Evelyn's dream of securing a scholarship to America's top ballet school shattered when her mother was brutally murdered during her teenage years. Determined to make a difference, she became a detective, ready to take on the world. Assigned to invest...
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The morning after the detective's arrival, Jeremiah was in the kitchen humming along to a tune on the radio, his deep voice slipping easily into the melody. With swift, practised movements he danced around the stove and counters, knife flashing, sauce simmering, pans hissing softly. He only smirked to himself; tonight's dinner was fish. He knew not everyone liked it, but he didn't care. He loved cooking it, and the dish was going to be perfect.
"I just want you, baby, to myself," he sang under his breath, spinning in rhythm with the bluesy tune. He moved with surprising grace, apron tied low on his hips, boots tapping the tiled floor in time with the music. If anyone ever asked him if he could dance, he would have laughed it off with a joke.
"Hmm... the footwork isn't bad at all." The amused voice came from behind, and Jeremiah nearly jumped out of his skin. He spun around, face heating red as he found Evelyn leaning against the doorway, lips curved in a playful smirk. Her sudden giggle wrapped around him like silk, light but impossible to ignore. She had only wandered into the kitchen because she wanted a snack, but curiosity had kept her there. She hadn't expected to find Jeremiah singing, moving so effortlessly, shoulders swaying, apron framing his tall frame in a way that made her pulse trip over itself. He was carefree, unguarded, utterly unlike the hardened biker she had seen until now. And damn if that wasn't dangerous. Something low in her stomach cramped tightly.
"Oh, I didn't hear you come in. Do you always sneak up on people like that?" Jeremiah asked, masking his embarrassment with his usual easy grin. It was safer to fall back on his laid-back persona than let her see the sudden wave of heat she stirred in him. Evelyn's lips curved into a small, secretive smile as she stepped further inside.
"Comes with the job," she teased, her voice soft yet carrying an edge of pride. The room seemed to hum around her, alive with the crackle of pans, the smooth voice on the radio, the vibrant aroma of fish, butter, and herbs. Beside the window, she noticed a cluster of green plants lined up neatly around the battered radio, their earthy scent mingling with the rest. Basil, mint, rosemary- she guessed, though her knowledge was far from perfect.
"Guess I'll have to start checking everything out while I'm here." She pulled open a door to the pantry and raised a brow at the sheer number of jars and bottles inside. Her fingers drifted over the neatly arranged shelves before plucking one at random.
"Who on earth needs this many spices?" she muttered, half amused, half disbelieving.
"When you're a chef, you need that many," Jeremiah said, stirring a sauce without looking up.
"Sometimes even more." Evelyn turned her head toward him, lips curling into a faint, apologetic smile.
"My apologies, chef. I grew up in a family that loved cooking, but... ever since I joined the force, I barely spend time in my own kitchen anymore." She picked up another spice jar, rolling it between her fingers as though trying to recall the last time she had cooked something just for pleasure.
