When she didn’t reply, he bit back a sigh. He was a piece of work. Here he was always telling her that she didn’t need to always cook and fuss over him, but when she didn’t for the first time in a long time, he felt let down.
While he showered, he told himself to stop being so selfish. Jennifer needed him to be there for her, not to expect her to wait on him.
After pulling on an old pair of gray sweats, remnants from the police academy, he walked into the kitchen. Seeing it was still empty, he felt a burst of satisfaction. He was no cook, but Shannon’s idea about grilled cheese sounded pretty good. At the very least, he could open up a can of soup and make them a couple of sandwiches.
Feeling good about that idea, he pulled out Jennifer’s cast-iron skillet and then opened the refrigerator. Just as he was buttering the bread, Jennifer joined him.
“What in the world are you doing?”
He looked up and smiled. “Exactly what it looks like. I’m making us dinner.”
Her eyebrows rose over the frames of her glasses. “You’re cooking?”
“I do know how to work a stove top, Jen. Not like you of course, but I can make you a sandwich without burning it.” At least he hoped so. He held up a can of soup. “Tomato soup okay?”
She nodded as she hopped up on a barstool.
Opening the can, he looked over at her. She was wearing a pair of black leggings and a soft-looking violet tunic sweater. In addition to taking out her contacts and putting on her glasses, she’d washed off her makeup. She looked almost like a kid again. “How are you doing?”
“I’m okay.”
Walking to the refrigerator, he pulled out two Miller Lites and handed her one. “You know, I was worried about you today.”
“I do know. And we already talked about this. I told you I was sorry for worrying you.”
He poured the soup into the saucepan and added water. “I don’t want to rehash it. I . . . well, you have to see it from my point of view. You being out on your own again . . . well, it’s new for me, too.”
“I know. But I think I need to do this, Dylan. I need to try new things and make mistakes.”
“I hear you.” Her therapist had even told him once that her mistakes might be the best thing that could happen to her. She needed to remember that it was okay to make mistakes—and he needed to remember that she wasn’t made of glass.
As he was pulling out plates and bowls from the cupboards, Jennifer walked to his side and picked up the spatula. “Let me help you.”
“I’m doing fine.”
“You’re about to burn them.” She slid the metal spatula under the sandwich, peeked under it, and then flipped it.
“You know, this is good practice for both of us,” he joked. “If you’re going to be doing more things, I’m going to need to remember how to cook for myself.”
Her expression softened, showing that she’d understood his unspoken meaning. “I agree, but your mistakes also affect my well-being, and I don’t want to starve.”
He sipped his beer and stepped out of her way. “Since we’re cooking together and all, what’s going to happen with that guy?”
“Jack?”
He nodded.
“Oh, I don’t know. Probably nothing.”
He glanced at her sideways. Was she upset by this? Glad? “What do you want to happen?”
She looked surprised he’d asked. “I don’t know. Honestly, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel, Dylan. For the last couple of years . . . well, you know.” She pulled out two spoons from a drawer.
He knew. She’d been wary and scared. All with good reason.
“I’m trying to remember what you were like before you got attacked, Jen.” He stirred the soup even though it didn’t need to be stirred. Just gave him something to do instead of staring at her. “Do you ever think about those days?”
“I didn’t used to. But now I’m kind of wondering if it would be possible to get a little bit of myself back.” Placing the sandwiches on plates, she looked at him. “One day I think I’d like to smile again at people without being scared . . . and to do something spontaneous without feeling like I’m about to have another anxiety attack.”
“That’s going to happen, Jennifer. I know it is.”
Watching him carry their simple meal to the kitchen table, she nodded. “I think so, too. Actually, I think it’s time I started dancing a little more and being scared a little less. I think I deserve that.”
He knew she did. Actually, he thought that maybe they all deserved dancing more and worrying less.
That was a good thing, too, since he was becoming very fond of a certain lady who knew a thing or two about dancing.
CHAPTER 14
“What would life be like without a little tango?”
“One of us needs to learn to cook,” Traci announced as she glared at the stove like it had offended her. “Which of you wants to take cooking lessons? I’ll pay.”
Shannon glanced at Kimber. She was leaning against the doorframe and not looking particularly pleased. “What do you think, Kimber? Are you up for cooking classes?”
Looking as haughty as all get-out, Kimber lifted her chin. “No, I am not.”
Shannon chuckled. It had taken a couple of weeks of living together to learn the various nuances of Kimber’s dry sense of humor. Kimber would probably be surprised to learn that she was far more big city than she realized.
Turning to her other sister, Shannon shrugged. “Sorry, Trace. If you want better food made in this kitchen, you’re going to have to do it yourself.”
“I was afraid of that.” She turned and opened the refrigerator. Then looked in the freezer.
“Are you looking for a chef in there?” Kimber asked.
“I wish. No, I was just thinking about Dylan’s sister. He said she makes him dinner every night.” She shut the freezer door and leaned back against the appliance. “Wouldn’t that be something? We could come home and have a hot meal waiting for us.”
“Sounds like you need a wife,” Kimber murmured. “Like, one from the 1950s.”
If Traci heard Kimber, she was ignoring her. “Maybe I could hire someone to make a couple of meals that we could freeze and then heat up,” she mused.
Shannon was about to ask about how she was going to pay for that service when it all clicked together. “Wait, who are you talking about?”