other room. “What’s the hold up?” His dad then appeared in the living room from where I guessed was the kitchen.
It was like looking at Jonah thirty years from now. The same dark brown hair and facial features. Wisps of gray at his temple and curls around the sides of his ears. Still a full head of hair, thankfully. He stood tall, an inch or two over six feet. Similar build, though it was obvious that his dad partook of his mother’s cooking and didn’t hide it if the small rounded stomach was anything to go by. His eyes were a clear blue though.
“Son,” his dad called out. “Why didn’t you tell me Jonah was here already?” He stomped into the room and took Jonah into his arms and clapped him hard and loud on the back. Jonah sucked in a hiss. His father jerked back. “You hurt?”
“Yeah, Dad, bruised some ribs is all. You know how it is?”
“Oh, has your dad been shot before too?” I turned my gaze to him. “Are you in law enforcement?”
His dad’s face took in mine and then turned hard. I glanced at his mother and she paled. Shit.
“I’m fine. I was wearing the vest,” Jonah rushed to say.
His mother’s eyes filled with tears. “My son was shot. Why didn’t you call us? When did this happen? Oh, my Lord. Are you okay?”
I bit down on my bottom lip and crossed my arms over one another before I mouthed, “Sorry,” to Jonah. Always sticking my foot in it. Dammit, I need to keep my mouth shut.
“I’m well. I was working a case. It’s how I met Simone. How’s about we talk about it over dinner? What I can tell you anyway.”
That had me giving him big eyes and he shook his head. He knew what his family could handle hearing about his job. I was pretty sure the idea that he’d been shot by the Backseat Strangler wasn’t exactly going to make for polite dinner conversation, but what did I know. I was the outsider in the mix.
“Yes, come. Dinner’s ready.” His mother urged us with a wave. “Simone, would you like something to drink? Wine? Water. Pop?”
“A glass of wine would be heavenly. Thank you, Loretta. Is there anything I can do to help?”
She shook her head gracefully and I followed behind her into the kitchen. It was an average U-shaped kitchen with a six-seater dining table in the bit of open space. Cabinets occupied two of the walls with a door by the fridge that likely led to the garage.
Jonah led me to a seat next to him and we sat while his mother put a big bowl of cooked spaghetti, another big pot of sauce with a ladle, a platter of fresh garlic bread, and a bowl of salad all in the center.
“We eat family style. Feel free to serve yourself. Guests first,” Loretta said then poured two glasses of wine.
She moved to give her son one of them, but he shook his head. “No booze while I’ve got Simone on my watch.”
“On your watch?” His dad interlaced his fingers and set his chin on them staring at his son. “Explain. Now.”
For the next fifteen or so minutes Jonah updated them on some of what happened. Leaving out the part where he got shot three times, me once, and the loss of Katrina to the psycho. He did tell them who he was protecting me from and that he was off work for the next week to heal. His parents seemed thrilled that he would be on babysitting duty and not out there chasing after the serial killer.
“And when did the two of you decide to be a couple in all of this?” his mother blatantly asked.
Jonah choked on a piece of his bread and I chuckled while smacking his back.
“Ma, we are um…”
“Seeing each other?” I offered.
He let out a relieved breath. “Seeing each other. Yeah, that.”
“What’s the difference?” She frowned.
“A lot, Ma, but that’s between me and Simone. Let’s just say it’s new and leave it at that, yeah?”
“Don’t get that tone with your mother, son. Mind your manners,” his dad chastised.
And I lost it. Snort-laughed and put my head down so I was looking at my lap as I tried desperately to control my laugher.
A warm arm sliced across my back and Jonah pressed his chin to my shoulder, and whispered, “Keep it up, baby. You’re gonna get it.”
I swallowed and cleared my throat, then reached for the