Page 32 of His Reckoning

“Exactly,” Cole says, pointing at me. “She’s perfect.”

“I’m beginning to regret letting you have a key to my place.”

“I’m serious though,” Cole says. “You’re the first woman I’ve met who talks to him like that.”

“How do most women talk to him?”

“Very carefully.”

I glance at Sawyer. “That must be annoying.”

“It is,” Cole says.

Sawyer sets the suitcase down again. “Are you done?”

“No,” Cole says cheerfully. “This is the most entertaining thing that’s happened all week.”

Then he gestures toward the luggage pile. “So, how many trips are left?”

I think about the apartment again then the alarming number of books still sitting in my living room.

“Several.”

Cole grins. “Well,” he says, rolling up his sleeves, “looks like you’ve got two helpers now.”

Sawyer stares at him. “You’re not helping.”

“I absolutely am.”

“Why?”

Cole looks at me. “Because I like her.”

Sawyer exhales slowly, and for some reason, that makes me smile.

Cole claps his hands once. “All right,” he says, “what are we moving first?”

Sawyer points at the pile of luggage. “All of it.”

Cole grabs one of the suitcases easily. “This is heavier than it looks.”

“Books,” I say.

“That tracks.”

He lifts the suitcase toward the hallway.

“So,” I say, following him, “what kind of restaurants are we talking about?”

Cole glances back. “Mostly Italian.”

My interest spikes immediately. “Real Italian or American Italian?”

Cole grins. “Real.”

Sawyer mutters behind us, “Here we go.”

“My father started the first restaurant thirty years ago,” Cole says. “Small place in Brooklyn. Traditional recipes. Family-style stuff.”