Taking Control (Kerr Chronicles #2) by Jen Frederick

Author:Jen Frederick [Frederick, Jen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B00SZ35D9M
Publisher: Montlake Romance
Published: 2015-08-03T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 15

Tiny looks worn out when I pick her up at Jake’s.

“He’s still in his office,” she says. “I swear he sleeps here.”

“It takes time to build a new business,” I observe mildly. “Should we eat out tonight or order in?”

“Let’s make something,” she suggests.

“I don’t know how to cook and no offense, sweetheart, but do you?”

“My cooking rolodex contains about three recipes. Pot pie, shrimp with noodles, and a beef pot roast cooked in a crockpot—which you don’t have.”

Her mouth turns down a little, probably remembering all the wonderful things her mother made.

I try to cheer her up. “You do realize we live in a place where even fast food can be delivered, right? Not to mention that there are a dozen restaurants within walking distance.”

“I know, but I think it would be fun.”

Leaning forward, I tell Steve to drop us at the Chelsea Market. “Let’s cook then.”

Inside I can’t help pointing out all the food stalls with prepared items we could take home. “We could get seafood,” I say looking at the lobster advertised at the Lobster Place. “Or apparently enough bread to feed an entire city.”

Tiny shakes her head and drags me down the corridors to stop at a vegetable stand. She shakes out a plastic bag and hands it to me to hold while she fills it with a bunch of greenery labeled “spring onions.”

“Is this where you get food?”

“Yes, dear, it’s where mortals eat. Actually that’s not true, this is like a rich person’s grocery.”

I ignore the sarcasm. “Where would you shop for your mom?”

“About two blocks over was a market that had good fruit. We were trying to eat healthy, but it was so expensive.” She squeezes her lips together.

Leaning forward I palm the back of her head and pull her close. “Love you so much, bunny.”

She allows me to comfort her all of a second and then pushes away to grab another bag which she fills with an herb that even I can correctly identify as cilantro.

“What are we making?”

“Pasta and shrimp cooked in lemon and white wine sauce. Why don’t you go over and get some bread? Maybe sourdough rolls, and I’ll meet you at the seafood place.” She points down a ways.

I kiss her again and leave to do her bidding. Inside the bakery, I find dozens of different loaves of bread and rolls. On the advice of a helpful clerk, I buy something called a Tuscan log sourdough, which is shaped like a log roll with short, stubby branches. I figure what we don’t eat, we can use to feed the ducks this weekend in Long Island. Although I don’t know that we have ducks up there. I might have to buy some.

When I catch up with her at the seafood counter, there’s a man—make that an asshole—chatting her up. He has an arm braced against the glass case, and his eyes are taking off her clothes piece by piece.

“Hey, Ian,” she says when I approach.

“Hi, bunny.” I put my hand on her neck and kiss her on the forehead.

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