Page 17 of Hidden Rocco
“I’m good.”
“Can I ask how you were poisoned and why?”
“Usual way, poisoned my food.” Her gaze followed his muscular arm to his abs and then lower for a second when she said, “The jeans look like they fit better.”
“Thank you, ma’… Where’s Jacob?”
She bounced in her step as she came closer and the room smelled like her floral perfume. “Asleep. I have the baby monitor on my phone that alerts if he stirs. I wanted to check on you and see how dinner was coming along.”
Mica had a beauty that most women would never have. It wasn’t any feature on her face or body, but it was something she stirred in his soul. She was fierce, take-charge when she needed to be, but also kind. He returned to the stove as he said, “It will be ready in a half an hour.”
She joined him and the air around him no longer just smelled of meat and onions. She made it sweeter. “Anything I can do?”
She wanted to help? There wasn’t much to do except stir the sauce so he glanced at her and said, “I’m just minding the dinner at this point, but I’ll need to set the table.”
She reached up into the cupboard above her head and took out the plates. “And get a bottle of wine. What do you prefer, red or white?”
She placed the plates on the counter and stepped back.
It had been a while since he'd had wine with dinner. Rocco shook his head and said, “I’ve not…”
She lifted her eyebrows and then disappeared into a side room as she asked, “Beer? I’m sure I have beer. I probably have anything you might desire in beverages around somewhere.”
Alcohol hadn’t been on his mind or lips in years—but he’d escaped, across state lines.
Anyone else would be celebrating.
Fear for his mother kept him grounded, though even she would tell him to lighten up and take the offer. “A beer sounds good.”
She returned with a six pack and put it in the freezer to cool in a hurry. “What are we eating tonight?”
“Meatloaf.”
It might not be the fanciest meal, but he’d craved a good meatloaf with onion and gravy since he’d been fed the prison version, which was gray and not fit for an animal.
She pressed her lips together, clearly less enthused. “Intriguing. I haven’t had-”
“I can make something else,” he interrupted, and headed toward the refrigerator.
A woman like Mica would probably eat lighter fare. He should have guessed she’d hate meat and potatoes.
She reached for his wrist and a spark rushed through him as she said, “I’m intrigued by your idea of comfort food. I’ll have a beer too.”
Yet this wasn’t what she wanted. It was clear. He opened the refrigerator. “You don’t have to share with me. I can make chicken, or a big salad. I’m already uncomfortable wearing these clothes you bought.”
If anyone spots an escaped prisoner, please contact the authorities. The pictures are on our website.
The radio announcement blared in his ears and he turned it off fast.
Mica should run from him.
Or he should just leave now.
She patted him on the back. “Rocco, what’s on the radio?”
His life was over. Not that he had one anyhow. He was stupid and should run now. “The authorities were saying that there's been a prison break in Utah.”
She pointed to the other side of the stove and the radio. “Next time, I’d prefer music while we get this in order.”
