That sounded better so I complied and Ren got me a glass of wine.
I sipped.
Ren worked.
When he was nearly done, I got off the counter and got on cleaning the pots, pans and utensils so later clean up would be a snap.
I heard the oven door close then I felt arms wrap around me from behind at the same time I felt Ren’s hard heat at my back and his mouth at my ear.
“They’ll come around,” he whispered there.
I closed my eyes, opened them and rinsed a pot.
I put it in the drainer, saying, “I hope so.”
He gave me a squeeze. “I know so.”
I turned off the faucet and twisted my neck to look at him. “How do you know?”
“Because they love you.”
I pressed my lips together and my eyes got hot again.
Then he again gave me what I needed. He bent, kissed my neck and lifted to catch my eyes.
“We’ll eat in front of the TV. I’ll go turn it on.”
I nodded.
He grinned and gave me a squeeze.
He went to turn on the TV, came back and refilled our wine glasses.
I put the last pot in the drainer and followed my man to the TV to veg out and await stuffed shells.
* * * * *
“Jesus,” Ren muttered, and I tore my eyes off Castle to lift my head from where it was resting on his chest seeing as we were both stretched out on the couch, Ren on his back, me tucked to his side between him and the couch.
“What?”
“Jesus,” he repeated, eyes glued to the TV.
He was making me miss it!
“What?” I snapped.
He lifted a hand that held the remote and paused the show.
Then he turned his head to me. “Do you watch this show because of that woman?”
I felt my brows draw together. “What woman?”
“The brunette who’s the spittin’ image of you.”
What was he talking about?
“Do you mean Stana Katic?” I asked.
“I don’t know her name. The tall knockout brunette.”
Jeez. Did he think I looked like Stana Katic, otherwise known as the most beautiful woman on American television today?
“You think I look like Kate Beckett?” I asked.
“Who’s Kate Beckett?” he asked back.
“Stana Katic. She plays Detective Kate Beckett, Castle’s partner on the show. Or, more accurately, Castle’s her partner,” I informed him.
“Then no. If she’s the gorgeous, bossy, badass homicide detective I just watched for the last five minutes, I don’t think you look like her. I think she’s the spittin’ image of you.”
Wow.
Cool!
“Seriously?” I asked.
“Babe,” he muttered, his eyes wandering back to the TV where Beckett was paused having a conversation with Castle, “fuck me, definitely seriously.”
This.
Was.
Awesome.
I didn’t share I felt that, nor did I tell him that wasn’t the reason I watched Castle (though it was part of it; Kate Beckett was the freaking bomb).
I just said the truth. “I never noticed.”
He looked back at me. “How could you not notice?”
I probably didn’t notice because I was paying more attention to Nathan Fillion.
Since this was the reason, the answer I gave Ren was a shrug.
Ren’s arm around me curled me closer, his head turned back to the TV and he hit play.
I turned my eyes to the TV and studied Kate Beckett.
She did kinda look like me.
Totally cool.
I relaxed into Ren and tangled my legs with his.
It was then it hit me we’d never done this, something totally normal like relaxing in front of a TV.
It also hit me it felt nice.
And last, it hit me that after a busy day that didn’t end great, this, just this, was exactly what I needed. A belly full of Ren’s cooking. A wine glass that, unless I wanted it to be, never was empty. A couch. A TV. A good show.
But most of all.
Ren.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Impossible
The next morning, post-coffee rush at Fortnum’s, the bell over the door rang.
I had a lot to do, and unfortunately part of that was keeping liquid until my insurance check came in. My credit card balance was getting high and my bank account balance was never high. Thus I needed my take from the tip jar.
I twisted from doing dishes at the sink, looked and saw Mr. Kumar and his mother-in-law, Mrs. Salim, enter the store.
They were regulars. They were also (kind of) part of our posse.
Mr. Kumar owned a corner store on Tex’s block and he’d been dragged into two Rock Chick Rides, Indy’s and Ava’s. He was a good guy who, against the odds, kept his little store open. I helped by shopping there occasionally, even though it was out of my way.
I didn’t know much about Mrs. Salim except that every time I saw her, I feared she’d keel over and quit breathing, she looked that old. And this wasn’t being mean. Seriously, she looked that old. Just saying, the woman’s wrinkles had wrinkles.
I also knew she liked to read.
As usual, Mrs. Salim shuffled to the books.
Mr. Kumar came to the coffee counter and, weirdly, had his eyes on me.
He stopped and looked at Tex. “Did you speak with her?”
I turned from the sink, grabbing a towel to wipe my hands.
“Talk with me about what?” I asked.
“No,” Tex answered Mr. Kumar “I talked to Hank.”
“But the police aren’t doing anything!” Mr. Kumar suddenly cried, and the skin on the back of my neck prickled.
I moved to the espresso counter, jamming in close to Tex. “Talk to me about what?’
“Hank says they’re lookin’ into it,” Tex told me.
“Looking into what?” I asked.
“And I’m keepin’ an eye out,” Tex went on, still not answering me.
“Keeping an eye on what?” I snapped.
“The rash of burglaries on our street,” Mr. Kumar finally answered me.
“You’ve had a rash of burglaries?” Indy asked, coming up to the counter, hands full of empties.
“Yes,” Mr. Kumar answered.
“I’m keepin’ an eye out,” Tex stated.
Giving big eyes to Tex, Mr. Kumar then turned to me. “Tex looks out for the neighborhood, but he’s not finding anything. I talked with some of my customers and we got a… what’s it called?”
I didn’t know what he was talking about so I couldn’t tell him what it was called.
Luckily, he found the word and stated, “Kitty. To pay you.” He dug in his pants pocket, pulled out a card and turned it to me. “We’re hiring a Rock Chick.”