Page 125 of Cuffed (Everyday Heroes 1)
I laugh so hard I snort. “Can we scrub that visual from my mind with bleach and finish getting the ingredients I need?” I glance at the time on my phone. “I need to make sure I have plenty of time in case I screw this meal up.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“You need anything else?” Grady asks as he stands in the entryway of Grant’s house.
“No. Here’s to hoping I don’t burn the house down.” I laugh, knowing my attempt to cook anything could end up in a dire situation.
“At least you know a firefighter to call,” he says before tossing me a wink.
“True.”
“Well, I have to get back.”
“’Kay.”
He turns to walk out the door. “Hey, Em?”
“Yeah?” I look up from where I’m unloading groceries onto Grant’s kitchen counter and hope I look somewhat competent.
“This is a really cool thing you’re doing.”
“I wouldn’t say that yet. My post-interview, celebratory dinner hasn’t even been started, so let’s not jinx me. Cooking is not my strong suit.”
“No, I mean it,” he says, looking outside and then back toward me. “You mean a lot to him . . . and the fact that you’re taking the time to do this is pretty cool.”
I smile as he gives me one last nod and then closes the door behind him, leaving me to do this all by myself.
Sort of.
As soon as I know Grady has driven away, I FaceTime Desi.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come over there and help?” she greets me.
“No. I’m capable and competent.” There is far more gusto in that statement than I feel. Inside, I’m secretly wishing she would. She may have written down step-by-step instructions, but even that isn’t foolproof when it comes to me.
“He better appreciate the fact that you’re risking life and limb to do this for him.”
“It’s cooking, Desi.”
“Exactly. For you, that means life and limb.”
“Hardy, har, har.”
Oddly enough, the house actually smells delicious. And not the delicious that’s really a cinnamon scented candle I lit so I could pretend I’d been baking desserts, but like real, honest-to-goodness, meat-and-potatoes type of food.
And despite how great the aroma is, I’m suddenly nervous. It sounds stupid that I’ve let the man see me naked, strip me bare, but letting him eat my cooking makes me anxious. Most likely because I half expect him to keel over and die because I screwed it up so badly.
So, I busy myself with straightening the stacks of case files on the coffee table. Then I shift the plant sitting in front of the window so the opposite side grows stronger toward the light. I wipe the counters down for the umpteenth time. I fiddle with the place settings on the table and debate over whether that seems too stuffy, but decide the candle I put in the middle negates that.
I pace the room a few times and then decide to fluff the couch pillows when I’ve never even fluffed my own. I’m putting a pillow back and pulling a throw blanket off the corner to fold it when the green of a case file catches my eye, and I smile. Considering how many times I have caught him nodding off amid reviewing stacks of them, I’m not surprised one has fallen into cushion oblivion.
But it’s only when I dislodge it and go to set it on the table where the other stacks are that my heart stops. I shake my head to reject what I’m seeing.
It can’t be . . .
My heart races, and my mind tries to compr
ehend what my eyes are seeing.
