Page 99 of Ink and Ashes
“See something you like?” I ask with a grin as I crack a few eggs into a bowl and mix them together.
I glance up to see her throat work as she swallows. She looks from my arms to the bowl, trying to play it cool as if I didn’t just catch her checking me out.
“It’s kind of gross to cook without a shirt on,” she says, bringing her mug to her lips.
I burst out laughing, then head into the pantry to grab the apron I have hanging on the back of the door. I pull it over my head and when I re-enter the kitchen, Holland’s eyes roll so far back into her head I’d be surprised if she didn’t see that big, beautiful brain of hers.
Which only makes me laugh harder.
“Better?” I ask as I get back to making the quiche.
She shakes her head, smiling. “It’ll do.”
I watch her watch me out of my periphery as I continue mixing the ingredients for the quiche. It feels wrong to be enjoying myself here with her, especially given the events of yesterday. But she makes me feel so damn good, and if laughing with her is what it takes to help me forget for a few minutes, I’m going to take full advantage of it.
“Where’d you learn how to cook?” she asks, drinking up both me and the coffee in her hands.
I add the veggies, ham, and some seasoning to the egg mixture. “My mom.” I smile as I think about cooking with her as a kid. Spending weekends trying new recipes for my dad and sister.
“It’s nice she taught you that,” Holland says softly as I put the quiche into the oven, setting the timer for thirty minutes. When I glance up at her, a solemn look fills her features, and my brows pull together.
“Your parents never taught you?”
Holland swallows roughly, shaking her head. “I’m not sure they know how to cook either, and the only things we did as a family were attend galas and debates. I grew up with personal chefs who made all my meals, and since living on my own, I’ve always eaten out or made meals that don’t involve using the stove.”
My eyes widen slightly. Even before I found out who she really is, I’d figured Holland had money based on how she dresses, but I never thought she washave a personal chefrich. Aside from her clothes and her confidence, nothing about her screamsspoiledrich girl.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
I shrug. “I’m reconsidering letting you pay rent. I didn’t realize you came from so much money.”
“Dad’s a famous politician, remember?” She chuckles, but it falls flat. “Having money isn’t everything, though. I’d take a mother who taught me how to cook and a father who mentored me over lots of money any day. You grew up a different kind of rich…with a family who cared aboutyou, not just your success. I wish I’d had that.”
My heart cracks. I knew when she arrived that she was running from something, and though being blacklisted was the spark that set her life on fire, I’m guessing her parents played a big role in her departure.
“Are you an only child?”
She nods, keeping her gaze trained on the coffee mug in her hands. “My parents never wanted kids. After they had me, they took precautions to make sure they wouldn’t have any more.”
I hum in understanding, noticing a small tear fall from the corner of her eye. She’s quick to wipe it away, and as much as I want to know everything about this woman, I take that as my cue to change the subject. She’ll open up when she’s ready.
“I’ll teach you,” I tell her.
A knot forms between her eyebrows. “To cook?”
“Yeah.” I shrug, trying to act nonchalant. “If you want to learn, I can teach you.”
A small smile forms on her face—a real one this time. “I… I would love that.”
I smile back at her and we continue to make small talk until breakfast is ready, making sure to keep the conversation light. When the oven beeps to let me know the quiche is done, I pull it out and cut us each a piece. Holland is quick to dig in, andwhen a soft moan falls from her lips and her eyes flutter shut, I realize just how far gone I am for her.
Having her move in definitely wasn’t a good idea.
CHAPTER 35
Holland
It’s been a few days now since I moved into the spare bedroom at Colson’s house, and we’ve fallen into a good routine. There hasn’t been another fire yet—arson or otherwise—so he’s been home every night since I arrived, and he took it upon himself to install a high-end security system for the nights he won’t be. He’s usually gone before I wake up, either spending the day with Finn’s widow and daughters or at the station, but he always returns home in time for us to cook dinner together. And with each day that passes, it gets harder and harder not to jump his bones every time I see him.
