by Nora Roberts
"You figured it out before I did. I'm the mystery writer but the cook figured it out first. I walked right into it."
He'd never forget, never, swimming through the drugs and hearing her voice. He'd never forget that marrow-deep terror. "My walking into it might've gotten you killed."
"No, he might have gotten me killed. You walked into it, Brody, because he was your friend."
"He was."
She got out the butter, sliced off a hunk for the skillet. "I don't know what'll happen to Debbie and those kids. How will they get through this? Nothing will ever be the same for them."
"Nothing was the way they thought it was before this. Better to know, isn't it?"
"Maybe. That's a thought for another day." She broke eggs, began to whisk them with a little tresh dill and pepper. "He really believed all he was saying. That he was protecting them, doing what he had to do. That Deena left him no choice. He thinks he's a good man."
"Part of him is. And part of him split off, took what he should never have touched. It cost him, Slim. It cost Deena Black."
"He killed her. Buried her body, covered his tracks, hid the motorcycle until he could use it to go back to her apartment and get her things—cover those tracks, too. He did all that, kept absolutely calm, even when we called him and reported what I saw happen."
"If he'd managed to scare you off, or make you doubt yourself, he'd have gotten away with it."
"If you hadn't believed me, that's probably what would have happened. I think, getting through this, it's pulled me back from an edge I kept sliding toward." She scooped his eggs onto a plate, set it in front of him. Then touched his face.
"I'd have gone over it without you, Brody. I'd have gone over it if he'd killed you. So"—she bent down, touched her lips to his—"thanks for staying alive. Eat your eggs."
She turned to finish making his tea.
"There was an edge for me, too. Do you get that?"
"Yes."
"One question. Why don't you push?"
"Push what?"
"Me. You're in love with me—do I still have that right?"
"You do."
"We've just been through a near-death experience together; you probably heard me say something about being ready to die for you. But you don't push."
"I don't want what I have to push out of you, so this is fine." She set his tea on the table, then frowned at the knock on the front door. "Already," she stated. "I imagine we're going to have a lot of visitors, a lot of questions, a lot of people wanting to know exactly what went on."
"No big deal. No, I need to get that," he said and grabbed her hand before she could turn from the table. "I'm expecting something."
"You're supposed to rest."
"I can walk to my own damn door. And drink that prissy tea yourself. I'll wash down the eggs with a Coke."
She shook her head as he walked out, but decided to indulge him. Taking down a glass, she filled it with ice, took out a Coke. After pouring it out, she picked up the tea he didn't want.
She paused with it halfway to her lips as he came back into the kitchen. Carrying a load of tulips in the cradle of his good arm.
"You never said what color, so I got all of them."
"Wow."
"Favorite flower, right?"
"It is. Where'd they come from?"
"I called Joanie. If you really need something, Joanie's your girl. You want them or not?"
"I certainly do." Her smile was luminous as she took them, as she buried her face in them. "They're so pretty and simple and sweet. Like a rainbow after a really bad storm."
"Hell of a storm. Slim. I'd say you deserve a rainbow."
"We both do." She lifted her head to grin at him. "So, are you asking me to go steady?"
When he said nothing, nothing at all, her heart began a slow, steady thud.
"I'm going to be buying the cabin." he told her.
'"You are?"
"As soon as I talk Joanie into it. But I can be very persuasive. I'm going to add on to it some. Bigger office, deck. I see two chairs on that deck. I see tulips outside - spring, right?"
"They would be."
"You can cook at the diner, go into business and run your own kitchen. You can write cookbooks. Whatever suits you. But you're going to have to stay, and sooner or later, we're going to make it legal."
"Are we?"
"You love me or not?"
"Yes. Yes. I do."
"I love you right back. How about that?"
With two quick whooshes, her breath came in and out. "How about that?"
He curled a hand around the back of her neck, bringing her toward him, taking her lips with his as the tulips glowed between them, "I'm where I want to be. Are you?"
"Exactly where." Everything inside her settled when she tipped her head back, looked into his eyes. "Exactly where I want to be."
"So. Want to sit on the deck with me one of these days," he asked her, "look out at the lake, see the mountains swimming in it?"
"I really do, Brody." She pressed her cheek to his. "I really do."
"We're going to make that happen, you and me." Now he drew back. "For right now, why don't you do something about those flowers? Then get another fork. We ought to share these eggs."
So the morning bloomed bright with hints of summer that would stretch through to fall. And they sat at the kitchen table, a vase of rainbow tulips on the counter, eating scrambled eggs that had gone cold.