“Kids!” I vaguely heard his mother call out from somewhere in the house. “Good Lord above,” his mother gasped from over my shoulder.
“Sorry, Ma. Try and make a little more noise when you approach next time,” he joked.
I started laughing and turned toward his mother, likely beet red. I hooked a thumb at Jonah. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help myself, but he started it. And have you seen him? You made the most beautiful man on earth, Loretta. I plain turn stupid when he puts his lips on mine.”
This had his mother beaming with what I assumed was pride. “No sorry needed. His father is the same.”
“Where is Dad?”
“Garage, tooling away on that old car.”
He smiled. “My father’s hobby is fixing up classic American vehicles.”
“Cool,” I said in awe. “Can we check it out?” Cars were great at getting you from point A to B. Though all the new shiny bling and curves kind of took the fun out of the deep rumbling engine and smooth edges of sculpted metal from eras past. If I had my pick, meaning the money to buy whatever I wanted, I’d totally buy a muscle car. I wanted to feel the rumble of a car underneath me as I drove. Be one with it. My old hand-me-down sedan definitely did not have that feel. Alas, another in the long list of things I loved but wasn’t sure I’d ever have, not to mention the car I did have had been stolen by my would-be captor.
“He’d love nothing more than to show you his baby…”
He was cut off when I heard a man’s voice from deeper in the house holler. “Loretta, woman, your man is wasting away in here!” A booming laugh could be heard from the other room. “What’s the hold up?” His dad then appeared in the living room from where I guessed was the kitchen.
It was like looking at Jonah thirty years from now. The same dark brown hair and facial features. Wisps of gray at his temple and curls around the sides of his ears. Still a full head of hair, thankfully. He stood tall, an inch or two over six feet. Similar build, though it was obvious that his dad partook of his mother’s cooking and didn’t hide it if the small rounded stomach was anything to go by. His eyes were a clear blue though.
“Son,” his dad called out. “Why didn’t you tell me Jonah was here already?” He stomped into the room and took Jonah into his arms and clapped him hard and loud on the back. Jonah sucked in a hiss. His father jerked back. “You hurt?”
“Yeah, Dad, bruised some ribs is all. You know how it is?”
“Oh, has your dad been shot before too?” I turned my gaze to him. “Are you in law enforcement?”
His dad’s face took in mine and then turned hard. I glanced at his mother and she paled. Shit.
“I’m fine. I was wearing the vest,” Jonah rushed to say.
His mother’s eyes filled with tears. “My son was shot. Why didn’t you call us? When did this happen? Oh, my Lord. Are you okay?”
I bit down on my bottom lip and crossed my arms over one another before I mouthed, “Sorry,” to Jonah. Always sticking my foot in it. Dammit, I need to keep my mouth shut.
“I’m well. I was working a case. It’s how I met Simone. How’s about we talk about it over dinner? What I can tell you anyway.”
That had me giving him big eyes and he shook his head. He knew what his family could handle hearing about his job. I was pretty sure the idea that he’d been shot by the Backseat Strangler wasn’t exactly going to make for polite dinner conversation, but what did I know. I was the outsider in the mix.
“Yes, come. Dinner’s ready.” His mother urged us with a wave. “Simone, would you like something to drink? Wine? Water. Pop?”
“A glass of wine would be heavenly. Thank you, Loretta. Is there anything I can do to help?”
She shook her head gracefully and I followed behind her into the kitchen. It was an average U-shaped kitchen with a six-seater dining table in the bit of open space. Cabinets occupied two of the walls with a door by the fridge that likely led to the garage.
Jonah led me to a seat next to him and we sat while his mother put a big bowl of cooked spaghetti, another big pot of sauce with a ladle, a platter of fresh garlic bread, and a bowl of salad all in the center.
“We eat family style. Feel free to serve yourself. Guests first,” Loretta said then poured two glasses of wine.
She moved to give her son one of them, but he shook his head. “No booze while I’ve got Simone on my watch.”
“On your watch?” His dad interlaced his fingers and set his chin on them staring at his son. “Explain. Now.”
For the next fifteen or so minutes Jonah updated them on some of what happened. Leaving out the part where he got shot three times, me once, and the loss of Katrina to the psycho. He did tell them who he was protecting me from and that he was off work for the next week to heal. His parents seemed thrilled that he would be on babysitting duty and not out there chasing after the serial killer.
“And when did the two of you decide to be a couple in all of this?” his mother blatantly asked.
Jonah choked on a piece of his bread and I chuckled while smacking his back.
“Ma, we are um…”
“Seeing each other?” I offered.
He let out a relieved breath. “Seeing each other. Yeah, that.”
“What’s the difference?” She frowned.
“A lot, Ma, but that’s between me and Simone. Let’s just say it’s new and leave it at that, yeah?”
“Don’t get that tone with your mother, son. Mind your manners,” his dad chastised.
And I lost it. Snort-laughed and put my head down so I was looking at my lap as I tried desperately to control my laugher.
A warm arm sliced across my back and Jonah pressed his chin to my shoulder, and whispered, “Keep it up, baby. You’re gonna get it.”
I swallowed and cleared my throat, then reached for the glass of wine and taking a hefty sip, allowing it to warm my body from the inside out. Jonah watched me like a hawk. So much so that I turned my head and taunted, “Oh yeah, you gonna give it to me?”
He smirked. “Only if you’re good.”
Damn.
Check. Mate. He won.
Just as I was reaching for another hunk of supremely amazing garlic bread to sop up the rest of the sauce on my plate, lest it go to waste, someone rang the doorbell.
His father growled low in his throat clearly annoyed by being disturbed during dinner. I got that. It was annoying. Like when you’d just sat down to eat and the phone rang and it was a freakin’ telemarketer and not someone you could easily just tell, “Hey, I’ll call you right back when I’m done with dinner,” and they let you. No, you were stuck on the phone with someone who wanted to sell you a new warranty on your stove that you didn’t even know had a warranty in the first place.
Jonah stood and set his napkin on the table. “I’ll get it.”
“So, Simone, what do you do?” his mother asked.
“That’s a rather loaded question. It would be easier to ask what I don’t do.” I smiled. “Most of the time I bartend at Tracks downtown. I also work in my mom’s best friend’s flower shop a couple days a week, and I just recently as of two days quit my waitressing job.”