Angels Fall

you're not, take off your coat."
    She got out the wine first, and a corkscrew. Then took a pack of two skinless chicken breasts out of the tiny freezer. She'd have to thaw them, at least partially, in the equally tiny microwave, but it couldn't be helped.
    While she took her coat, and the one he'd tossed over a stool, to lay on the daybed. Brody opened the wine.
    "I only have regular tumblers." She crossed back to open a cupboard. "Actually, the wine was mostly for cooking."
    "You're serving me cooking wine. Well, slainte ."
    "It's a good wine." she said with some aggravation. "I wouldn't cook with anything I wouldn't drink. It's a very nice Pinot Grigio. So salute is more appropriate."
    He poured some into the tumbler he gave her, then reached over her head for a second one and added wine to it. He sampled, nodded. "Okay, we'll add you know wine to your resume. Where'd you study cooking?"
    She turned away and got to work. "A couple of places."
    "One being Paris."
    She took out garlic, green onion. "Why ask if Doc Wallace already told you?"
    "Actually, it was Mac, who got it from Doc. You haven't picked up the small-town rhythm yet."
    "I guess not." She took out a pot to boil water for the rice.
    Brody took his wine, settled on a stool and watched her.
    Competence, he thought. Control with a dash of poetry. The nerves that seemed to hum around her otherwise didn't sound or show when she was in this element.
    What she needed was to eat more of what she prepared until she put on a solid ten pounds, minimum. Pounds he was speculating she lost after whatever had sent her running from Boston.
    Again, he wondered who she'd seen killed. And why. And how.
    She did something, quick and easy, with some crackers, cream cheese and olives, and a sprinkle of what he thought might be paprika. Then arranged them on a saucer in front of him.
    "First course." She offered him a hint of a smile before she started slicing chicken, mincing garlic.
    Fle'd polished off half the crackers—nice bite to them—by the time she had the rice going. The air was pungent with garlic.
    While he sat, quiet, she handled three pans—the chicken deal, the rice and another in which she stir-fried slices of peppers and mushrooms, small trees of broccoli.
    "How do you know how to cook it all and have it ready at the same time?"
    She glanced back, and her face was relaxed, a little rosy from the heat, "How do you know when to end a chapter and go on to the next?"
    "Good point. You look good when you cook."
    "I cook better than I look." She gave the vegetables a toss, shook the skillet holding the chicken.
    As if to prove it, she shut down the heat, then began to plate the meal. She set his in front of him. had him lifting a brow. "Twenty minutes. And it smells a hell of a lot better than the can of soup I'd figured to open tonight."
    "You earned it." She fixed her own plate—with considerably smaller portions than his—before she came around the counter to sit beside him. And for the first time, picked up her wine.
    She half toasted him, sipped. "Well? How is it?"
    He took his first bite, sat back as if to consider. "You've got a face on you." he began. "Fascinating in its way, and a lot of it's about those big, dark eyes. Suck a man right in and drown him if he isn't careful. But," he continued as she seemed to draw back from him, just a little, "maybe you do cook better than you look."
    The way her grin flashed in appreciation made him think otherwise, but he continued to eat and to enjoy the meal, and her company more than he'd expected.
    "So, you know what's buzzing around downstairs about now?" he asked her.
    "In Joanie's?"
    "That's right. People see my car out front, don't see me in there. Somebody says something, somebody else says, 'I saw him go up with Reece'—or Joanie's new cook. 'Been up there some time now.""
    "Oh." She blew out a breath. "Oh well, it doesn't matter." Then she sat up a little straighter. "Does it? Does it matter to you what they say?"
    "Couldnt care less. You don't care what people think or say about you? '
    "Sometimes I do, too much. Sometimes I don't care at all. I sure as hell don't care that you lost a bet with Mac Drubber over me diving into bed with Lo."
    His eyes lit with amusement as he continued to eat. "Overestimated Lo. underestimated you."
    "Apparently. And maybe if people think we're having something going for a while. Lo will stop trying to charm me into going out with him."
    "He hassling you?"
    "No, not like