“It was amazing. And I’d use even stronger superlatives if you weren’t such a lady. And it was a big deal. You made cornbread and those . . . roll-up things.”
“Pork empanadas.”
“Better than any restaurant.”
“I hope you have room for dessert?”
Jack grinned. “What did you make?”
“Mexican chocolate cake.”
“I don’t know how you don’t weigh two hundred pounds.” The minute the words were out of his mouth, he groaned. “Sorry. I know better than to talk about weight with a woman. Especially on a first date.”
That mention—or maybe it was the way he’d complimented her so nicely—but she said, “So, you don’t mind too much about not going to Champ’s?”
“No. As in, not even a little bit. I was just trying to think of somewhere you might feel safe.”
She’d gone ahead and told him the Reader’s Digest version of the latest episode. It hadn’t been easy to do, and she’d been practically stuttering on the phone when she’d done it. But he’d acted like women he dated got threatening notes all the time—or at least like he understood—and readily agreed to dine at her house instead.
“Jennifer, my mom is a bookseller, not a cook. I grew up with pasta and pizza and grilled hamburgers and about five other meals that were fine, but nothing to get too excited about. I don’t even cook half that well. This was a real treat for me.”
“Thanks.” She stood up. ‘Would you like dessert now?”
“How about I help you clean up first?”
“Well, I need to let the girls know that we’re done.”
“Because?”
“Because they’re waiting for leftovers.”
He laughed. “I would say that they could have joined us . . . but I’m glad they didn’t.”
“Me, too,” she said, shyly. They’d talked. Really talked. And not about her and her past either. Jack had told her about his job as a building contractor. He’d told her about getting Harvard and the dozen “bad puppy” things he did on a daily basis. He’d laughed when she told him that she thought Harvard’s fascination with Jack’s slippers was cute.
She’d told him stories about growing up in Bridgeport, back when it wasn’t much more than a sleepy town.
He’d grinned when she’d told him that she’d played softball when she was little and was on the golf team in high school.
It had been easy. Really easy.
“Why don’t you go tell your roommates they can come up and eat?”
“But dessert . . .”
“I can eat here with them.” When she was ready to protest, he looked her in the eye. “I want to get to know them, Jennifer. I need them on my side, too.”
“Why?”
“Because I plan to see you as often as you’ll let me.” He smiled. “That means I might need their help to make it happen.” He snapped his fingers. “I almost forgot—my mother wants you to call her about a job.”
“Pardon me?”
“She wants you to cater an event she’s been planning. It’s called Murder by the Book.”
“What is that?”
“My mom is bringing in three mystery writers. They’re going to chat about their books, sign them, and there’s going to be all kinds of snacks and desserts to go along with it.”
“Wow. It sounds like a lot of fun.”
“It is, and the authors sell a lot of books, which means she keeps getting a bigger turnout every year.”
“When is it?”
“Two weeks.” He grinned. “And before you ask, yes, she did have the food arranged. But the owner’s mother or something got sick and they had to cancel. She was really in a state until she remembered you.”
“Wow.” If she did a good job, it would give her business a real head start. But it also meant that she had to be ready for that.
Was she ready?
She’d gotten that letter. She’d barely made it into the store just a couple of weeks ago. Maybe it was all too fast?
But then she remembered that she wasn’t alone anymore. She had her roommates and her brother and, yes, maybe even Jack. Plus, it was his mother hosting the event, and she was lovely.
“Jennifer, are you okay?”
She blinked. “I’m sorry. I guess I was already dreaming up mysterious-sounding snacks.”
“So you’ll do it?”
She made a decision. She was ready. She nodded. “Yep. I’ll do it. It might not be perfect, but I’ll do my best.”
“If you do it, it will be fine. That’s all you need to know.” He gestured toward the stairs. “Now can we let your roommates upstairs?”
“Absolutely. Just tell them they can come eat. They’ll come up in a heartbeat. They always do.”
CHAPTER 36
“When I dance, people think I’m looking for my keys.”
—Ray Romano
It turned out that Lance wasn’t as stupid as they thought. He’d lawyered up practically before they could get his full legal name.
While the assistant district attorney grumbled to their captain, Dylan and Traci shared their frustrations with each other at Paxton’s after their shift ended.
A couple of other men and women had joined them for a beer. Now the two of them were lingering and complaining, nursing the same drinks they’d gotten an hour before. “Sometimes I just wish we didn’t always have to be the good guys,” Traci grumbled.
“Me, too, but what can we do? If we bend the law to suit our needs, we’re no better than guys like Lance.”
“Oh, I know I’m better than a rapist. But I agree. Back in Cleveland, I saw more than my fair share of creepiness. Someone has to do the right thing. Might as well be us.”
Dylan glanced at his phone and saw he’d gotten a text from Shannon.
Are you okay?
Boy, she was a sweetheart. He quickly typed out a reply.
Okay. Finishing up with your sister. I’ll call you later.
When he put his phone down, he said, “Shannon was just checking on me.”
Traci’s expression softened. “She texted me, too.” Looking up at him, she said, “It’s nice having someone around who cares, huh?”