Page 31 of Colton's Secret Weapon
“You’re more in tune than you think, Mitchell. I’ve been struggling to get out of the fear. I was failing, in spite of everything I know to do to help myself. But you knew what to do. Head away from the world, from the evil lurking around me, and up into nature.”
For a second there, he wanted to be that guy. To live in a world where he could just escape all of the threatening possibilities lurking around the corner. But to do so, he’d have to give up his livelihood and walk away from what he was best at. Looking for the danger. And preventing it from happening to others where he could.
Using the skills he excelled at—analyzing, paying attention to detail, making judgments. Staying focused on the bad that had happened, and could happen, in order to find ways to avoid it whenever possible.
“Are we going in?” she asked, bringing his attention back to her face in the dimly lit garage.
“I wasn’t sure you’d still want to stay.” Though, he’d have done all he could to talk her out of not doing so, if she had made that choice.
“Of course I want to stay.” Her vehemence surprised him. Gave him another stab of the desire he’d been trying so hard to pretend wasn’t there. Until she said, “I was prompted to seek you out, and willingly, knowingly, or not, you’ve been my answer every step of the way. I might appear odd to many in this town, but I am not one to make foolish choices, Mitchell. Nor to turn my back on the opportunity that’s been presented at a time when I most need it.”
Well, there he had it. She wasn’t into him. Personally. Wasn’t maybe starting to trust him. She was relying on her inner guidance. And he just happened to be the means by which she reached her goal.
The thought should have eased much of the bizarre emotional tension that had been building within Mitchell.
Instead, her words left him unusually deflated.
And still tense.
Chapter 10
Dove went straight to her room. Alone time was critical to her well-being and, other than while using the restroom, she’d had none since early that morning.
More than that, she wanted to get out of Mitchell’s hair. If he quit on her, she had no idea what she was going to do.
The answers would come. They always did. She knew that.
But she could also reach her demise in the process of finding them. While she was not one to argue with fate, she also understood that self-will had power of its own. And she wasn’t ready to be done with her earthly life.
After a quick shower and then prayer time—focusing fully on her father being alive—her head hit the pillow just before one in the morning. And by four, she was lying there wide awake. With worry bugs starting to creep under her skin.
Throwing off the covers, she tried to meditate but was already too lost in subconscious musings to find her zen. At home, she’d turn up the music and clean.
But she figured Mitchell wouldn’t appreciate the chaos at that early hour.
Opening her door slowly, she crept out into the hall enough to take in the quiet of the house. That’s when guidance hit. The kitchen was the room closest to her but the farthest from the staircase that led upstairs to Mitchell’s suite.
And she had dinner to make. She’d given her word. Had no idea what the coming day was going to bring in terms of claims on her time.
She loved to cook. Found pleasure in the activity itself, the joining of various ingredients to make something that tasted better together than any of them did alone.
And while the sauce simmered, the ricotta mixture softened enough for spreading, and the noodles cooled, she prepared cacao beans for roasting. And mixed up a bowl of fresh, finely cut cucumber, broccoli, kale spinach, and other mixed greens for breakfast. Her own.
Breakfast casserole was on the menu for Mitchell’s.
Even if he liked the idea of salad in the morning, no way she was going to expose the man to her dietary habits. He’d just end up asking questions.
And she’d end up telling him that the foods promoted intuitive abilities…because sheknewhe’d go look up their benefits—and find them, too. Proving her right.
And while she was not going to change who she was or what she did, she didn’t have to be in his face with her lifestyle, either. Especially as a guest in his home.
That would be just plain rude.
Adding some cheese to her greens for protein, and then, when they came out of the oven, the chopped beans, Dove moved on to the next project. Roasting salmon in the air fryer on the counter. She’d seen a friend of her mother’s use one. Had always wanted to try one out.
With the lasagna in the oven—she’d waited to bake it because it took longer, at a higher temperature than the twenty minutes total for the beans—she pulled out the salmon she’d put in marinade when she’d first come into the kitchen. Reading the instructions on the front of the air fryer, she set the temperatureand time before putting the smaller pan in the middle shelf and hitting Start.
From there, she moved immediately to the refrigerator for the sausage for Mitchell’s breakfast casserole. Putting that on the stove on low, taking time to crumble it nicely, she was just finding a bowl big enough for the egg mixture when she heard footsteps on the stairs.
