Page 109 of Cold Case, Warm Hearts

“We understand, hon,” Deborah said. “It must be hard, what you’re going through.”

“Being run off the road?” Aspen said. “Barely escaping death? Sort of hard, yeah.” Aspen watched her a long moment before cutting her pasta into small pieces and taking a bite.

Deborah said nothing.

Garrett felt like there were two conversations going on at the table, and he was only hearing one of them.

Aspen set down her fork and sipped her water. “So, did you stay at Plymouth?” She directed the question to Deborah.

“I transferred to New Hampshire College in Manchester.”

Aspen turned to Dean. “This meal is delicious. Thank you so much for making it.”

He looked up from his plate and smiled. It almost looked genuine. “It’s my pleasure.”

“You like to cook?”

“I love it.”

“And he’s really good,” Garrett said, grateful for the subject change. “Did you know Aspen’s father owned restaurants?”

“Is that so?” Dean asked. “How many?”

“Four. There were two on the Big Island—Kona and Waikoloa. One in Waikiki and one on Maui.”

“Touristy places?” Dean asked.

“The first one was in Kona, and it started out as a local favorite. Dad expanded to a second restaurant when I was little. When it was featured on one of those Food Network shows, it exploded, and he opened the other ones.”

“Good for him,” Dean said. “He always was a hard worker. I didn’t know he liked to cook, though. Do you?”

“It’s funny,” she said. “I can cook, but it’s not something we did together very much. We were at the restaurant most nights. We ate there, but Dad wasn’t the chef at that point. Even though he loved to create amazing dishes, he handed over the recipes to the cooks. When we didn’t have to be at the restaurant, we usually did something fun together. Surfing or hiking, if there wasn’t some school activity I needed to attend. I haven’t done a lot of cooking in my life.”

“What a unique experience, practically growing up in a restaurant.” Dean nodded across the table to Garrett. “This one’s a great cook, mostly because I made him learn.”

Garrett chuckled. “I didn’t complain too much.” Those were some of his favorite memories from when he’d first come to live with them. Deborah had worked more nights back then, but Dean was always home.

“Only because I let you sample the food.” Dean winked at Aspen. “The kid was un-fillable. Never seen somebody eat so much.”

“I was a growing boy.”

Dean eyed the giant portion of pasta on Garrett’s plate. “What’s your excuse now?”

“It was a busy day,” he said, spearing a piece of chicken. “I need to keep my strength up. Even if it means forcing down this roadkill.”

“Oh, you two.” But the affection in Deborah’s voice was obvious. To Aspen, she said, “Ignore them. That’s what I do.”

Aspen smiled and turned back to Dean. “I can see why you like to cook—mixing all those ingredients to see what you can create. It’s different, but a little like what you studied in school, right? Did you finish your chemistry degree?”

Dean’s playful expression dissipated, and his skin turned red. He glared at Garrett, the look so fast Garrett might have imagined it. “No.” He stabbed a bite of the meal and ate it.

Either Aspen didn’t notice Dean’s discomfort or didn’t care. If Garrett had to guess, despite how well he knew her—and liked her—he’d guess the second. “Did you change majors, or colleges, or both?”

Dean swallowed the food. “After your mother blew up that building and murdered?—”

“Dean,” Deborah said.

“…that woman… After I was questioned about my involvement?—”

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