Page 30 of Crash and Burn

“Maybe.” At one point, he'd found four full changes of clothes he’d been carrying in his bag. If he was lucky, he'd find another now.

Reaching into the duffel, he dug through Redemption Fire Department shirts, tons of spare socks, towels for his workout, swim trunks and goggles for the pool, and more. Eventually his fingers, closed around another roll of clothing at the bottom of the bag. “Got it!”

In a few minutes, they both looked roughly the same, but cleaner. He managed to convince her to sit on the couch with him. Convinced her to lean her head on his shoulder. And it only took a few moments before he felt her sinking into him. Slowly, finally, getting some of the sleep she needed.

If only his brain wasn’t spinning with the find in the closet. It was all too close to Maggie.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Maggie woke up alone on the couch. The crick in her neck from a couple days ago had returned with a vengeance and now her back was sore to go with it.

Sadly, she was lying directly on the couch—not on Sebastian, which was where she remembered falling asleep. He must have eased his way out from underneath her. Bummer. It would have felt just as good to wake up on him, too.

Slowly she stood and stretched, and though she knew the stretch was necessary, she regretted doing it. Her neck hurt.

The sound of footsteps pushed through the heavy sigh she gave at waking up, but they came from her right, not down the hallway. She frowned until she saw Sebastian come around the corner from the dining room.

“Hey,” he grinned at her and if he’d called hersleepyheadshe would have taken it. “I hope you don't mind. I got into the kitchen.”

“I don't mind at all.”

She wondered what he'd done in there, taking pictures of her pots and pans, or mostly,Aunt Abbie'spots and pans that had been left to her. Maybe the interior of the oven—but, no, they’d already photographed the kitchen for posterity. And as she got closer, she realized it smelledreallygood.

“You cook?” she asked.

“Decent.” He offered only a shrug, but the decadent smell disagreed. Then he asked, “You?”

Maggie guessed he was being polite. If he’d been in her kitchen, then he already knew the answer was ‘not unless she had to.’ “I’m great with a crock pot and I can microwave a mean pizza.”

She tossed the words out but then watched as he cringed, clearly believing pizza did not belong in the microwave. Maggie spied cutting boards, plates, and knives across the countertop. “What did you do?”

“I hope it's okay,” he didn’t really answer.

She motioned as if to sayanything is fine. Anyone who wanted to feed her, particularly anyone who wanted to look that good doing it, was more than welcome. “I'm easy,” she said, then realized that might not have been the right thing to say to a man she had just fallen asleep on top of.

Sebastian only grinned then pointed at the counter.

A plate of bruschetta was laid out with toasted french bread covered with chopped tomatoes, peppers and black olives. He’d grated cheese and drizzled it with something dark.

“You had balsamic vinegar,” he answered her confused look. “So bruschetta seemed like a good choice.”

She didn’t know she had balsamic vinegar.

“I found fish fillets in the freezer. I put those in the oven.”

Ah,she thought, she'd smelled that too.

“And I found frozen peas.”

Maggie almost grimaced. He'd pulled food out of her freezer, because it was really the only place she had actual food. “It looks fantastic.”

“I hope you didn’t have plans for the fish.”

“I eat whatever, whenever.” She hoped to let him know that she was grateful he’d cooked for her, but maybe she’d let him know she wasn’t really capable of feeding herself anything other than frozen foods and the occasional soup.

She motioned him to the dining room table—yet another ornate, antique piece, that someone, somewhere would love to own. That person just wasn’t her.

They were mostly through the meal when the knock came and Maggie dragged herself to the front door. Sure enough, Watson and Decker had returned, warrant in hand.

---