He didn’t say anything; he just held her close, murmuring something against her ear, gentle soothings amid the silent sobs. When she finally exhausted her supply of tears, her eyes burning hot against his chest, she wasn’t even surprised or shocked anymore. It was like something inside her had broken. She didn’t think she could ever put it back together again. She tried to push away, but he wouldn’t let her. She wasn’t sure he could, with the way their energy had wrapped around the two of them.
“Just stay here for a minute,” he said, his own voice thick.
She sniffled several times and then said, “I need a tissue.”
He gently released her, walked over, grabbed a box on the coffee table, and brought it back to her. He slipped a finger under her chin, tilted her head up so he could look into her eyes. “You know it’s okay to let go sometimes, right?”
She reached for the tissues, blew her nose, and, with another one, dabbed at her eyes. She motioned at his shirt. “Your shirt is covered in mascara.”
“It’ll wash,” he said without a care.
She stared at him, startled. “You don’t care that I ruined your shirt?”
He walked over to the sink, opened the cupboard beside it, pulled out a glass, and filled it with cold water, placing it in front of her.
She stared down at it, wondering at his thoughtfulness, but picked it up and took a long drink. It helped ease the coarseness in her throat. “It’s really hard.”
“It is,” he said, his voice firm, yet gentle. “Anytime we lose someone close to our heart, it’s hard. It’s always hard to say goodbye.”
Her eyes filled with tears again. Patiently she brushed them back. “It seems like all I do is cry.”
“It seems to me like all you’ve been doing is holding back the tears,” he said, pointing out what she’d been trying to ignore. He opened the fridge and said, “What about food?”
“I don’t think I can eat,” she confessed. He turned to look at her and frowned. She shrugged. “I had the croissant at breakfast, but that’s it.”
He whistled, turned back to the fridge, rummaged a bit, and pulled out vegetables. She watched in dulled surprise, her mind sorting out what he was doing.
When he grabbed a knife and started chopping, she said, “You’re cooking?”
He nodded. “You need to eat.”
She half smiled. “Is this what you always do for all your suspects who come off the suspect list?”
“I’d spend my days cooking then,” he joked. “This detective work is what I do in life. Remember? It’s the seedy, dark side of life, and there’s no good way to tell people that they’ve lost somebody they cared about. It’s always left up to us to try to handle the ugly details.”
She thought about that and nodded. “That sucks.”
“It does,” he said, “until I can also bring closure by finding out who did this.”
She watched silently as he chopped broccoli, cauliflower, carrots, and onions, then rummaged in her cupboards for a pan.
“Are you looking for a frying pan?”
His head popped up, and he glanced out of the pan cupboard. “A wok, actually.”
She pointed to a long cupboard off to the side.
With a smile he bounced in that direction, crouched before the cupboard, found a small wok, and brought it out with a smile. “Glad to see you have one. Do you cook?”
She shrugged. “I used to. I don’t really have time anymore.”
“Good food keeps up your energy,” he scolded lightly.
She shrugged listlessly. “I don’t think I care.”
“And that’s right now,” he said. “Any chance you have any protein in the fridge? I didn’t see any.”
“No, I don’t think so,” she said. “There are eggs, although I don’t know what you’d do with them.”
He looked over at her with a smile. “Well, watch and learn.” He pulled out several eggs, whisked them in a small bowl, put a little bit of oil on the bottom of the wok, and heated it up. He poured a bit of egg in it, swirled it into a pancake crepe-looking thing. As soon as it was done, he flipped it onto a plate and did several more. As he took them off, he rolled them up, cut them in half, and arranged them on the side of a plate.
She looked at him with interest. “Now what?”
“You have to have some protein,” he said, and he turned the heat on under the oil again and asked, “Do you have any nuts?”
“Cashews,” she said cautiously.
He followed her instructions to get the cashews, nodded when he saw they were raw, and said, “Perfect.” With the oil smoking in the bottom of the wok, he lifted it, swirled the oil around gently, and dumped in a mess of cashews. He roasted them very quickly, then put them off on a plate, and he added more oil to the wok and tossed in all the veggies. While they sautéed in the pan, following her further directions to where he’d find other ingredients, he added a little bit of starch, water, and spices. Stirring, he heated the mixture into something.
She watched with interest, her stomach grumbling with joy when she saw real food heading her way. “I’m sorry that I don’t have chicken or beef or something like that.”
He nodded. “The eggs will do for the moment.”
As soon as all the veggies were done to his liking, and the sauce had thickened a bit, he tossed the nuts back in and stirred quickly to coat them. Then he served up two platefuls, and he laid all the egg crepe things in a series of rolls on the side of each. He handed her a plate with a fork. “Now eat.” He brought his plate around next, sat down beside her, and forked up a bite.
She took one taste and stopped with her fork midway to her plate. “That tastes wonderful,” she said.
“It’s what real food
