Page 49 of The Clover Chapel (Jamison Valley 2)
“Interesting. So what are we doing here? Are you on-call or something?”
“No. Thought I’d show you the station and make you dinner.”
“Here?” There was a kitchen behind the lounge area but it was tiny.
“Yeah. Spaghetti okay?” he asked.
“Sure. Though, I shouldn’t have worn a white top today.” Somehow I always managed to spill red sauces on myself.
He smiled. “You can borrow a sweatshirt.”
I climbed up on a stool by the kitchen and visited with him while he did his cooking, admiring the way he moved in the small space. For a man with such muscle and size, Nick was graceful, and in the kitchen, it made him sexy as hell.
Thankfully, he asked me about my day, so rather than sit and ogle his body, I launched into my whole story about Mason.
“Have you talked to Jess?” he asked.
“Jess? No. Why?”
“I’m sure he’d look into it for you.”
“I would but I don’t want to go around Rich. I don’t know if that would be professional. Though, I’d love to move this along a little quicker. It’s really cold out right now. What if Mason doesn’t have heat at home? Or food?” The thought of cute little Mason Carpenter freezing or starving to death made my stomach ache.
“Just ask the kid, Emmy. If you think he’s at risk, then talk to Garcia again. If he still delays getting Jess involved, go around him. The last thing you want is for something horrible to happen to this kid because you were hesitant to push.”
“You’re right.” I frowned. I didn’t want to alienate Rich or worse, risk my job, but if that’s what it would take to get Mason through the winter, that’s just what I would have to do.
“I’ll cheer you up,” Nick said after putting a handful of noodles into a pot of boiling water.
I gave him a sideways glance and raised my eyebrows.
He smiled and pulled a square box from a bag on the counter. It was wrapped in green foil with a red and white ribbon on top.
“My present?”
“I hope you don’t have it already.”
Carefully opening the paper, I unfolded the top of the box and lifted out a white ceramic coffee mug. In swirly black script, the cup read Sorry I’m late . . . I didn’t want to come.
My nose started to burn and I rapidly blinked the tears away.
It was perfect.
Logan had always made fun of me for my coffee cup obsession and discouraged me from buying such “witless trinkets.” He would have never bought me one.
Nick frowned. “You don’t like it.”
“No! It’s wonderful,” I said. “Thank you.”
“It wasn’t much. But I saw it and it made me think of you.”
“It’s just the type of mug I would have bought myself. I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything.”
“I only need you, Emmy,” he said and went back to the stove.
Wow, that felt good.
Twenty minutes later, I was sitting on one of the on-call pit’s leather couches, wearing a huge red Prescott Fire Department sweatshirt and scarfing down the best spaghetti I had ever tasted.
