12. Pastitsio

TWELVE

PASTITSIO

I slid into full freakout mode when I heard the garage door going up.

Eric had texted fifteen minutes ago to tell me he’d be home in fifteen, but that was already way sooner than I expected him, so I wasn’t done doing what I needed to get done in time for his arrival.

I did one final swipe of the counter, tossed the sponge in the sink, shoved the book I’d been using in the first drawer available, then raced across the room, threw myself over the back of his couch, crossed my legs under me and nabbed the remote.

I had just enough time to switch on the TV, but not enough time to change the channel, so it appeared I was kicked back, watching a monster truck rally, when Eric strolled in from the garage.

“Hey,” I said, trying not to sound breathless.

He looked from me, to the kitchen, to the TV, back to the kitchen, returned to the TV, his brow lifted as a monster truck crunched over a triple-deep pile of cars, and he ended on me.

He then walked to me, took my hand, pulled me out of the couch and to the sink in the kitchen.

Once there, he turned me to face him and then he used his thumb to swipe at something on my cheek.

He swiped twice.

After he did that, he threaded his fingers into the right side of my hair, and I thought we were going somewhere I very much wanted to be, only for him to shake his fingers through it.

I looked down at my shoulder.

Flour dusted my tee.

I looked back at him when he turned on the faucet at the sink, grabbed a dishtowel, wet the end of it, turned off the faucet, and rubbed at some sauce on my shirt.

Okay, so maybe I didn’t communicate my superpower of being a super sleuth by day, and a super bitch who could bring home the bacon (or in this case, ground beef) and fry it up in a pan by night, being able to do all this like it was sleight of hand.

Whatever.

He threw the towel by the sink and asked, “What’s for dinner?”

“I whipped up some pastitsio.”

“You whipped up some pastitsio?”

I understood the emphasis.

The recipe had about five thousand ingredients, and making the béchamel produced a level of angst in me I never wanted to feel again.

But I thought I cracked it.

Only time would tell.

“Yeah,” I said breezily. “I put it in the oven when you texted. We have about an hour before we can eat. I’ll make the salad closer to.”

I read the look on his face and addressed it immediately.

“I’m not competing with her. And I could tell by your reaction to my assertion this morning that you don’t think I’m boring. But first, you and your boys were out dealing with my brother on a Sunday, and I can’t show my appreciation to all of them, but I’m damn well gonna show it to you. And second, I realized today that I think I’m boring. I need to shake shit up. Learn new things. Grow. And if what’s baking in the oven isn’t total crap after all the effort I put into it, I’m starting with cooking.”

“You’re a member of a group of women who have storage units full of cars and a mysterious benefactor to help you solve crimes. And you had lunch with a crew of informants today.”

I shrugged. “We’re only on our second case. And it doesn’t seem like this one is going as well.”

“Raye worked that last one for a year. And once you pulled them in, you women figured out your brother was a Shadow Soldier in less than three days. I think your skills are progressing.”

Whoa.

He was right.

We did.

Go us!

“Yeah. Looks like we’re getting better at this gig,” I agreed.

“You own Tinkerbell Disney ears,” he kept at it.

I planted a hand on my hip. “As much as I can conceive of a life that’s all Disney, all the time, since I don’t live in Cinderella’s palace… yet , I’m diversifying.”

“Jesus, fuck,” he muttered.

I didn’t understand that reaction.

Then both his hands threaded in the hair on either side of my head, he turned us to press me against the sink, and held my head steady for the onslaught of his mouth.

I held myself steady by grabbing fistfuls of his tee at his back.

He didn’t end this kiss too soon this time.

Oh no.

We made out in the kitchen until his big hands were up my shirt at my back, covering a lot of territory, and I was enjoying his perusal. That said, most of my attention was on the delightful machinations of his tongue and the fact I had my hands up his tee at his back and was covering my own territory, all of it swells and ridges and heat and hardness.

Total yum .

Finally, he lifted his head.

I sucked in breath because I needed it.

Make no mistake, I was happy to expire from lack of oxygen when Eric’s mouth was on mine. But since he gave me the opening to extend my survival, mostly so I could get a shot at another one of his kisses (and other things he might give me), I took it.

“Sucks,” he muttered. “I wanna take this further. But what I wanna do to you is gonna take time, I’m hungry, and I don’t want the pastitsio to burn.”

I didn’t want it to either. It had been touch and go about ten times while I was making it, and all that effort wasted would be a bummer.

However, my hands were still on his back, and my curiosity was seriously piqued about precisely what he wanted to do to me, so I was down to make the sacrifice.

“We need to talk anyway,” he said.

That doused some cold water over me.

“About what?” I asked, though I knew.

The ever-present Jeff.

If he’d found him, he would have already told me, so I didn’t reckon the news he had to share was earth-shattering.

Still, I needed to have it.

“First, I know this is just starting to happen with us, but I also think you should know I liked pulling in next to your car in my garage.”

What a way to start.

I’d worried about that, wondering if I should take the liberty.

He was right. This thing with us was just beginning. Not that any guys I’d dated had garages, but if they did, I couldn’t think of one of them I’d take that chance with this early in our relationship.

So I loved it that he was down with that version of intimacy.

“I’m glad,” I said softly. “I worried it was too soon.”

“I hope I’ve confirmed it’s not too soon.”

I shot him a smile, and even though I couldn’t see it, I knew it was dazzling.

Eric smiled back. His was a different kind of dazzling, and as such, I was dazzled.

He then asked, “Did you get wine?”

I did.

Though I also discovered he had a wine fridge for white and sparkling, and a hefty stock of red in the pantry situated off his kitchen, which looked more like a display alcove offering the most exclusive wares in a fine food grocery store.

That wasn’t the only thing I discovered.

In retrospect, one could say I should have started cooking earlier, but my curiosity got the better of me, and without Eric taking my attention, I gave myself a leisurely tour of his house (but not a gross one, as in intrusive, like I didn’t rifle through his drawers and medicine cabinets or anything).

I found his long hall was taken up by two rather large guest rooms, both completely kitted out (and no wonder Sadie and Hector stayed with him, they were pimp), a full bath, which was damned sweet, and another bedroom he’d converted into a workout room, and that was sweet too (or, for people who did that sort of thing I knew it would be).

I also discovered his book collection was almost completely thrillers. And his framed pictures shared he did indeed like to hike, as well as do shit on boats in lakes and on the ocean. During time spent doing the latter, he’d caught an amazing shot of a whale breaching the surface of a clear blue sea.

Last, on the other side of the garage—and you could only get to it through a door in the garage— I happened onto his man cave.

It had two recliners I was pretty sure he bought when he was twenty-one, a TV that was so big, I didn’t know they made them that big, and a wall of DVDs that explained why he was so good at picking movies. Across the back wall there was a small kitchenette-type area with a beverage fridge, a microwave, a sink, and the pièce de résistance, a countertop-size, professional kettle-pop popcorn machine. His cave also had a complicated stereo system with turntable, which was what he used to enjoy his CDs and vinyl that filled the other wall. This, and the TV, were hooked up to a seriously boss surround sound system.

No, there wasn’t a game console in sight, or hidden anywhere (I checked).

And yes, you guessed it.

All of this made me like him even more.

“Or do you want me to pull a bottle?” he finished on the topic of wine.

“I got wine,” I said.

He slid his hands out of my shirt, which woefully meant I had to do the same.

He went to the glasses.

I went to the pantry to get the wine.

He took it from me when I got back and started on the cork.

“So, what did you learn today?” I asked.

“They got tech. It’s impressive. We didn’t touch it, but we did leave a message to get in touch.”

“How did you do that?”

“We wrote ‘get in touch’ and our office number on a piece of paper and held it up to the camera.”

This was disappointing. I was hoping there was some kind of commando code or street sign language they used.

“Is that it?” I pressed.

“That and a confirmation of what we already knew. Pretty much anyone on the street would face torture before they’d give up Mountain or any Shadow Soldier.”

“Surely that can’t be true,” I said quietly, even though the girls at the diner gave much the same impression.

“It’s probably not, but Mountain is smart enough to steer clear of any weak links.”

I would think this Mountain was pretty awesome, if he hadn’t involved my brother in his operations.

Right, moving on to another lead.

“Did the General give you anything?”

Eric shook his head. “Except, in the short time since we saw him, he seems to be spiraling. He kept asking us who his target is, couldn’t concentrate on anything else, and any time we tried to bring him into the present, his confusion was extreme, so we had to quit trying.”

God.

The General.

“Damn,” I whispered.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Mary’s settled, and even though veterans’ affairs aren’t Scott and Louise’s expertise, they have connections. So they’ve made it their mission to get him someplace where he can get the help he needs.”

“That’s good,” I mumbled.

“Yeah,” he repeated.

“So in the end, we got nothing,” I remarked.

Eric handed me a filled wineglass. “Not nothing, honey. If your brother loves you half as much as you love him, he now knows from a variety of sources you’re keen to talk to him. The ball is in his court, and I figure he’ll run with it. In the meantime, we’ll keep looking.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled before taking a sip.

“One more thing I gotta update you on, and one thing, with your car in my garage and your pastitsio in my oven, we’re in a place now that you need to know.”

Oh boy.

Although I was all the way down to be in that place with him, neither of these sounded like things I wanted to discuss.

But better to get them out of the way so we could eat, then he could do the things he wanted to do to me.

Therefore, I asked, “What are those?”

“Savannah texted seven times today.”

Brilliant.

I shot him a scrunchy face.

“My thoughts exactly,” he said when he took it in. “I didn’t reply, and after number seven, I blocked her.”

“So there could be twelve.”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. We checked. She was on her flight. She’s in LA now. And with her blocked, there’s not much she can do to get to me.”

I nodded because this was true.

Though it was interesting to know their resources extended to being able to check if someone was on a flight.

I filed that in my To Discuss with Turner Later folder, and was mentally photocopying it to add to my Ask Arthur if He Can Do This Too file, when he kept speaking.

“I understand what happened, Jess,” he stated.

“Sorry?”

“The intensity of how we got together. The way she seemed totally into me. It’s taken me a while to figure out I fell for it, and process how I felt because I did. And I still believe there are a lot of good things about Savannah, particularly her talent and ambition. It isn’t easy to make a go of it in her business. And she didn’t just make a go of it. She’s a star on the LA scene, she’s won awards and has been written up in magazines. And even if her behavior had an ulterior motive, we had good times. But she did everything just right in the beginning. She made me think I was the most important thing in her life. So when I wasn’t, it was a blow. And I didn’t realize until much later that all her behavior in the beginning was to set me up so I’d be hobbled by my feelings for her, which would allow her to get away with however she wanted to behave. Her shock that I wasn’t sticking to the program was another signal to what was going on.”

“Love bombing,” I said.

“Yes, that,” he agreed. “Then gaslighting, manipulative language and denial.”

“I obviously don’t know her, but she kinda seems like she thinks the world revolves around her.”

“That’s what narcissists do.”

So, he knew she was a narcissist too.

I said nothing.

“Jessie,” he said softly. “I don’t want every conversation we have to include her, but I do want you to know I understand how she’s operating. It isn’t lost on me. So I also want you to know I’m gonna handle it.”

“I didn’t think you wouldn’t.”

“If you were me, wouldn’t you want to assure me?”

I totally would.

I slid closer to him and put my hand on his chest. “I get it, Turner. I’m not worried about her.”

“Good.”

“And I also know you’ve got to process the shit happening with her.”

“It doesn’t have to be with you.”

“I’m not in this just for your mushroom sage stuffing, baby,” I said quietly.

His eyes warmed, and he came in for a brush of his lips.

I really loved it when he did that.

When he lifted away, I asked, “So what’s the thing I need to know?”

He took in a breath.

I braced.

He let it out and said, “Shit gets around. Your crew and my crew are interlocking. So I want you to hear it from me before someone else tells you.”

“Tells me what?”

“That my introduction to this crew was when I was undercover for the FBI. I was assigned to Stella. She wasn’t doing anything illegal, but a really bad guy had targeted someone in her circle. I decided dating her was the way to get close to her. I did this. It was unexpected, but not inexplicable, I developed feelings for her while I did. But we were never intimate. She and Mace had been together before I met her, and they’d broken up. She was hung up on him, and shortly into that op, they got back together. It was a little dicey between Mace and me for a while. But years have passed. Weddings. Kids. It’s not an issue now. However, I didn’t want you to hear about it and think it was.”

Stella, by the by, was not only Mace’s wife, and the mother of his two children, she was also the award-winning, multi-platinum lead guitar and front woman for the kickass rock band, the Blue Moon Gypsies.

Oh yeah.

And she was gorgeous.

Oh yeah to the yeah.

Although the only time I’d spent in her presence was during Raye’s little sister’s funeral, and she seemed lovely, Raye had spent a lot of time with her. She’d even been over to Stella and Mace’s house more than once for dinner, and she confirmed the super-rock star was also super sweet.

“Okay,” I replied to Eric. “Thanks for telling me.”

“That’s it?” he asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Yeah,” I answered, confused at his confusion.

“You don’t have any questions?”

“Like what? Like why you’d pick dating as your cover then fall for a beautiful, mega rock star? Puh,” I puffed out. “It’s hardly surprising, Turner.”

Delivering that, I took a sip of my wine.

He was eyeing me.

So I eyed him.

Oh man.

“Let me guess, the ex wasn’t a big fan of this intel,” I surmised.

“Savannah hated Stella.”

“Mm…”

“No more about her.”

“Mm!”

He grinned.

“My turn,” I stated.

He took a sip of his wine, then circled it at me to lay it on him.

And lay it on him I had to, considering he admired Savannah’s talent and ambition.

“Okay, so I have an ex too,” I began.

I stopped talking, because I suddenly became uber fascinated with the way his long, muscled body went completely alert at this information.

I didn’t know if it was possessiveness, or protectiveness at thinking Braydon was still a part of my life and being a pain, or a bit of both.

But either way, it did a number on me in the sense that I didn’t care what way it was.

I just liked it.

Still.

“He’s not a problem, Turner,” I assured him. “He’s history.”

Wait.

That wasn’t strictly true.

“Okay, sometimes he comes into SC to grab a coffee and check in on me, because we did adapt to friends,” I admitted. “Well, he did. I think he’s a dick. But for the most part, he’s history.”

His body being alert didn’t change.

I sallied forth anyway.

“We were together for four years. Living together for two. I thought he was going to propose. He didn’t. Me being a bartender wasn’t his idea of the kind of wife he wanted or the mother he wanted for his kids. He wanted someone with more drive, bigger goals in life than mixing drinks. So he ended it.”

Eric said nothing and didn’t move.

Thus, I carried on. “The thing is, you should know that’s still me. One thing my parents taught me that was good, I work to live, not the other way around. I love my job. I think you know I love the people I work with. I do have goals. To craft original cocktail sensations that will knock people’s socks off…and keep doing that. But I don’t go out with my camera expecting to one day be in a gallery. And I doubt I’ll suddenly get a wild hair to go to law school or something. And you should know that about me.”

I would find, even though what I just said was important to me, Eric was stuck on an earlier part.

“He still comes into The Surf Club?”

“Occasionally. But that’s not a big?—”

“What’s occasionally?”

I had to think about this.

Then I said, “Two, three times a month, maybe. Maybe more.”

“So maybe once a week?”

I shrugged. “We have good coffee, and the place is popular.”

“I haven’t been to Savannah’s restaurant once since I moved out of the house we shared. And her place is very popular.”

Oh man.

This was definitely a point to ponder.

“He’s not coming because of the coffee or because it’s a cool place,” Eric stated. “He’s coming to see you.”

“I’m not really sure?—”

“Babe, I got a dick. I’m looking right at you. We just finished making out. You gave me a show earlier walking away from me that fucked with my head all day, just as you intended. You’ve demonstrated to me repeatedly your capacity for love and your loyalty is unending. You’ve cried in my arms. You’ve let me in. So trust me. He’s coming to see you .”

I got a happy quiver, but it wasn’t about Braydon.

“My sashay fucked with your head all day?”

“Jessica,” he growled.

Oo.

A growl!

And another happy quiver.

I hid it and kept focused.

“He dumped me because I was a bartender, Turner, and I thought he was on the verge of giving me a ring,” I reminded him. “And you’re kind of an overachiever, so, since we’re doing our usual and sharing the deep honesty, I’d really like to talk to you about that and make sure me not wanting to be a neurosurgeon or something isn’t gonna turn you off one day.”

“I want the woman in my life to be happy. That’s it. I don’t care what you do to be that way, just as long as I’m a part of it. Now, back to this fuckin’ guy.”

We didn’t go back to that fuckin’ guy.

Due to his answer, and how much I liked it, I put my glass down and threw myself at him.

Eric caught me.

We went at it awhile, and it was even better because I got my hands on his tight ass, and he got his hands on my not-so-tight one.

Then my phone timer went, telling me I needed to get started on the salad.

Our mouths unmeshed, but Eric didn’t let me go very far, and he did this by catching the back of my head in his hand as I angled it away.

Mm.

My guy had all the smooth moves.

“We’re not done talking about that guy,” he warned.

“He doesn’t matter.”

“When were you over?”

“I don’t know for sure, but at least two years ago.”

“So the wuss-ass knows he fucked it, and he’s such a wuss-ass, he can’t figure out how to unfuck it, and he’s staying in your orbit, hoping you’ll do the unfucking for him.”

“He doesn’t give off that vibe, Eric.”

“How long did it take you to catch my vibe?”

Oof!

Another point to ponder.

I bit my lip.

He watched me bite my lip and whispered, “Yeah.”

“I need to make salad. There’s lots to chop and slice. So I need to get on that and reset the timer for the pastitsio.”

There wasn’t a lot to chop and slice. Just an onion and a cucumber. I didn’t like tomatoes, so I got those baby ones because I knew from his food orders at SC that Eric did like them. But with the baby ones, I could eat around them without any of their slimy juice wrecking my Greek salad jam.

But I did need to reset the timer for the pastitsio.

“Not my place to say, but you should make things clear to him, Jess,” Eric advised.

“It isn’t your place to say?” I asked.

“Are we there?” he asked back.

Did that mean he thought we weren’t, or that he just didn’t know if we were?

I mean, my car was in his garage, and he liked it there.

“Did you pack a bag?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered.

“Then we’re there. So it is my place to say. As such, I’d appreciate it if you made it clear to him next time he comes in, Jess.”

I had warm fuzzies it was his place to say, so I smiled and said, “All righty then.”

“Stop being cute, or the pastitsio is gonna burn,” he warned.

I had to take a second to consider how committed I was to the perfection of the first dish I ever created.

I was leaning toward not fully committed at all when Eric spoke again.

“Babe, I’m hungry.”

There was humor in those three words.

Just as I liked it.

“You wanna help with the salad?” I asked.

“Yup,” he answered.

“I know how to slice and chop, so I need to practice my dressing chops. Can you slice and chop?”

“I can do that.”

I nabbed my wine, socked back a gulp, and said, “Let’s do this.”

He just grinned at me.

I went to the fridge.

FYI: in the end, the pastitsio was perfect.

But the only reason pursuing my new hobby of cooking solidified in my mind was seeing Eric’s face when he took the first bite.

So I decided I was going to make the Barefoot Contessa’s mocha icebox cake next.

And by next, I meant tomorrow.

The day after that, it was going to be her fettucine with mushrooms and truffle butter.

I had no earthly clue where to score truffle butter.

But as God was my witness, it was going to happen.