Angels Fall

to survive. She went into the water because she knew it was her only chance, and she'd rather have died trying to live than just to lie down and let him kill her. And she fought her way out of the river, even though it tried to stick her down, even though it tossed her around. She fought her way out."
    'Yes, Reece agreed, "she sounds strong."
    "She didn't think of it that way. She didn't think at all, she just acted. She clawed her way out. She's lost and she's hurt, she's cold, and she's still alone. But she's alive."
    "Will she stay that way?"
    "That'll be up to her."
    Reece nodded. She arranged the salads on plates, drizzled them with cheese. "She'll want to give up. I hope she doesn't. I hope she wins. Do you… care about her?"
    "I wouldn't spend time with her otherwise."
    She set the plates on the table, then a small basket with a round of olive bread. She poured the wine herself. "You spent time with the killer, too."
    "And I care about him. Just in a different way. Sit down. I've gotten so I like the way your eyes look in candlelight."
    Surprise came into them first, then that gold light as she sat. "Try the salad. You won't hurt my feelings if you don't like it."
    He obliged, then frowned at her. "It's annoying. I don't like celery, particularly. I've never liked spinach. Who would? I'm not a big fan of change, either."
    She smiled. "But you like my celery. You like my spinach."
    "Apparently. Maybe I just like whatever you put in front of me."
    "Which makes it rewarding to cook for you." She forked up some salad. "'To iron in the blood."
    "Have you given any more thought to putting a cookbook proposal together?"
    "Actually I spent some time on that last night after my shift."
    "Is that why you look tired?"
    "That's not an appropriate question after you've said you like the way I look in candlelight."
    "Your eyes, specifically. Doesn't mean I can't see you look tired."
    He would, she supposed, always be brutally honest with her. Tough as it might be on the ego, it was better than platitudes and soft lies.
    "I couldn't sleep, so fiddling with the proposal gave me something to do. I was thinking of The Simple Gourmet as a title."
    "It's okay."
    "You have better?"
    He continued to eat, mildly amused by the annoyance in her voice. "Let me think about it. Why couldn't you sleep?"
    "How do I know? The doctor's got some sort of holistic tea he wants me to try."
    "Sex is a good sedative."
    "Maybe. Especially, for instance, if your partner's on the inadequate side. You can catch a quick nap during the act."
    "I can promise you won't sleep through it."
    She only smiled, and ate her salad.
     
    SHE WOULDN'T trust him to carve the pork roast, which was vaguely insulting, but did so herself as she steamed asparagus. Brody decided not to complain, as the meat smelled incredible and he noted there was a serving of scalloped potatoes in his immediate future.
    She drizzled hollandaise over the tender shoots, fragrant au jus over the slices of pork.
    "We ought to be able to work a deal, you and me." Brody began when he cut into the pork.
    "A deal?"
    "Yeah, just a minute." He sampled. "Just as I figured. So, a deal. We'll barter. Sex for food."
    She lifted her brows, pursed her lips as if considering. "Interesting. However, I really think you're reaping the benefits on both sides of that deal."
    "You, too. But if the sex thing doesn't work out, we can try odd jobs. Manly stuff. Painting that apartment of yours, minor plumbing, whatever. For this, you provide hot meals."
    "Might work."
    He tried the potatoes. "My God, you should be canonized. The Casual Gourmet ."
    "Saint Reece, the casual gourmet""
    "No. that's your cookbook title. The Casual Gourmet . It's not simple, which can be construed as ordinary. It's spectacular. But you don't need to spend all day sweating over the stove to make it, or your heirloom china and sterling to eat it. Gourmet, the way people live, not just the way they entertain to impress."
    She sat back. "That's a better title, and a better summary of the idea than mine. Damn it."
    "I'm a professional."
    "Eat your asparagus." she ordered.
    "Yes, Mom. By the way? Don't even think about packing up any leftovers."
    "Duly noted."'
    He ate, he drank, he watched her. And at some point, he simply lost the thread of the casual conversation.
    "Reece?"
    "Hmm."
    "It's the eyes, mostly, it's the eyes. They grab me by the throat. But the rest of you? It looks really good in candlelight, too."
    Unexpected, she thought.