Page 61 of Blind Luck

Thank fuck.

“That’s the right answer.”

CHAPTER 20

ERIN

Rusty had turned bossy, and the weird thing? I didn’t hate it.

My husband was bossy, and I’d spent our entire marriage dreaming of putting his sausage and meatballs through the grinder. Every time he told me to lie down and spread my legs, I put horse pee in his coffee. You know how hard it is to collect horse pee? So freaking hard. Almost as hard as feigning sympathy when my not-so-beloved had performance issues.

But Rusty was bossy in a different way.You’re leaving that shitty hotel. Go get some rest while I make lunch.Plus he’d squeezed my hand. That night in the Salt Shaker, he’d told me a hand-squeeze was more intimate than a kiss on the cheek, so why had he done it?

We’d collected my belongings from the Galaxy, and I had to concede that my new room was much nicer than the old one. I felt like a princess. No, really. Mav had decorated the room for his niece with a pink canopy bed, a rocking horse, a silver velvet couch, and the contents of half a toy store. Unfortunately, six years after swearing she wouldn’t have more children, his sister had popped out a boy, so theplay castle had been removed to make way for a race car bed.

Rusty had offered to give me his room, but I’d missed out on most of my childhood, and didn’t every little girl dream of being a princess? Plus there was hot water in the en-suite. Anyhow, I didn’t think I’d sleep because my mind was churning with confusion over Rusty’s behaviour, but the mattress was soft as a cloud, and I’d drifted off while he went off to cook.

Cook.

A soft knock sounded.

“Lunch is ready.”

He’d been serious about that? I could have stayed in that bed all day, but my stomach grumbled and I remembered I forgot to eat breakfast. Spending a day with Rusty without being on active surveillance promised to be weird, but I couldn’t say I hated the idea. The clues so far pointed to him coming out of the same mould as my brother and Zach—competitive but kind. I walked into the kitchen as he pulled a casserole dish out of the oven.

“Wait, you actuallymadelunch?”

“I said I was going to.”

“But you’re a hockey player. I didn’t think you knew how to cook.”

“Then it might surprise you to hear that hockey players need to eat too.”

“Duh. I figured you’d have a chef.”

“The team has a chef, but when I’m at home, I like to cook for myself.”

He set the dish on the table, and I leaned forward on my elbows to take a look. “What is it?”

“Hoppel poppel.”

“What?”

“Egg casserole. My mom used to make it from leftovers when I was a kid, and it’s still my favourite food.”

It had the look of a ploughed field, although it did smell good. “What’s in it besides eggs?”

“Fried potatoes, onions, bacon, green peppers, and melted cheese. Try it—you might like it.”

I spooned a pile onto a plate and took a taste. Then another, and another, and another. Well, colour me surprised.

“It’s good, huh?” Rusty said around a mouthful.

“Okay, you can stay.”

“Why, thank you, ma’am.”

Man, I could live on this stuff. But maybe with ketchup.

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