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He smiled. “Absolutely not, and you can call me Nate. Name’s Nathaniel.”
“I’m aware, but unless you’ve decided to accept my invitation to call me Cassidy finally, I’ll stick to Davis or Detective.”
“Fair enough, Cassidy, it is then.”
“I have extras if you’re okay with pasta?”
Cassidy watched his face shift and added, “You mentioned feeding yourself. I haven’t quite mastered the art of cooking for one.” She huffed. “I suppose it takes time.”
“Or never happens. I haven’t quite figured that out either. Tons of leftovers throughout the years, but I guess that works too.”
Cassidy nodded on her way to the kitchen. She felt Davis tracking her movements. “So you’re not married then.”
“No, came close but never made it to the finish line. No wife or kids. Just me.”
She hated how the admission sparked a twinge of happiness regarding his single status but pushed the thought to the back of her mind.
“Sounds ominous.”
“Story for another day,” he muttered.
She wouldn’t push. “Right. This is an official, unofficial visit. Probably shouldn’t be prying into your personal life,” she stated quietly, retrieving a covered glass dish that she had placed in the refrigerator not too long ago. It held the remainder of the Cajun pasta she’d prepared for dinner.
“Official, unofficial. Care to elaborate?”
She felt Davis near before she lifted her eyes to find that he’d joined her in the kitchen and made himself comfortable leaning against the counter, arms folded across his chest, legs spread shoulder width apart. The muscles in his arms and chest were at war with the thin material of his dress shirt. She tried not to notice, but it was unavoidable.
“On what?” She frowned, piling pasta onto a plate she retrieved from the cabinet beside her.
“Official, unofficial.”
She glanced over her shoulder, arching a brow at Davis, who still had his eyes on her. “You’re here to ask questions that I would guess are official. But you’re also about to have dinner, so I’ll classify that as official, unofficial, Nate.”
She loved how saying his name shifted the energy between them. His lazy smile as his eyes casually moved from the plate in her hand back to her face was appreciated as much as the view he offered.
“You have a point, and this technically isn’t us having dinner if I’m the only one eating.”
She nodded softly. “Well, that won’t change. I’ve had my fill. Have a seat.”
Cassidy motioned to the massive kitchen table. Davis made his way there as well, pulling out a chair and settling in.
“I take it you’re not a fan of coffee, so that leaves wine, soda, and water.”
“What about a beer? I’ll take one of those if you’ve got it.”
She nodded slightly. “I do. Samuel Adams. I hope that’s okay.”
“I’m not picky.”
Cassidy retrieved a beer from the refrigerator, removed the cap, and placed the long-necked bottle in front of Davis. Moments later, the microwave went off, and she moved the steaming hot plate of pasta and silverware in front of him. The proximity granted her a whiff of his cologne. The spicy, clean scent settled warmly in the pit of her stomach. She quickly moved away and selected a seat at the opposite end of the table, leaving four seats between them.
What am I doing?
This man thinks you’re a murderer.
I shouldn’t be attracted to him.
I just lost my husband.
