glad she’d brought all the ingredients. However, I did have quite a few baking essentials.
“I actually have pans and mixers and all that jazz.” I flipped open one of the bottom cabinets.
Her head snapped back. “You have a Kitchen-Aid?”
I didn’t.
But once upon a time, she had.
“I do, but it might be dusty. It hasn’t been used in a while,” I replied.
Beautiful understanding dawned on her face. “It was Sally’s, wasn’t it?”
I simply nodded.
She closed the cabinet. “Then maybe I shouldn’t destroy it.”
Chuckling, I thought back on the time she’d poured powdered sugar into the mixer and it shot out, covering my kitchen like a winter blizzard. “Don’t be silly. She’d be happy to see it getting some use.”
Remi wrinkled her nose. “By your girlfriend though? Come on, Bowen. That’s kinda weird.”
“Yep. Even by my girlfriend. Sally was”—I paused before finishing—“kinda weird herself. She made me swear I’d find someone else if anything ever happened to her. In her last suicide note, she even planned for it.”
She nestled in closer. “God, Bowen. I can’t even imagine what that must have done to you.”
“It was awful.” I pointedly tightened my arms around her. “But it’s better now. You have made everything better. Use the mixer. And the pans. And anything else you find. Okay?”
She smiled, and like it always did, it healed yet another crack in my soul.
“I love you,” she whispered, tilting her chin up, a silent request for my mouth.
I did not make her wait.
Just before sealing my lips over hers, I replied, “I love you too.”
The kiss was slow and gentle.
Fucking finally, Remi and I existed in a reality—together—where the worst thing that had happened to us was overcooked chicken and mushy risotto. She could have made those brownies with salt and mud and I would’ve grinned like a fool through every single bite.
“Come on.” I pecked her lips once more. “I could go for a brownie too.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll do my best, but shoo. I need my space.”
I released her hand and teasingly smacked her ass. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I’ve actually been wanting to talk to you about something.”
I quirked an eyebrow. “Good something? Bad something?”
She made an eek face. “A plane crash something.”
My gut wrenched, clueless as to what direction she was going to take us. I walked around the bar and sank down onto a stool across from her. “Okay. Hit me.”
She propped a small recipe card on top of a canister and then got busy, pulling out bowls and a large plastic spoon. She disappeared below the counter for a second and then reappeared with a hand mixer instead of the Kitchen-Aid. “I’m not sure if you’ve been keeping up with the emails or not, but settlement checks should start hitting banks tomorrow. And well, I have no idea what to do with this kind of money. I was hoping you might be able to give me some advice or at least point me in the right direction.”
Ah yes, the settlement that had restarted it all. This was a very manageable part of the plane crash for me. There was nothing to hide. No details to skirt. Just facts and numbers. My specialty.
“Absolutely,” I replied. “Do you mind if I ask how much money you were awarded?”
Shifting from one foot to the other, she looked uncomfortable and avoided my gaze as she scooped out half a cup of flour. “Two point nine…million.”
My jaw almost came unhinged. “Holy fuck.”
“Yeahhhh,” she drawled. “It’s the whole brain thing. Nobody, not even my doctors, really know what to make of it. I mean, I’m fine. But on paper, a head injury with a year of complete memory loss sounds really bad.” She turned, tapped the button to preheat the oven, and then moved on to opening a bag of granulated sugar. “Anyway, I’ve already decided I’m giving half of it to the victims’ families’ fund. But that still leaves me with well over a million dollars. I have a retirement account I contribute to every month, but I feel like maybe I need to look into more serious investing or something.”