told Cassidy I was coming back this afternoon. Didn’t she mention it?”
Cassidy had mentioned it, but admitting that—or the fact that she’d watched the door for the past three hours—wasn’t on her agenda. “So here you are. And I’ve got a meeting. We’re trying hard to remember we actually do run a business around here.”
“Then go to it. I can wait.”
“You don’t have anything better to do?”
“I have several calls to make. I can do them here as easy as I can at the precinct. Mind if I use your office?”
She gestured toward the small alcove off the kitchen. “Be my guest.”
Lilah passed him, the heat of that large body warming her through the already-oppressive cashmere. Why had she selected the sweater set again?
Ignoring the discomfort and chalking it up to her penance for nearly missing the meeting, Lilah grabbed her plate of cream puffs. In her haste, she’d plated everything she had, which amounted to fourteen puffs.
With a quick glance toward the clock, she snagged a small plate from the cabinets and removed two of the pastries. She rearranged the gaps on the serving plate—Violet would never know—and handed Reed the desserts. “Don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone.”
* * *
Reed stared at the empty dessert plate and marveled at the pastries he’d just done his level best not to shovel into his mouth. The cream puffs had to be the best thing he’d ever tasted and he could have sworn he heard his blood humming on a satisfied sugar high as he methodically polished off both desserts.
Damn, but the woman could cook. Bake. Create. What exactly was he supposed to call the food he just ate?
He was an eater and he came from a family of foodies. One of his earliest memories after his mother married Tripp was the three of them out on a Saturday night for a steak dinner at one of Dallas’s finest restaurants the weekend before school started. He’d been wide-eyed and scared of making a mistake—both at the restaurant and at school—but Tripp had kept a bright smile on his face as he’d walked him through the various cuts of meat on the menu.
That night was one of the first times he’d recognized his stepfather wasn’t all bad. The man had been trying in his own way, and the gentle coaching that was never overbearing had gone a long way toward cementing their budding relationship.
That evening had also set him on a path as a food lover. And in a town full of some of the world’s best restaurants, he had a ready supply of offerings at his disposal.
Which was why, Reed realized, he’d been to both of Steven DeWinter’s restaurants in Dallas as well as the man’s properties in Las Vegas and Chicago. He pulled out his phone and did a quick search on the restaurateur, curious to see if the press-ready bio matched his memory. As he tapped in the search, his mind filled with the big man in the chef’s coat. Attractive and fit, DeWinter didn’t look like someone who spent his day around food.
In fact, come to think of it, DeWinter had more the build of a gym rat than a foodie.
Reed clicked into the bio, the man’s impressive list of credits, including a stint as the chef for several major events in the previous Hollywood awards season, running the length of the screen. Reed kept scrolling, curious to see any references to a personal life, only to find nothing.
Shifting, he opened a standard search app and did a deeper dive into the man’s background and that was where he found it. A small reference to having been married to a Lilah DeWinter for just shy of two years.
Which, from what he’d pieced together, made sense and matched the timeline Cassidy had provided.
A wholly irrational spear of anger lanced once more, a hot spill of frustration and—jealousy?—at the thought of Lilah married.
She was a grown woman. Of course she had a past. Hell, so did he. And while his might not come with a walk down the aisle and the proverbial picket fence, he’d had his fair share of relationships. He had no right to judge.
Or be jealous.
The distinct sound of heels interrupted his thoughts and he glanced up to a loud voice and an overall general impression of dynamic movement. A woman spoke on her cell phone, gesturing with her free hand as a loud wave of half Spanish, half English spilled from her lips.
She didn’t even realize he was there until she’d nearly sat on the edge of Lilah’s desk. Her dark brown eyes went wide in her face as she leaped up, nearly stumbling over heels that added several inches to her already-considerable height. Reed moved up to help her, steadying her motion before her windmilling arms carried her right over to the floor.
“Mama! I said I understand.” The woman gripped his hand, her long fingers curling around his before she squeezed to let him know she was fine, then she promptly marched off toward Lilah’s kitchen.
Fascinated, Reed kept his attention on the heated conversation before it finally ended with a firm “I love you and will discuss this with you later.”
Assuming she’d disappear now that her conversation had concluded, Reed was surprised to hear the sultry tones that floated down the hallway. “You can come out now, Detective Yummy.”
The moniker nearly had him stumbling as he stepped through the door. “What was that all about?”
“Parents. Mothers, more specifically. Do you like yours?”
An image of the warm, fascinating woman who’d shared lunch with him filled his mind’s eye before the answer spilled forth. “Absolutely. I love her.”
“I didn’t ask about love. I asked about like.”
“Well, yeah. I like her, too.”
“Lucky.” The woman sighed, shoving a mass of curls behind her shoulder before extending a hand. “I’m Gabriella Sanchez.”
“Are you the bride?”
Her loud snort and dark expression suggested immediately that he’d overstepped, but Reed wasn’t quite sure why. “Hardly. I’m the caterer. Although the fact I’m not the bride was half the reason for that call.” She gestured with her phone.
“I’m sorry?”
“Never mind. So you’re the dreamy detective. Violet and Cassidy can’t stop talking about you.”
Not Lilah? Forcing the thought aside, Reed decided to let the comment play out. “Oh.”
“They’ve been very impressed with your help and, I believe Violet said it, ‘your God-given patience to deal with the lot of us.’”
“They’ve had a bad scare.”
“One that’s not over.”
The buoyancy that had carried her into the kitchen—even in the midst of a heated family conversation—vanished at her words. Reed saw her conviction as clearly as he saw the exotic beauty that painted her face and shaped her long, lithe body.
And
