Page 32

Chapter 31

Mila

T he rain battered the windshield the whole drive home.

For the hours-long drive, I did nothing but stew in the information we’d gathered. Usually being right made me feel invincible. Chasing down leads was thrilling, energizing even. But at the moment, I was exhausted and sad. Halfway home, we stopped for snacks, and when we got situated in the car again, Jude gave me his hoodie. I wrapped it around myself like a blanket and forced my eyes closed, desperate to turn off my brain.

By the time we made it back to Lovewell, it was late and the rainy day had turned into a cool, clear evening.

Inside the front door, Jude pulled me into the hug and dropped a kiss on the top of my head.

“Go take a shower,” he said.

Frowning, I looked up at him. “Why?”

“Because it’s date night. While you do that, I’ll fire up the pizza oven.”

Slightly dazed, I showered and brushed my hair and teeth. When I’d finished, I studied my reflection in the bathroom mirror, marveling at how much my shoulder had already healed. I still had a lot of work to do to regain my full strength, but at least I could take care of myself now. At some point, I’d get proper medical care, which would probably mean surgery and months of physical therapy. But for now, I was grateful for a functional arm.

I had no makeup, no nice clothes, and no clue what Jude meant by date night, but I couldn’t help but notice how much healthier I looked. My bruises had healed, my cheeks had filled out, and the bags under my eyes were gone. I no longer looked like I was on the run from a criminal organization.

In fact, if I had access to hair products and makeup, I might even pass as the kind of woman who could be going out on a date with a handsome, sweet lumberjack who liked to serenade her with his guitar.

That realization caused a little of the heaviness of the day to lift.

But nothing could have prepared me for the sight in the kitchen.

The lights were dimmed, and candles flickered from the center of the large island. Then there was Jude. He wore a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a dark blue apron as he stood on the far side of the kitchen and aggressively kneaded dough on the floured countertop.

Holy shit. I’d never imagined making pizza could be erotic. For all his modesty, it was clear that Jude was a pro. He was kneading and pulling like a chef on a TV show.

And I could not stop staring.

Because holy fucking forearms.

He put his body into it, pushing and moving with the dough.

It was mesmerizing.

He was focused and precise and had complete control. It was so Jude. Just like when he played guitar or chopped wood, he was completely in the moment.

“Hello, gorgeous.” He grinned over his shoulder.

“I don’t have any date clothes,” I admitted, gesturing to my tank top and leggings.

“You look delicious,” he said, one brow cocked and his blue eyes dark.

“Can I help?”

With a shake of his head, he turned and slid a large glass of red wine toward me. “Keep me company.”

I sat on a barstool at the island and watched him as he went back to work, his shoulders bunching in a way that made my mouth water. “I want to see if I can pull some aerial photos of the spots Dickie talked about.”

“No.” Jude froze, this time glaring at me. “It’s date night. No work talk, no investigation talk. All that responsibility will be waiting for us tomorrow. Tonight we’re two people who like each other, and we’re on a date.”

I opened my mouth, ready to tell him that this wasn’t the kind of thing we could pretend. I wasn’t the type who could just turn my brain off on command.

But then he wiped his hands on a towel and snuck a few sips of my wine, and suddenly, a normal evening sounded incredible.

He’d put a record on, something instrumental and jazzy, and the fire was roaring.

While he prepped pizza, I told him about journalism school and some of my travels, and he shared stories about growing up in the woods.

I pushed up, using my feet on the rung of the barstool, and snagged a slice of pepperoni with my good arm.

He frowned at me.

“This is good pepperoni,” I said as I stole a second piece.

“It’s salami,” he corrected. “Genoa. And antibiotic free. Pepperoni is nothing but red dye and chemicals.”

“Always so joyful.” I winked.

With a grunt, he went back to carefully slicing mushrooms.

I took another slice, ripped it in half, and gave one piece to Ripley, whose tail thumped on the ground where she was seated next to me.

The warm domesticity of the moment was not lost on me. It felt dangerously normal. The kind of normal that I’d never experienced before. The kind full of affection, attraction, and the company of a man I loved talking to.

“You’ve never told me.” I sipped my wine, relishing the way the flavor contrasted with the salty salami. “Why isn’t there a Mrs. Lumbersnack?”

He looked up from his chopping and tilted his head, nonplussed.

“It’s very normal to discuss romantic histories on dates.” I straightened and held out one arm. “You cook. You own a cute house with art on the walls—”

“Those are framed vinyl covers,” he corrected, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“It counts. You’re domesticated and care for your dog. You’re screaming for a wifey.”

He stopped chopping completely now and hit me with a look, a lock of hair falling into his eyes and his glasses askew. “The last thing I want is a wifey.”

“But your brothers—”

“If you knew their wives and girlfriends, you’d understand that Heberts tend to favor strong women.”

Head tilted, I considered that statement for a moment. “You must have a badass mom, then.”

He chuckled. “You could say that.”

He moved, arranging the bowls of toppings in a neat row. Then he used a weird metal thing to divide the dough into small sections, which he vigorously kneaded again.

“My dad’s a piece of shit,” he finally said. “You know about the criminal stuff. But he was a terrible husband and father. Left my mom after he knocked up his twenty-year-old secretary. That’s Cole’s mom.”

“Shit.”

A huff escaped him, making that tendril of hair hanging over his forehead flutter. “So my mom raised us mostly on her own—Cole included. She got a nursing degree, worked, bought a house, and kept us out of trouble. As an adult, I sometimes wonder how the hell she did it. Taking care of myself and Ripley is hard enough, but she had six of us, and she managed to juggle it all.”

“She sounds awesome.”

He smirked down at the dough. “She is. And she’ll love you.” He shook his head. “She’ll want to hear all about your career and achievements, ply you with baked goods, and then break out my baby photos.”

The moment the words were out, he froze. I was locked in place too. Surely he hadn’t meant to say that.

Surprisingly, the thought that he wanted to introduce me to his mother made my chest warm.

But this wasn’t real. It wasn’t possible. No matter how much I liked him, this situation was too volatile for making plans.

“Sorry. That was weird,” he admitted without looking up.

“It’s okay.” I gently spun my wineglass on the granite countertop. “I don’t expect to meet your mother.”

“No.” He snapped his head up. “I want you to. When this is over.”

“If it’s ever over.”

“ When it’s over, I promise, Debbie Hebert will be thrilled to meet the woman brave enough to take down a drug trafficking ring.” He pinned me with the kind of look that left no room for questions, all intense eyes and a serious scowl.

I was strangely flattered by his confidence.

Instead of even considering the reason I’d broken out in goose bumps at that look, I ignored the confusing feelings I had for Jude and got back to my line of questioning. I was nothing if not a thorough interviewer. “I’m sure you’ve met nice, strong girls up here, and your brothers found love and have families.”

“First of all, that’s all recent.” He stretched out one section of dough. “My brothers were as fucked up as I am for a long time. Being the child of a messy divorce will do that to you. Add on a criminal father, and we were all a wreck.”

“What changed?”

He paused, dough stretched in midair. “Dad went to jail. We had to face what he’d done. We lost the company and the respect of this town. It was a bit of a rebirth, really.”

He gently positioned the dough on a large pizza paddle.

“When we were kids, Dad was wealthy and influential. Stayed that way until only a few years ago, actually. He was also a complete prick. I’m luckier than most of my brothers. He ignored Noah and me for the most part. We were only four when he left, and since neither of us was a super athlete, he didn’t take much interest. Cole had it really bad. He was the hockey star. And Owen and Gus were downright abused for years.”

“That’s awful.”

“My whole life, I lived with this pressure, with these expectations looming over me. I was expected to act the way a Hebert should, even if I didn’t know what that meant. But when Dad went to jail, the bubble burst, and we could openly acknowledge how terrible he was.”

I gave him a small smile. “And by saying it out loud, you were able to start healing.”

He returned my expression, though his smile was a bright, gorgeous thing that had me squeezing my thighs together.

“Exactly. My brothers and I have had more conversations about childhood shit in the past year than in the previous thirty-three. It’s been awful, but also freeing.”

“Freedom looks good on you,” I said with a wink.

“Hey,” he teased as he pulled open the fridge and removed what looked like a log of cheese, “I’m only a guy who makes pizza.”

“What’s that?”

“This is fresh buffalo mozzarella.” He set it on the counter and unwrapped it.

As he tore it into small chunks, I angled closer. “Can I have some?”

He held out a small piece, and when I leaned over the countertop and opened my mouth, he fed it to me, mouth quirking. His movements were slow, his fingertips grazing my lip and sending a zap of electricity through me.

I sat back and ate it, and as the flavor hit, I let out a little squeak. “That is delicious.”

With a smirk, he went back to tearing the cheese.

“One time, when I was in Tuscany,” I said, wiping at the corners of my mouth, “I got this mozzarella from a farmers’ market that was so good I actually cried.”

Jude arched a brow. “Cried?”

“Yes. I am not one of those women who pretends to be all cool and emotionless. And if you can’t cry tears of joy about really good cheese, are you even living?”

He held out another piece, and I eagerly snatched it from his hand. “You know, you’re full of surprises, Trouble.”

“Why, thank you.” I popped the mozzarella into my mouth. “And don’t think you’re off the hook, either. I wanna know why you haven’t met a nice girl and settled down yet.”

“I’ve met and dated a few nice girls. Women, really. And while I appreciate them in different ways, I haven’t—”

I shook my head. “Wait a second. You’re being too nice. Are you friends with an ex?”

“Yes,” he said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“One of them?”

“All of them.” He rinsed his hands and wiped them on a towel. “I’ve only had a few serious relationships, but of course I’ve remained friendly.”

With a hand to my chest, I let out an exaggerated gasp.

“I’m not sure what you guys do in the city, but I was taught to treat women with respect. I even introduced Morgan to the man she’s now married to.”

I almost spit out my wine. “You’re kidding me.”

“No ma’am.” He pulled a bottle of olive oil out of a cabinet. “We fizzled, but when Miles and I worked together on a logging crew and I realized how into D&D he was, I figured they’d hit it off.”

“You’re not into D&D?” I interrupted. “Mister graphic novel and ironic T-shirt collections?”

“I am a casual D&D fan,” he clarified. “But Miles would organize games with people on the crew.”

“Ah, I get it. So this Morgan girl loved D&D too, and that’s a match made in nerd heaven.”

“No.” He shook his head as he spread cheese over the dough. “She loves fantasy books. You know, the spicy ones with dragons and shifters and stuff. Like the one Willa gave you. She was always going on about Fae and fated mates. She’s imaginative and passionate, and so is he. Figured they’d be compatible.”

Wow. I was floored by his thoughtful response. And his kindness toward his ex.

“And they got married?” I guessed.

He smiled. “Yes. And I officiated.”

A bark of a laugh escaped me, echoing off the ceiling. “So you’re a matchmaker?”

“No. But I don’t just discard the people I care about. And while I don’t think I’m cut out for happily ever after, that doesn’t mean I can’t help out those who are.”

When I didn’t respond, he regarded me with curiosity.

“Lemme guess. You’re a salt-of-the-earth, fire-and-brimstone kinda girl.”

My heart stuttered. I felt very called out.

“Maybe,” I said. “I have never had a serious relationship, and I don’t like any of the guys I’ve casually dated in the past. And I sure as shit would never fix them up with a friend.”

He nodded. “So you’ve never wanted a serious relationship?”

“No.” I pressed my lips together and shook my head. “I can’t say I’ve never considered it, but for most of my adult life, it hasn’t seemed practical. When Hugo and I were young, our parents adored each other. I could feel the love they shared. The glances they’d give each other over the dinner table. The way Dad would randomly bring Mom flowers and how she’d make liver for dinner every Thursday because it was his favorite, even though she hated it as much as we did.”

He gagged. “Even I don’t eat liver.”

“And that’s saying something, because you’re a health nut.”

A scoff slipped out of him. “I believe in putting decent stuff into my body, and I happen to enjoy good food.”

“Oh I know, and I’m not complaining.” I stole a slice of bell pepper from the cutting board and gave his very impressive body a once-over. “But as for my parents, it couldn’t last forever. Dad fought his demons for so long, but in the end, they took him.”

He nodded. “Did they divorce?”

“God no. She hung on for years, after rehab failed and he drained their retirement savings.” The thought made my chest ache. “It wasn’t until he died that she truly understood how long he’d actually been gone. And I think that hurt more.”

“I’m sure.”

“But they had something beautiful, even though it didn’t last. And maybe that’s the best anyone can hope for.”

My words hung in the air. It was depressing to think about. But maybe a little hopeful. And I’d been feeling more hope since the night I showed up here a few weeks ago than I had in years.

“Your brothers are doing great,” I said, ready to move on from talk of my parents.

“Yes. But none of them got there easily. I do everything in my power to make sure they don’t fuck up. And if I’d known Gus—who I’m probably closest to, even if Noah is my twin—had married Chloe when they were twenty, maybe I could have helped him figure shit out.”

“You didn’t know he was married?” I squeaked.

“Didn’t have a clue. They got married in secret, then had a big falling out and divorced. From there, they didn’t speak for twenty years.”

“That’s wild.”

“Then she marches into the conference room the day we’re closing on the sale of the business and declares she’s bought the company to spite him. And now they’re happily in love, and my grumpy brother is reading books about infant brain development and making googly eyes at his wife during work meetings.”

“Hmm…” I said, the wine and the good company mellowing me out a bit. “So what you’re saying is, even the most closed-off lumberjack has a chance?”

“Maybe.” He shrugged.

“Oh, Jude. I think there’s a girl out there, just waiting to knock you on your ass.”

I snatched another slice of pepper, but before I could pull my arm back, he caught it and stared into my eyes.

“I’ve already met her.” He rounded the island. “And she managed to kick my ass with only one good arm.”