scrolling through something on his phone, and glanced up. “Miss Cook.” His tone was polite, if not warm, his smile charming, if not friendly. “Going down?”
She almost said no. That was her first, kneejerk reaction – one that surprised her. She wasn’t afraid of him. He was just…a lot.
But she’d never fancied herself a coward, so she said, “Yes, sir,” and stepped inside.
When the doors closed, he pocketed his phone, inclined his head toward her, and said, “How is your first week going so far?”
“Really well.” When she returned his gaze, because that felt like the polite thing to do, she had the sense he could see right through her skull and into her brain. “My coworkers are great, and the work is all stuff that I’m used to and comfortable with. The office is so nice.”
The corners of his mouth twitched in an almost-smile. “Lovely to hear.” His gaze shifted to the covered bowl in her arms. “Lunch leftovers?” he asked, a single brow lifting to a sardonic angle.
“Oh, no. I’m on my way to a potluck.”
“Ah. Potluck.” He said the word as if he was tasting it, and the tilt of his mouth afterward suggested he’d found it unappetizing. She figured men who wore shoes as expensive as his, with personal bodyguards, didn’t do casserole get-togethers.
The elevator arrived, and he motioned her to go first with one elegant sweep of his arm. “Give my regards to Mrs. Lécuyer, then.”
“Thanks…” She hadn’t told him she was going to Ava’s.
She pushed that disconcerting thought aside, though, as she walked out to her car and headed out. She debated going by her place to change into something more casual, but she was already running a bit late. She headed straight to Mercy and Ava’s place, then, and found the driveway already full of bikes and an unfamiliar car.
She parked on the street, killed the engine…and sat a moment, hands still on the wheel. Nervousness flared to life again, a tickling in the pit of her belly. It wasn’t just about Carter this time.
She’d seen Aidan, and Tango, and Carter, and of course Mercy since returning home. But she hadn’t been to any sort of sanctioned club event. She’d never met Aidan or Tango’s wives. She wasn’t Ava’s sole friend anymore. Would things feel different? Would their dynamic shift in the presence of a sister-in-law, and another girl who might as well be?
She felt acutely single, suddenly, and that wasn’t anything she’d ever felt before. She’d never felt like she might be lacking, just because she was alone, and not part of a pair.
An ugly feeling, honestly, and she berated herself for it as she unbuckled her belt and climbed out of the car.
Ava had said to come to the back door, and she could hear the low murmur of many overlapping voices as she reached it. She was shifting the bowl to one arm so she could knock when the door opened on its own, letting out warm air, and savory cooking smells, and revealed a tall, pretty blonde with glasses who Leah had never met before.
“Hi.” She had a warm, shy smile, instantly disarming. “Leah? I’m Sam.” Aidan’s wife.
“Yeah, hi, it’s so nice to finally meet you.”
“Likewise. I know Ava’s so glad you’re back in town to stay.” Oh. She pushed the door wide and stepped back. “Come on in, we just opened the wine.”
Nerves greatly settled, Leah followed her through the mudroom into the kitchen, where covered dishes were heaped on the table, and several pots steamed and hissed on the stovetop. It was a small room, and overwarm with all the cooking and the volume of bodies, but there was something so overwhelmingly homey about it: from Cal’s crayon drawings on the fridge, to the cuts hooked on the backs of the chairs.
Ava and a slight brunette stood at the stove, peering down into the pots and pans.
“What do you think, another minute?” Ava asked, stirring what looked like carrots in an iron skillet.
“Probably,” the other girl said. That must be Whitney Estes, Leah figured.
Ava glanced up, and smiled; set her spoon down and came to give Leah a hug, bowl of salad and all.
Leah was laughing by the time they pulled apart, and her stomach wasn’t fluttering anymore. “Look at you: barefoot in the kitchen at last.”
“Oh my God, I’m a cliché!” Ava groaned with mock despair, and took the bowl from her. “This smells like corn salad.”
“It is.”
“Excellent.”
“Leah, this is Whitney,” Sam said, touching the brunette