Reaper's Fire - Joanna Wylde Page 0,24

old man’s been around. Up at elk camp he told some great stories.”

“You’re supposed to share things like that,” Carrie said.

“It’s just guys blowing smoke,” he replied mildly. “Never gave it much thought. You about done, babe? We should probably get going.”

“Yeah, I’m done,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him. “What else aren’t you telling me?”

“I’m a man of many secrets,” Darren said, poking her nose. “You’ll have to torture them out of me.”

Carrie laughed. “That can be arranged.”

“Take your disgusting married love and get out of here,” Tinker said, flapping a hand at them. “I meant what I said about the hose earlier—I’ll turn it on you if you start making out.”

“Don’t you want some help cleaning up first?” Carrie asked.

“I’ll take care of it,” Tinker replied. “Just throw your plates in the garbage and put the silverware in the sink.”

“You sure?”

“I can help,” I volunteered, because apparently my balls weren’t blue enough already. Tinker gave me a beautiful smile.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice low and mellow.

Did I say blue balls? Make that purple.

Fuck.

TINKER

Five minutes later, Carrie and Darren had said their good-byes, leaving me and Cooper alone. Well, sort of alone. I mean, we were in a gazebo in a courtyard surrounded by apartments. I had no doubt that Mrs. Webbly was watching at this very minute. She’d lived in the ground floor apartment facing the street—across the lawn from my own house—since before I was born, and considered herself something of a guardian for the community.

“So you obviously grew up here,” Cooper commented. God, he was pretty. I’d spent the whole meal refusing to look at him so I wouldn’t make an ass of myself. He has a girlfriend, remember? “But your husband didn’t?”

“Brandon started out as a junior deputy prosecutor in Seattle, but now he’s worked his way up to director of the King County criminal division. I worked as a private chef when he first started, and then I expanded into the chocolate business a few years later. We split up about eighteen months ago. We’re still dealing with paperwork, and I’m trying to decide if I should buy him out of the house.”

Cooper eyed me, as if waiting for me to say more but I wasn’t going there. What’d happened between me and Brandon wasn’t public, and that’s the way I wanted it. Cooper seemed to figure this out, because he changed the subject.

“So how long have you been back in Hallies Falls?”

“About six months,” I replied. “I came home when my mom passed. Dad wasn’t doing too well, and the more I saw, the more I realized he couldn’t manage on his own. It’s getting to a point where I’ll have to make some tough decisions. My real life is in Seattle, and everyone there thinks I should just move him. Put him in a home, and either sell the apartment building or find a property manager. Can’t quite wrap my head around that, though. This place has been a part of me my entire life.”

Cooper nodded, his face thoughtful.

“Loyalty is a good thing,” he pointed out. “Gotta respect that.”

I found myself smiling at him in surprise.

“Thanks. Not everyone sees it that way.”

“Yeah, well opinions are like assholes, remember?” he said. “Sometimes you just need to tune out the static for a while.”

“Exactly—and that’s what I’m doing. Sooner or later I’ll have to make the decision, because I can’t keep up running the business forever without a real commercial kitchen. I could build one in the basement of the house, but it’d be a big commitment, because it’ll take at least five years before I recoup all the costs. Thankfully, Mom and Dad transferred title on the place to me years ago, so I don’t need to worry about liquidating, even if Dad needs long-term care.”

“That’s good news,” he said, and I fell into his eyes a little. They were dark and rich, and then he licked his lips and heat rushed through me. I wanted to kiss him so bad, then drag him back to my room and—

“Tinker?”

“Yes?” I asked breathlessly.

“Where should I put the food?”

So much for dragging him back to my room. Ugh.

“Just take it into the kitchen and set it on the counter,” I said, looking around to see if there was anything I could discreetly stab myself with—maybe that would pull my head out of the gutter. At least there wasn’t much leftover food to deal with, so I loaded the dishwasher while he carried everything inside.

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