by Roni Loren
He tilted his head. “May have?”
She gave him her best don’t-hate-me smile. “I was thinking maybe we could still have a cooking lesson tonight. And maybe I could video it to share with my readers and podcast listeners? I try to mix in some fun content in between all the murdery stuff.”
Hill’s expression went flat. “Video it.”
“I know you nixed the idea of being the horror-movie virgin on my podcast, which is totally fine, but I thought this may be more up your alley. You love to cook, and you’re really good at teaching it. I think if you gave it a shot, this could be a fun project for you.” She rocked back on her heels, bracing for him to shut her down. “I just know that, for me, when I’m going through a tough time, the best thing I can do is direct my energy toward something creative. I wrote my first book when I was in a really dark place, and it helped get me out of it. And I started the podcast when my anxiety was starting to overwhelm me because it gave me a small way to fight back against the bad guys.”
Empathy filled Hill’s brown eyes.
“I’m not going to pretend to know what you’re going through,” she went on. “My trauma was different from yours, but I know that finding things—even little things—that gave me joy helped me build up my energy again so that I could tackle bigger things. Maybe teaching other people to cook could give you that little boost.”
Hill let out a breath and ran a hand over the back of his head. “This is you being pushy.”
She swallowed hard. “Yes. Which you said you appreciated and, frankly, kind of asked for.”
He glanced toward the closed doors of the test kitchen and set down his mineral water on a table by the door.
“If you hate it, I won’t post the video, but I think this could be fun,” she rambled on. “I ordered some ingredients, and Hollyn made sure they were put away in here for us. I also thought you might enjoy cooking in the fancy kitchen they have here since my kitchen is kind of bare bones.”
Hill turned back to her, and she braced for him to be annoyed, but instead, he lifted his hand and cupped her jaw, his gaze searching hers. “Thank you.”
She brightened. “Really?”
His thumb brushed lightly against her cheek. “Yes. I don’t know if I’ve ever met anyone who’s so…sweet.”
She grimaced at the word.
He smiled. “Don’t make that face. I don’t mean that in a dismissive way. I just mean that it’s rare to find someone who spends their time thinking of ways to help someone else or make their life better. That’s sweet. And kind. And sexy.” He bent down and kissed her gently. “So I will cook for you on video, but no promises on if I’ll give the go-ahead for you to post it. I’ll have to make that call afterward. I’ll probably be awkward as hell on-screen.”
The simple kiss and his words had sent goose bumps chasing over her skin. She smiled. “Deal.”
He swept an arm out in front of them. “Lead the way, pushy one.”
She grabbed his hand. “Great. I’m starving.”
For dinner. But also for more time with Hill. So many times in her life, she’d pushed her friends a little too far, her “help” sometimes perceived as being overbearing, as annoying, as Andi being too much. Her family had always thought she was too much. Still did. She realized that she’d expected Hill to react the same way.
Instead, he’d called her sweet and kissed her and said yes to her plan. He was going to step out of his comfort zone and trust her. That vote of confidence filled her up. She wasn’t going to let him down. This was going to be the best damn cooking-lesson video ever created.
Or at least the most fun.
She would make sure of it.
Chapter Seventeen
Hill followed Andi into the test kitchen as she flipped on the lights. The space was bright and modern, with an all-white kitchen and professional-grade stainless-steel appliances on the left and an area for a camera and chairs for spectators on the right.
“They keep things pretty neutral so that people can dress up the kitchen how they want for their videos,” Andi explained. “Or for live demos. That’s why the chairs are there. Sometimes Lucinda, the head of WorkAround, will bring in a local chef to teach us a few things as a perk for renting here.”
“This is a really great setup,” Hill said, taking it all in and running his hand over the white quartz countertops. The appliances alone were a cook’s dream. At the firehouse, the outdated equipment had required a hope and a prayer that something wouldn’t break down in the middle of a cooking session.
“I’m going to put my phone on a tripod,” she said. “Why don’t you double-check that we have what we need. I looked up the recipe for dragon noodles and got those ingredients, but they also stock staples here in the fridge and pantry if you need other things.”
“Thanks.” Hill went to work checking what they had and tried to ignore the fact that Andi was setting up a camera.
He hated the idea of being on video and was sure he’d be about as smooth as sandpaper on film, but he wasn’t going to think about that right now. Andi had arranged this in an attempt to do something nice for him, and the sentiment of that had hit him right in the gut. He’d meant what he’d said to her. The woman was sweet. In a way he’d never experienced.
From the very beginning, before the hanging out and the kissing and the touching, she’d set her sights on cheering him up. Bringing brownies over. Offering to plant flowers. Inviting him to watch movies with her. He’d initially perceived it as charity, as her feeling sorry for him, but the more he was around her, the more he realized that notion was misguided. She hadn’t straddled his lap and came against his hand as charity. She hadn’t invited him tonight to be nice. She wanted to spend time with him. But she also saw him.
Even when he tried to fake being okay, she saw through it. She knew he was fighting some demons, and she was showing him she wasn’t scared of that. She’d stand by his side as a friend and help him fight. And she did it without acknowledging what an extraordinary thing that was—to do that for someone she’d only met two months ago.
But maybe that was because she had been there—was still there on some level—with her own demons. He saw the shadows cross her face when she talked about her past. He’d seen the fear bubble up when she talked about sex. Maybe she saw through his bullshit facade because she knew how to wear one, too. They were shopping at the same costume shop.
He vowed in that moment that this wouldn’t be a one-way street. She was trying to help him, but he was going to be there for her as well. She wanted to learn how to trust a man again? Well, he was going to be the most trustworthy guy who ever lived. No more holding back with her. Honesty about who he was and what he was going through. Even if it was ugly or embarrassing. That was what he could give her.
“Are we all good?” Andi asked from behind him.
He shut the double-door fridge and turned around. “You did great. Everything’s here, plus some extras.”
Andi grinned and did a little fast clap. “Yay. I’m ready to learn. And I hope it’s a quick-cooking thing because oh my God am I hungry.” She cocked a thumb toward the tripod. “I’m already recording.”
He eyed the phone like it was a bomb ready to go off. “I can’t promise I’m going to get this right on one video take. Or twelve.”
She waved a hand. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I’m going to record us in one long take, and I’ll edit and piece it together. So if we mess something up, we’ll just pause and do it again. This is just for fun. My followers aren’t going to expect it to look like a show on the Food Network.”
He nodded. “Got it.”
She grabbed a blue-striped apron off a hook on the wall and looped it around his neck. “Let’s do this, Chef.”
He smirked as he tied the apron around his waist. “I don’t know why you’re putting the apron on me. You’re the one who’s
going to be cooking.”
“True.” She peeked over her shoulder at the camera. “Pray for us, y’all.”
And with that, they were off and running.
Andi talked to the camera while Hill set things up. “Hey, everyone, today I have something a little different for you. After a long night of recording a podcast about a really sad case, my friend Hill offered to come by and feed me to cheer me up.” She looked over at Hill and gave him a little wink. “Isn’t he the sweetest?”
Hill chuckled under his breath. Andi wasn’t going to let go of that word. “I’m downright adorable.”
“Yes,” she agreed, looking pleased that he was playing along. “Yes, he is. And lucky you, I’m going to share him and his skills with you tonight because I’m sure I’m not the only one who could use a little help not setting her kitchen on fire.”
“I’m prepared for that, too,” Hill said, arranging items on the kitchen island next to the thick butcher-block cutting board.
Andi reached out and put her hand on Hill’s shoulder, making him pause in front of the camera. “Yes, this handsome guy is also a retired firefighter, so no one need worry for the surrounding villagers. We’re all safe here.”
A wave of awkwardness crashed over him at the thought of anyone watching this, but he took a breath and tried to center himself. This is just cooking. He finished laying out all the ingredients on the counter and tried to imagine he was teaching an impromptu class at the firehouse, that there were only friends in the audience.
He turned to Andi, giving the camera a side view. If he focused on her, he’d be all right. “Before you start cooking, you want to make sure you have everything you need for the recipe. If you’re missing something, you can google substitutions so that you’re not caught off guard when you get to that step.”
Andi opened a spice bottle of red pepper flakes and gave it a little sniff. “Whoa.” She blinked. “That’s going to be hot. How do you know if it’s okay to substitute something?”
Hill took the bottle from her. “Don’t inhale those or you’re going to be hating life.” He set the bottle down. “With substitutions, you’ll develop a feel for that the more you cook. Unless you’re baking, most of the time, substitutions won’t be catastrophic, but they may change the flavor profiles, so look for things that keep the heart of the dish.” He picked up a bottle of sriracha sauce. “For this dish, your key flavor profiles are sweet and spicy and Asian-inspired. So if you don’t have sriracha, you can experiment with a different hot sauce. If you don’t have brown sugar, you can use white sugar or honey. But something like the soy sauce is more integral, and it will change the profile if you switch it out.”
Andi smiled. “Sweet and spicy. I think that should be our cooking team name.”
“You’re not going to let me live down calling you sweet, huh?” he asked with a smirk.
“Nope.” She scooted between him and the counter to grab the pasta pot. “And I would obviously be the spicy one in that equation.”
Without thinking, he braced his arms on the counter on each side of her, caging her in, and bent down and kissed the spot where her shoulder met her neck. “Maybe we could take turns. I’m not always sweet.”
She stilled for a moment, her back brushing against his front, and he quickly moved his hands off the counter. He hadn’t been thinking. He didn’t want her to ever feel trapped in any way.
“Sorry—” he started, but she spun around before he could continue.
She looked up at him from beneath those dark lashes of hers and gave him a little smile. “Forgot the camera was there?”
“Maybe just for a second,” he admitted. “But I was saying sorry about caging you in. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Caging me in?”
“With my arms,” he said, doing the motion again but lowering his arms quickly. “I know it might make you nervous to have someone in your space like that, blocking you from moving.”
Her lips parted as awareness dawned. “Oh. Right.” She glanced back at the camera. “Give me a sec.”
She stepped around him and headed back toward her phone. She touched the screen, presumably stopping the recording, and then walked back over to him.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
She gave him a considering look, and then she stepped between him and the kitchen island and hoisted herself onto the counter so that she was closer to eye level with him. “I’m okay. But maybe we should talk.”
He hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “All right.”
She took an audible breath, and a line appeared between her brows. “I know I’ve been vague about what happened to me. I hate talking about it. I rarely tell anyone. Hollyn doesn’t even know.”
“You don’t have to—”
She lifted a hand to gently halt him. “I know I don’t have to, but if we’re going to attempt this kind of friends-with-kissing relationship, we’ll need an open line of communication. I don’t want you to feel like you’re walking on eggshells around my triggers, and I also want you to feel comfortable being open with me about what’s going on with you. I’m not sure this works otherwise.”
“I think you’re right,” he agreed. “I’m really worried I’m going to do something to scare you.”
“Right. So maybe we should talk a little bit more about what may or may not freak me out and why,” she said, resolve in her voice even though she looked worried.
He nodded. “That’s probably a good idea.”
She looked down at her hands, which she’d pressed flat against her thighs, and took a breath before looking up at him again. “I’m going to have to do this rip-the-Band-Aid-off style, okay? This is not a fun story to tell.”
“Whatever you need,” he said gently.
“So, I know you’re assuming I was sexually assaulted.”
The words were like a punch to his gut, but he managed to nod. “Yes.”
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “Well, it’s probably not in the way you’re thinking.” She smoothed the loose fabric of her dress along her thighs in a slow, repetitive motion. “When I was fifteen, I had a huge crush on my neighbor, my best friend’s older brother, Evan. He was twenty-one.”
Hill kept his expression neutral, not wanting to scare her off talking, but the fact that this story was starting with her being a young teen made his fists curl. Someone hadn’t just hurt Andi, they’d hurt Baby Andi.
“I followed him around like a goddamned puppy dog when I went over to their house,” Andi said, derision in her voice. “He was always nice to me but mostly just being polite. Putting up with his little sister’s chatty friend, you know?” She glanced up. “I thought he would never actually notice me or see me as anything but a kid. But then one night, I was having a sleepover with his sister, and I went downstairs in the middle of the night to get some water. Evan was just getting home, and I ran into him in the kitchen.”
Hill noticed goose bumps prickling her arms, making the fine hairs stand up. He resisted the urge to reach out and warm her up, to soothe her in some way.
“He was as surprised to see me as I was to see him. But he couldn’t exactly ignore me, so he had to talk to me. His clothes were dirty, and he had a cut on his arm.” She looked off beyond Hill’s shoulder and rubbed her lips together, like she was seeing the memory. “Of course, I asked him what had happened. He told me he’d been out by the lake because he had trouble sleeping and had drunk a little too much and had fallen down and cut himself on a bush.”
Hill frowned, not understanding where she was going with all this.
“I helped him clean up the cut, and he made me promise not to tell anyone because he wasn’t supposed to be out and he’d sworn to his parents that he’d stopped drinking,” she went on. “I swore I’d never tell because I was so desperate for him to like me. And it seemed to work. After that night, he started paying at
tention to me, flirting with me when no one was looking, and just generally making me feel special.
“I started sleeping over there more often because it would give me some alone time with him in the middle of the night. He always stayed out late, and I’d sneak out of my friend’s room and wait for him. A lot of times, he’d come back looking like he’d been through something. But I figured he was battling a drinking problem and going through some emotional stuff. I wanted to make him feel better, be there for him.”
Hill’s shoulders were growing tense.
“Eventually, he started telling me that I was the only one he trusted because I kept his secrets and that he adored me and all kinds of romantic nonsense.” She huffed a disgusted sound. “I bought it because it was everything I wanted to hear, and it made me feel more adult. He told me he wished I was older so that we could be together. So, trying to prove the point that I was plenty old enough, I kissed him one night. That gave him the green light he needed—that I was willing and wouldn’t tell. We started sleeping together.” She looked up to meet Hill’s gaze. “He was my first.”
Hill’s throat was tight but he nodded for her to go on.
“My teenage-crush feelings for him made me blind,” she said, tone grim. “So when news stories started popping up about people being murdered in a nearby city, it never even crossed my mind that the dates matched up to some of those times I’d seen Evan come in late.”
Hill’s stomach dropped. Oh, fuck.
She rolled her lips together and gripped the counter, her eyes a little shiny. “And when cops eventually started asking questions, Evan told me what to say, that the whole thing was bullshit and a misunderstanding, that he’d never hurt anyone.” She shook her head. “And I believed him because he’d always been so gentle with me, and I couldn’t imagine him doing those horrible things. So when the cops asked me questions, I lied for him.”