furniture to fill the space — or maybe it was simply clutter free — everything was in its place. The entire room was immaculate. The air was saturated with different spices and flavors, and the small round table displayed empty wine glasses and white plates.
“This is your apartment?” I asked, looking up the wooden stairs leading to the loft.
Jared stood behind me, sliding my coat from my arms. “Is that okay? I thought it would be the best place to talk,” he asked, a bit anxious.
“No, it’s great. It’s amazing…you’re cooking?” I asked, preoccupied with my surroundings.
“Something like that. Try not to get too excited.” He tucked my hair behind my ears. “Have a seat, it’s almost ready.”
He took the flowers from my hands and whisked them to the kitchen, filling a vase with water. He reappeared, vase and flowers in hand, placing them in the middle of the table.
Jared brought a serving dish to the table and forked out a slice of meat.
“Pot Roast?” I asked.
“Well, there are other things—,” he gestured back to the kitchen.
“No, no, it’s just that…pot roast is my favorite. My father had a close friend that always invited us to dinner when I was little, and his wife made this amazing pot roast. It’s been a long time since I’ve had it, but it smelled a lot like this.”
Jared made a strange face as if he didn’t know how to react to my little anecdote, and then returned to the kitchen. He brought out a bowl of steamed vegetables, a plate of dinner rolls, and a baked potato…all of them favorites of mine.
“You thought of everything,” I said, bewildered at the food sitting on the table.
“There’s an Angel Food cake in the oven,” he said, sitting across from me.
“I love angel foo—,” I cut myself off when I realized how redundant it would be to say the words. “You knew that, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Jared said with an uncertain half smile. It sounded more like a question than an answer.
“We’re going to talk, right?” I asked, staring down at my plate.
“We are going to talk. But let’s get through dinner, first.”
“I can do that,” I grinned.
I bit into the pot roast and instantly I was seven years old, sitting in a homey kitchen with a million savory smells floating throughout the room. Cynthia was politely chuckling at something Jack’s friend Gabe had said, and Gabe’s wife circled the table in a light blue apron, spooning out vegetables onto everyone’s plate.
“How is it?” Jared asked between bites, bringing me back to the present.
I shook my head, searching for the words that would do the taste I was experiencing justice. “I haven’t had a meal like this in a long, long time,” I chewed, “since I was a girl. Where did you learn to cook like this?”
Jared shrugged. “It’s my mother’s recipe.”
I smiled at that. It was the first time he’d ever mentioned anything about his life. “Are you close with your mother?” I asked, settling into my chair.
“Pretty close. I spent a lot of time away from her when I was young.”
I raised my eyebrows with interest, waiting for him to elaborate.
“School was very easy for Claire and me — we finished at a young age — and we went on to train in more special areas.”
“Special as in what you can do? Fight, I mean.” Although I was prepared for an outlandish explanation, I was surprised that it began in his childhood.
“Right,” Jared confirmed. “My father taught us much of what we know; he took us all over the world to round out our training.”
“What kind of training?” I asked.
Jared squirmed in his chair. My insides wrenched as I watched him struggle; I wanted to somehow make it easier for him. I reached across the table and slid my fingers between each of his.
“This is why I’m here, right?” I said, offering a reassuring smile. Jared relaxed a bit and gently squeezed my fingers.
“We were trained to defend ourselves, to defend someone else, and received all the training each branch of military receives, including tactical, structure penetration, reconnaissance and patrolling, hand to hand combat, demolitions, weapons, field medicine…you get the idea.”
“Why?” I said in a more incredulous tone than I’d intended.
Jared took another bite, considering my question. I couldn’t wait for him to decide the best answer.
“Your father was in the security business?” I prompted.
“More along the lines of security detail.”
“Bodyguard stuff,” I nodded.
Jared chuckled. “Yes, bodyguard stuff.”
“So Claire went through the same training?” I imagined tiny Claire training with the Navy Seals and shuddered. I wasn’t sure if it was because I feared for her safety, or because she was even more dangerous than I had previously thought.
“We were separated a lot. When she proved to be accelerated in most things we trained together.” His face twisted with irritation.
“Accelerated?”
“She could hit a target from fifteen-hundred yards by the time she was eleven. She’s probably the best sniper the military has ever seen,” he waited for my reaction. After seeing the deliberate smooth features of my face, he continued, “You can imagine how many elite branches of government and private sectors are falling over themselves for her, counting down the days until her eighteenth birthday.” He said the words with a hint of the tone a protective father might have when discussing his daughter’s first date.
“Are you close?” I asked, remembering the way they had reacted to each other in the pub.
Jared frowned. “I love her. She’s my sister.” The crease between his eyebrows grew deeper, “She’s also very obstinate and, like most teenage girls, she’s very self-absorbed. But in a lethal-type of way because of her training.” He was suddenly very far away. “Claire’s been through a lot. She didn’t get to have a normal childhood because of the way we were raised, and she’s angry about a lot of things.”
“Are you angry about the way you were raised?”
“No,” he said the word softly, but with firm conviction. There was no pause between my question and his answer. He scanned my face with such affection that I felt myself fidgeting with unease.
“Why is that?” I bit my lip, still apprehensive about the intensity in his eyes.
“We’ll get to that later. Dessert?” he asked, squeezing my hand before letting go.
I noticed the absence of his touch instantly when my hand turned cold. He took my nearly empty plate and returned with the perfect-sized slice of Angel Food cake. No icing, no layers. Just the way I liked it.
Taking a bite, I closed my eyes. “You have more than one talent, Mr. Ryel,” I said after swallowing the moist, spongy goodness. “Tell me more about you. I want to hear the little things, too. You know all of my favorites; it’s only fair that I know yours.”
Jared laughed once. “Okay.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin and leaned against his chair. “The little things….I was born in Providence on May ninth. I’m twenty-three,” he explained. “Breakfast is my favorite meal. Summer is my favorite season. I don’t have a favorite color, but I’ve always been partial to that crazy green-honey brown color of your eyes. I have this addiction to sweet potato fries.”
“Well. There you go…I knew something about you after all,” I grinned.
“See? I’m an open book.”
I rolled my eyes. “Go on….”
“I think best when on my motorcycle; I don’t really have time for hobbies. I have a sister, whom you’ve met,” I nodded, “and a little brother, Bex, who’s eleven. They both live with my mother, but Claire spends a lot of time here…sometimes too much,” he grimaced.
I giggled. “And you have your own security business?”
As soon as I asked, I wished I hadn’t. Jared’s eyes instantly clouded over into familiar twin storms.
“I brought you here tonight to be honest with you, Nina.”
