To Catch A Player

I knocked and waited, bracing myself for any potential reaction to my unannounced visit.

“Just a second,” she called from inside, sounding slightly breathless and annoyed. The door opened a moment later and I had to suppress a smile at how right I was. Her skin was flushed pink and her long hair stood in all directions. “Jackson. What brings you by?”

I noticed the way she gripped the doorknob and took a step back when she realized how closely I studied her. That silky blond hair hung down to the middle of her back, falling over her shoulders prettily in a way that had my hands itching to touch it again. She wasn’t wearing shoes, so her toenails, painted in alternating hot pink and light pink, were on full display. It was her everyday attire, only more… intimate.

“Elizabeth hijacked me at the gym with these peppers, which are starting to make my eyes water.”

Reese let out a laugh that was melodic and feminine, and sincere. She took a step back and motioned for me to come inside. “Thanks. I hope you didn’t leave them in your car?”

I froze. “Why?”

She laughed again. “Maybe roll down your windows for a bit?” Reese giggled as I ran down the stairs to open my windows. When I came back I found her standing at the stove in a very nice kitchen.“I think we have different real estate agents.”

“It’s a tax write-off—a business necessity, if I don’t want to spend all my free time at the restaurant. Which I don’t.” She shrugged and turned back to the stove, leaning over to slurp from the large wooden spoon. “Come here.”

I hesitated, and when Reese looked back at me with a raised brow, I said, “You’re not going to poison me or scald me with hot barbecue sauce?”

“I haven’t decided yet, but this is part of assisting me. You in, or not?” There was a challenge in her voice, and I knew I didn’t have an option.

“In. Definitely in.” I moved around the big island counter topped with different pots, bowls, and ingredients and when I was close enough, I opened my mouth for her to feed me. “Well?”

With an annoyed groan, she slid the spoon between my lips, letting out a half-hearted, “Oops,” when the sauce dribbled down my chin. “My bad.”

“Right.” I ignored the little smile that quirked her lips up and closed my eyes as the taste of the sauce coated my tongue. “Chocolate?”

She nodded. “And chipotle.”

“It’s weird, but very good.. What will you use it for?”

She tried to hide it, but my question pleased her. “That depends. Rafe thinks it would be better as a mole, but I have something for you to try. Sit.” She pointed to the square pine table for six, covered in a rainbow of place mats and napkins.

“So, what’s the deal with you and Rafe?”

Reese frowned over her shoulder. “There is no deal. He’s been a good friend to me, that’s it.”

I wasn’t sure if I believed her. I knew Rafe, and the man rarely spent a night alone—yet he spent plenty of nights hanging out with Reese. But now wasn’t the time to push it. “Is this real chili, or some of that vegetarian substitute?”

“Beans are an excellent source of protein, but if you don’t want the chili…” She let the threat hang in the air, unspoken.

“I want it,” I growled and she flashed a satisfied grin before turning to grab a silver ladle and a wooden-looking bowl. “You’re prickly as hell.”

She laughed again and I looked around, sure I was being punk’d. Who was this friendly version of my surly chef? “Am I? Or am I offering you a free meal and you’re being picky about it?” She set the bowl in front of me, then grabbed a spoon and set it on the napkin, a root beer beside it.

“How did you…?”

She shrugged. “You’re a regular customer, Detective. Don’t read too much into it.”

Ouch. “I won’t.” But I did. It meant she paid more attention than she let on, and now I was more desperate than ever to find out why.ReeseI appreciated after-hours at my restaurant even more than early mornings, because the place felt lived in. Used. And mostly because it was the perfect time to try out some of the ideas that came to me throughout the day.

The kitchen smelled like ginger, brown sugar and soy sauce—not what you’d expect inside a barbecue joint deep in the heart of Texas, but it smelled damn good. And it would be the perfect sauce for tomorrow’s Asian shredded pork lunch special.

Customers like Eddy would call it exotic, while Helen would call it pretentious—either way, they would both gobble it up and spread the word far and wide. That’s why I put up with the gossip. And the meddling.