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“Don’t bother.”
“It’s not a bother. My mom taught me to always escort a lady to her door—or her car.”
The corners of Lindsey’s lips rose a hair. “Clair said you were a gentleman.”
“Mom would have been pleased to hear that.”
She tipped her head. “Past tense?”
“She died a year ago.”
“I’m sorry.” Compassion softened her features.
“Thanks. Losing Dad was hard enough, but when your second parent dies ...” He swallowed past the tightness in his throat. “There’s a finality to it, an emptiness, that’s hard to deal with. Do you still have both your parents?”
“No. My dad died twelve years ago. No siblings, either. I was an only child.”
“At least you have your mom.”
“Yeah.” She averted her gaze and walked toward the door, leaving him to follow—and wonder about that less-than-warm response. Must be issues there.
He reached beyond her to pull the door open, inhaling a sweet, spicy scent that fit this personal chef whose orbit had intersected with his.
As they parted at her car and he watched her drive away, that appealing aroma lingered in the air. Like thoughts of theintriguing woman who’d known too much trauma in her life and apparently had skeletons in her closet, just as he did.
Perhaps one day she’d tell him about them.
For now, though, he’d simply be grateful for her willingness to listen to what he’d had to say, and hope their paths crossed again soon.
But for reasons that didn’t involve murders, missing cars, boating accidents—or danger of any kind.
Sixteen
“GOOD MORNING.”
At the greeting from behind her in the Robertson kitchen, Lindsey spun around, sending a handful of grated cheese spewing over the countertop and onto the floor.
Heidi stood in the doorway. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Trying to rein in her galloping pulse, Lindsey gripped the edge of the granite behind her. “No worries. I was, uh, lost in thought.”
Not a lie. She’d been replaying her session with Dr. Oliver yesterday and thinking about her tearoom exchange with the detective who was beginning to dominate her thoughts.
“I don’t want to disturb you, but I was hungry for the first time in two weeks and decided to scramble an egg or eat some yogurt before I go to James’s office.” Heidi sniffed and pulled out a tissue. “To be honest, I was also lonely. The house feels so empty and quiet.”
Lindsey’s throat tightened. Her client might not have been the warmest person in the past, but tragedy could shake anyone’s world, leave them feeling vulnerable—as she knew frompersonal experience. It wasn’t difficult to empathize with someone going through that ordeal.
“Why don’t I make you an omelet?”
“Won’t that interrupt your cooking?”
“No. I’m at a stopping place. I can put everything on hold for ten minutes.” She gathered up the grated cheese littering the floor and counter and tossed it in the trash as she responded.
“Well, if you’re certain ...” Heidi slid onto a stool at the island. “Thank you. And I also appreciate your willingness to continue on as my personal chef. I know it has to be hard to come back here after ... after everything that’s happened.”
“I don’t like to disappoint people, or renege on commitments.” Lindsey crossed to the fridge and removed a carton of eggs, along with a container of mushrooms.
“Admirable traits. Ones that sometimes seem in short supply in today’s world.” Heidi rested her elbows on the granite countertop and linked her fingers. “At least the lead detective on James’s case appears to be dedicated to his job. But I don’t think the police are making much headway.” She sighed.
