Page 48 of Mistletoe and Malice
He’d just put six strips of bacon in a skillet for a triple-decker club sandwich when she ambled into the kitchen.
“Bacon.” Her tired eyes lit up. “You’re making bacon?”
“I am. Want some?”
“Yes, please. I never pass up bacon.”
He pulled six more slices from the package. “What do you want? Breakfast for dinner, BLT?”
She pulled herself up on a stool in front of the island and yawned before bracing her elbow on the counter and sticking her chin in her hand. “What’re you having?”
“Club sandwich.”
“Can I have one of those?”
“You got it.”
“Need any help?”
“Nope. Sit there and take a power nap.”
“I can’t sleep sitting up.”
He glanced at her perched on the stool with her eyes closed, her hair up in a haphazard bun, dressed again in sweats and white socks. “Could’ve fooled me.”
Her eyes popped open. “I’m not sleeping.”
He guessed there was more truth there than she meant to confide.
Bacon sizzled in the skillet while he went to work cutting up lettuce, tomato, and onion, and plopped six pieces of sourdough bread into the toaster. “Get a lot done? It’s after eight, and you haven’t been down since lunch.”
“I did. Still more to do, but isn’t there always?”
After pulling the bacon from the pan, he let it sit on a paper towel while he assembled the first layer—ham, turkey, cheese, lettuce, tomato, and red onion on sourdough toast slathered with mayonnaise. He stuck three pieces of bacon on top of each stack, set another slice of sourdough on top, and repeated the layers, topping it all off with the last piece of toast.
He cut each sandwich into quarters, shook potato chips out of a bag onto each plate, and slid one toward her. “Your sandwich, madam.”
Sitting up, she stared down at her plate. “Sandwich? More like a work of art.”
After grabbing two bottles of water from the fridge, he joined her at the island, sitting at an angle to her.
“Mmm. So good.”
That was all the compliment he needed, and he grinned at the dollop of mayonnaise at the corner of her mouth.
“What? Got it on me, didn’t I?”
“A little.” He pointed to the corner of his mouth. “Right here.”
She licked it away and went in for another bite. “Red onion. I’ve never had onion on a club sandwich before. You’ve spoiled me for all other club sandwiches on the planet.”
“Wow. High praise.” He took a bite of his own and had to admit it hit the spot.
He finished half of his before gulping down some water. “Tell me how you got into the criminal defense biz.”
She chewed and swallowed. “Wasn’t the original plan. At Harvard, I’d planned to go into corporate law. Not necessarily to work at the company, but because it interested me. The setting up of corporations and so on.”
“What made you change course?”
