Eden dragged the stepladder from one end of the metal shelving units to the other and started climbing so she could get two large cans of fire-roasted crushed tomatoes. After a stressful childhood with a father who said anything to keep people happy, then did as he damned well pleased, she had no tolerance for subterfuge, lying or “misunderstandings.” Which was why she didn’t care how many bouquets of flowers or apologies Ian sent her way.
They’d dated once before and he’d left her, shortly after college. It’d taken her a long time to get over him. When he’d appeared back in Reno six months ago, he’d come to see her. Apologized for being such a short-sighted jerk. Asked her back into his life. Eden had taken a chance, thinking they’d both grown and that Ian had dealt with whatever issue had caused him to leave her in the first place.
And the flame had burned hot.
Now, thanks to him, it had abruptly gone out, and that was it. Over was over, and he needed to get that through his thick head.
Unfortunately, Ian hated to lose. That probably made him a good lawyer. It also made him a pain in the ass.
Amazing just how quickly things changed once a person discovered that the guy who was supposed to be watching her back was actually more interested in someone else’s boobs.
“WHAT DO YOU mean, you aren’t taking the cooking lessons?” Nick stared at his stubborn grandfather, who stood next to the patio door of his small apartment wearing his favorite plaid flannel shirt and baggy police tactical pants. A couple quail ran across the courtyard lawn outside.
Gabe pulled the door open. The quail instantly took cover in a juniper bush. “Why in the hell would I want to take cooking lessons?” he asked as he grabbed the bag of seeds off the bookcase by the door.
Because I want to take them.
“Lois says you guys need to eat better. This is one way to do that.”
“I’m eating just fine.”
“You’re downing too much salt and fat. She said your blood pressure has redlined a couple times. If you don’t start eating right, she’s going to sentence you to the cafeteria.”
“When did this happen?” Gabe asked, shaking his head before reaching into the bag and tossing a handful of seeds out into the grass.
“What?”
“When did I hit the point in my life when I have to be treated like a damned child?” He didn’t look at Nick, just threw more seeds, his movements jerky. Angry.
Nick didn’t have an answer for that. His grandfather was a seventy-five-year-old heart-attack survivor. After the heart attack it became apparent that living alone in his north Reno home was no longer a possibility, so Nick had helped him sell the house and move into the Candlewood Center, an assisted-living facility that would allow him the most personal freedom. It cost a bundle, but Gabe had made a huge profit on the house, which allowed him to pay the fees and still have money in the bank.
Not a bad outcome, except for the part where Gabe resented being told what to do.
He did okay with community living, and had made several friends. But while he happily played poker, took the weekly trip to the golf course, sat in front of the huge TV and ate low-sodium popcorn while watching sports with his friends, he steadfastly refused to partake in the meal plan offered by the facility.
After Gabe had balked, so had a couple of his new buddies. Their rebellion was driving the woman in charge of health care in Gabe’s block of apartments crazy as their blood pressures inched up. Fortunately, Lois was no pushover and had come up with this cooking-lesson angle as a way to get the guys to eat healthier meals.
And when she’d mentioned her plan to Nick—in hopes that he’d convince his grandfather, the ringleader, to cooperate—he’d had the happy suggestion that perhaps she’d like to contact Tremont Catering, which was less than a mile away, and see if they could rent their large kitchen for the lessons. It made more sense than trying to squeeze all the participants into the relatively tiny cafeteria kitchen at the facility.
The only downside was that instead of simply renting the kitchen, the Tremonts had insisted on being involved with the lessons. Nick would have preferred to have the place to himself, in order to snoop around while Lois did her thing, but this was definitely better than nothing.
“I’m not going to live forever,” Gabe said, pushing the door shut. Little quail heads appeared out of the juniper. “But while I am alive, I want to eat decent food.”
“That’s what the class is all about. Taking stuff you love and making it healthier.”
“Making it taste like cardboard, you mean. Your grandmother went on a health-food craze once. Let me tell you, that stuff she made with those healthy—” Gabe’s mouth twisted into a disdainful sneer “—recipes was awful. And you know your grandmother was a damned fine cook.”
Nick’s grandparents had divorced long before Nick had been born and Gabe rarely talked about the woman who’d left him. It was interesting that he appreciated what a fine cook she’d been. “Things have changed.” Nick assumed they’d changed, anyway.
He knew nothing about cooking, other than frying up the occasional steak. Everything he ate came from the freezer or a take-out bag.
“I was kind of hoping you’d take the lessons for my sake.”
“Your sake?” Gabe sounded surprised, then his expression shifted. “There’s no possibility that an attractive woman might be teaching these lessons, is there?”
Not that again.
Nick toyed with the idea of simply saying yes, but heaven only knew what his grandfather would do then. Nightmare scenarios shot through his head.
Nick’s wife, Miri, had died more than two years ago in a car accident and Gabe, who’d adored her, had grieved along with Nick. But after a year and a half had passed and Nick had remained buried in his work, with no social life and showing no sign of changing his ways, his grandfather had grown impatient. It was time for Nick to move on, “join the land of the living” as Gabe put it.
Nick was in the land of the living; he’d finally gotten over the raw pain of losing his wife, but he felt no desire whatsoever to try to fill the void she’d left in his life. Yes, the void was dark and unfulfilling, but it didn’t hurt. Why fill it with something that might cause him pain later?
“I want to learn some cooking techniques, Granddad,” he said in an exasperated voice. “Not flirt with the instructor.”
Gabe’s mouth twisted in annoyance. “Take your own damned lessons, then. Leave me out of it.”
“Darn it, Granddad. Stop being so effing stubborn.”
“Effing? In my day, we just came out and said—”
“I’m trying to be polite.”
“Why aren’t you at work?” Gabe suddenly asked.
Nick rolled his eyes. He wasn’t going to explain about his tool of a lieutenant or the reason he’d been suspended. For one thing, it was embarrassing. For another, Gabe would want every detail leading up to the suspension, and Nick wasn’t discussing the matter. Nick did not have a short fuse, but he’d been hot with the lieutenant. A little too hot. He honestly had a soft spot for the kid who’d been feeding them information and had then so abruptly disappeared. Wanted to look into the matter instead of having it shoved onto the back burner in favor of easier and more high-profile cases—such as busting drugs near the campus. Maybe they hadn’t made much headway in eight months, but in light of what had happened, pulling them entirely off the case made no sense, either.
“Different assignment, different hours,” he said dismissively. Gabe narrowed his eyes thoughtfully and Nick was suddenly reminded of all the times