Page 27 of A Christmas Mystery

“What choices? Your career?”

He nods.

“They didn’t want you to become a public defender?”

“They were fine with me going to law school, but I think they pictured some sort of ritzy partnership at an impressive law firm. They still don’t really understand.”

“Why did you decide to go in this direction?” I turn down the heat on the stove before I turn to look at him. “With your family’s connections, you probably could have had a lucrative career.”

He shrugs and glances away.

“What? Why won’t you tell me?” It’s odd I’m so comfortable pushing him in this. Only two days ago I never would have dreamed he’d want to open up to me or I’d expect him to.

“There’s not a clear-cut reason. I just didn’t want to practice law to get rich people out of trouble. I’ve never cared about money as much as my folks do. I... I want to do work I’m proud of, that I can see real good come out of. So this is what I chose.” He’s kind of mumbly and not meeting my eyes.

My heart is beating faster than it should. And it feels a little melty. And like it’s momentarily too big for my chest.

I clear my throat. “Well, it’s clear you are making a positive impact. I’ve heard from more than one person who really appreciates what you’ve done for your clients.”

He nods and still won’t meet my eyes, but it’s not because he’s pushing me away. It feels more like he’s embarrassed by the authenticity.

Remembering my sausage before it starts to burn, I turn back to my pan, taking the sausage out and adding some butter and flour to the pan and stirring it around before adding milk.

I check the pasta, and it only needs a couple of minutes more. Theo is putting our salads together in two bowls. I’m stirring the milk into a roux when he comes over and peers at the pan over my shoulder.

“That smells really good.”

“It’s the sausage. It will make anything smell good.”

“That sauce is thickening up really good. So you just add cheese after that?”

“Yeah. That’s it.”

“That’s pretty easy. Why haven’t I been making this before now?”

I smile down at the pan. “That’s a question you’ll have to answer for yourself. If that pasta is done, you can go ahead and drain it.”

We work for a couple of minutes, him draining the pasta and me crumbling the gorgonzola into the sauce and then adding back the sausage. When it’s ready, he pours the pasta into the pan, and I stir everything together for a minute before turning off the heat.

“Done!” I grin at him, excited about the meal and even more so that we made it together.

“That looks like the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

I snort. “Wait until you taste it before you make grand statements.”

We serve up the pasta and eat it on stools at the bar with our salads and wine. I ask Theo more about his work, and he tells me about some of the cases he’s most proud of. Then I ask him more about his family, and he asks about mine. We talk until our bowls are empty and we’ve finished the bottle of wine.

It’s only then that I remember my dress. I never moved it from the washer to the dryer.

I run to the hallway to move it, apologizing when I come back that I let it slide.

“Why would it matter?” he asks, gazing at me with a confused smile.

“I don’t know. Just that now I can’t leave until it’s dry.”

“Do you think I was asking you to leave?”

“No. No, of course not. I just...” I take a raspy breath and stare down at my empty pasta dish. “I’m taking up your whole day.”

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