Page 25 of Echoes in the Storm
He matches me, leaning over the counter as far as he can manage, to whisper, “I’m a lousy cook.”
“Well,” I announce, bouncing on the balls of my feet, “you’ve come to the right place, my friend. Because although I don’t have much in my cupboards usually, that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to whip up a feast.” I tug a wooden spoon from the drawer and point it at him. “Settle in, and watch a master at work.”
Duke
Swear to God, I have never eaten savoury meatballs as good as the ones Cammie makes. They’re nestled on a bed of rice that she made even better with a secret mix of herbs and spices, and drizzled with homemade sauce. She wasn’t kidding when she said she was a master in the kitchen.
Her eyes are alight as I sop up the last of the sauce with a slice of bread. “Good?”
“Woman, you could cook for me any day.”
Her smile fades, the light in her eyes extinguishing. “I miss making these kinds of meals; I don’t get much opportunity to anymore. No point making such a huge dish for just me.”
“Well, I’m in town for at least a week, so I’m telling you now, make the most of it. I won’t complain.” I throw her a wink, just to round the playful tone I’m going for off.
It works, her features softening as she straightens in her seat and reaches for my empty plate. “You know, I might just take you up on that. I’ve got one rule, though.”
“What’s that?”
“The person who cooks doesn’t have to do the dishes.” Her lips tilt up on one side as she stands, and then carries the plates and utensils to the kitchen.
“Fair enough.” Hell, if a little grunt work is all I have to do to get a cooked meal like that every night, then have at it. “I’m guessing you’re back to work Monday?”
She nods, putting some of the ingredients she’d left on the counter away in the fridge. “Yeah.”
“You okay with me hanging here while you’re away?” It’ll make me feel better if there is somebody here to watch the place. I didn’t catch all of what she said to that jackass who came to visit this afternoon, but I get the vibe he’s some jilted ex. And that never fares well.
“I don’t mind.” Cammie returns to her seat at the table, a bottle of water in hand. “Oh. I’m sorry. Did you want one?”
“No, you’re fine.”
She nods, unscrewing the cap. “What do you think you’ll do to pass the time? I’ve got Sky TV and a Netflix subscription you’re welcome to use.”
“Don’t really watch much TV.” Something about having to sit still for that long without it being productive time spent doesn’t fare well with me. Never has.
“You’re kidding.” Her jaw drops as she openly gapes at me. “You don’t do movie marathons? Binge-watch an entire series?”
I shake my head.
“Duke, you don’t know what you’re missing out on.”
I’ve got a fair idea. “Rather be doing something constructive with my hands.”
She leans back in her seat, looking me over me as though I’m some interesting specimen on display at a zoo. “What do you do then? To pass the time?”
“Fix things. Re-sell them. Try to make a little extra to get me through week to week.”
Her expression grows serious, the smile lines around her eyes fading as the corners of her mouth turn down. “I know you don’t like talking about the army, but do you mind if I ask, do you get paid anything after you leave? Like, I’ve heard you get a kind of pension from them, but I don’t know if that’s just older vets who get it, or if you had to have a certain rank or something.”
“You get something. But it’s not enough to live on.”
“The government would help, right?”
I shake my head. “Not unless you fall into their regular benefit categories: sickness, unemployment, that kind of thing.”
“And I take it you don’t?” She taps her fingers across her bottom lip, drawing my attention there.
“Only been out of work for a couple of weeks, so I don’t qualify for help yet, no.” Not that I’d take it. I’ve never felt right about accepting a hand up when I should be able to do it myself.