Page 38 of Hazel and Elijah Find Out: First They F*cked Around

He stilled, considering the comparison, before a smile spread across his face. “Yeah, but way less calculated. He is just action. If he’s working toward something and hits a block, he either breaks through the block or finds a way around it. He just never anticipates the block.”

I rolled my eyes. “Nora anticipates every block, which makes her impossible to defeat.”

His laughter, warm and easy, burst into the kitchen. “Defeat. You make her sound like a supervillain.”

“She would make a spectacular supervillain.”

“She really would.”

“What is it exactly that you do?”

“Network securities.”

I blinked. “That explains nothing to me.”

He smiled and nodded. “I get that a lot. So, if a business’ data is compromised, or ransomware is installed in their core infrastructure, we go in and take care of it.”

“Ransomware?”

“Yeah, hackers will shut down websites until they receive funds.”

“That’s so mafia.”

He snorted. “It is.”

“That’s an interesting job, though.”

“It can be.”

After just a few more minutes and conversation, Elijah carried our plates to the table. It looked and smelled delicious—the aroma of garlic and herb wafting in the air. Before sitting next to me, he reached behind him for a lemon he’d quartered off the counter.

“I hope you enjoy it.” He shifted his shoulders with jerky motions.

“I’m sure I will. No one’s ever cooked for me before.”

“Really?”

“No. It looks really good.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched me bring a bite of salmon to my mouth. I closed my eyes as the flavors mixed, bright and savory on my tongue.

I held my fork in front of my lips. “This is delicious. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He looked around as if he was searching for something. “You don’t have a pet?”

Disappointment sank in my stomach. “No. I don’t have the time to devote to a pet right now. Maybe when I don’t have to work so much…”

We sipped white wine as we ate, and I was looking forward to having a second glass halfway through my first one, when my phone rang. I intended to ignore it, but Chelsea Thelen’s name lit up my screen. Her son, Brock, was overseas, and she was watching his dog.

It can wait, I told myself, even as a crease formed between my eyebrows.

“Do you need to get that?” Elijah asked.

I chewed my lower lip and shook my head. “I just don’t know why she’d be calling. She’s not an after-hours caller like some pet owners.”

“It’s okay. You can answer it.”

“I don’t want—”

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