“Well, it might still be a while. I haven’t grilled since before—” He looked away, putting his hands in his pockets. “Anyway, I thought I’d give it a shot.”
“I can help,” she offered. “Maybe light the grill or something.” Inwardly, she cringed.
After a barely detectable pause, he nodded, though she couldn’t read his expression. “I’ll get the steaks,” he said, turning toward the kitchen. “Grill’s this way.”
She lit the gas grill with a pop and hiss and closed the lid to let it heat up. The chill in the air nipped at her nose and cheeks as she eyed Mark through the back-door window. Inside, he washed and prepped the steaks. His compression sleeve was gone, and he rubbed in some kind of seasoning and slapped the steaks on a plate. He washed his hands at the sink and looked up to catch her watching. He looked away immediately.
Riley slipped her hands in her pockets and studied the backyard in its winter darkness.
The sliding door squeaked open, and Mark brought out two New York strips and tongs. She took the plate from him and put one steak on the heat, the sudden sizzle a welcome sound in the quiet. She held out the tongs for Mark.
He looked at her and narrowed his gaze.
She lifted her chin. A little motion, but he read it correctly.
He took the tongs, and with a deep breath, he gripped the remaining steak and placed it on the hot grill. The tongs clattered on the plate where he returned them.
She smiled, casual. “Now what?” she asked, as if he’d merely dropped a letter in the mailbox.
He opened the back door and waited. As she stepped past him into the house, he touched her arm.
She looked him in the eyes and saw unease beneath his dark brows. She’d overstepped her bounds. It wasn’t her place to make him face his fear. Not now, not ever.
He shot a glance toward the grill where a few flames licked the undersides of the steaks. “Thanks,” he said, his voice low.
She nodded, searching his face for irritation, his tone for sarcasm, but she found none. She entered the warm kitchen, and the sound of the door closing followed soon after.
“How are you with scrubbing potatoes?” he asked, placing a couple of bakers next to the sink.
“Oh, sure, give me the dirty work.”
While the meat sizzled outside, the potatoes steamed in the microwave, and Mark dumped a bagged salad into a serving bowl.
“I can do better than this,” he mumbled.
“Better than iceberg lettuce and shredded carrots?” She grabbed the empty bag and held it up, reading the label. “It’s a classic. Says so right here.”
He gave her a look that challenged her soft gibe and grabbed the bag, tossing it in the garbage can, then disappeared behind the fridge door. “Ranch okay?” He stood, looking more closely at the bottle. “It’s bacon ranch. My dad’s branching out.”
“Sure,” she said with a smile.
He set it down on the table. Shaking his head, he put his hands on his hips. “Living with my dad, I’ve learned that the kitchen is not his . . . strength.”
She looked around. “It’s clean.”
He turned and opened up cupboard after cupboard, ending with the fridge.
“Okay, so it’s clean and empty,” she said.
He closed everything back up.
“So, fill it up,” she said. “With as much as . . . two men living on their own need to eat. Does he cook?”
He shook his head. “Not if he can help it. Not if I can help it.”
She smiled. “Do you cook?”
He turned to get plates out of one of the cupboards. “Used to.”
She watched him, his hand and arm back in its sleeve. “You’re cooking now.”
He paused as the microwave dinged, and he arched a brow in her direction.
“I’ll check the steaks,” she said.
He continued to set the table while she turned the meat. The scent of whatever he’d done to them before they hit the flame made her mouth water. Inhaling deeply, she took a minute, chilly as it was, to drink in the moment. Not a sound could be heard except for the small noises from inside the kitchen and the sizzle from the grill. She could just make out the silhouettes of mountains against the night sky. Everything was still up here. And the stars . . . They didn’t show up like this in the city.
The back door opened. “You okay out here?” Mark held out a jacket.
“Thanks. The steaks are about done.” She took the jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. It smelled like wool and aftershave. “I was just noticing how dark and quiet it is up here.”
He nodded and hitched his shoulders up as if trying to warm himself. “Not much in the way of streetlights or neighbors. The highway is a couple miles that way.” He nodded in a northern direction. “You can see it from the new outbuilding, but not from here. It’s one of the reasons Mom picked this place when they left Tacoma. Their apartment had been right off the freeway. The traffic noise drove her nuts.”
“I can imagine it would be hard to create with that in the background.”
“Exactly. Her studio is upstairs in the attic. Did my dad show you?”
She shook her head. Cal hadn’t taken her up that far.
“She and dad converted the space when they first moved in. I’ll take you up there after dinner.”
“Did you keep it as she left it?”
His eyes narrowed in thought. “Most of it. Dad keeps saying if he ever sells this place, he’ll need to show the room in its best light. He keeps it clean.”
“Would he ever sell this place?” she asked. She couldn’t imagine giving up something like this house, after being here so long.
He shook his head. “No. He keeps my mom’s studio the way it is because they built it together. It’s as much a part of him as she is. He’s not fooling any of us.” He nodded at the house. “This place would be my sister’s
