Page 34 of Capturing You
Though he guessed she was in her mid-twenties, she looked about seventeen at the moment, exactly the kind of girl who wouldn’t have given him a second glance back in high school.
Not that he cared. Not that he was looking for a girlfriend.
Girlfriend?
For crying out loud, what was it about this woman that gave him these wild thoughts?
Her head tilted to one side. “What?”
He shook himself. “Whatwhat?”
“What whatwhat?” Her grin widened. “I feel like we could do this all day.”
“Maybe you could. I’m busy.”
That smile wavered but didn’t fade. “Thought you might be hungry.”
He was, very. He bookmarked the paper he’d been reading and closed the file—a contract from a few months before the murders. Probably had nothing to do with anything. “I’ll fix us something.”
“I already did. I hope you don’t mind.”
Did he mind that she’d helped herself to his kitchen, cooked a meal without his permission?
Nope. Not one bit.
“I madecroque monsieursandwiches. I used all your Gruyère. Hope that was okay.”
Forbes’s assistant had ordered the fancy cheese, but he hadn’t touched it.
“Would you bring me a plate?” He’d meant for that to sound like a request, but it came out more like a demand. “I usually work while I eat.”
“If you’re hungry, you can join me at the table, where we’ll eat like civilized humans.” She nodded to the pile of dirty dishes he’d been meaning to return to the kitchen. “Grab those when you come.” She swiveled and marched out.
She had a lot of nerve ordering him around.
On the other hand, the prospect of a hot meal certainly wasn’t objectionable.
He found Brooklynn in the kitchen, cutting two sandwiches in half.
She shot him a grin over her shoulder, apparently already over their tiff, then went back to plating their dinners and adding a handful of potato chips to each serving. “I looked for ingredients to make a pasta salad or a green salad, but the only lettuce you had was wilted. I tossed it. Grab the drinks, would you?”
Two glasses had already been filled with water.
“I was going to make iced tea.” She carried the plates into the breakfast room.
The curtains were pulled closed—had been since Taggart’s visit—but the chandelier and the lamp on the china cabinet cast yellow light, making the room look cheerful despite the lack of evening sun.
“I couldn’t find any that wasn’t Earl Gray.” She was still talking about tea. “Not that that wouldn’t make good iced tea, but I wanted to save it for mornings.” She set the plates on the table, sliding into one of the chairs. “You don’t have any lemonade or soda.”
“Water’s fine.” He settled across from her and lifted one of the sandwiches. It was ham and cheese but with some kind of sauce on top.
She cleared her throat, and he looked up.
“I usually pray before I eat.”
“Oh. Sure. Go ahead.”
“Unless you want to. Do you pray?”
