All the Secrets We Keep (Quarry Book 2) Read online

  He smiled. Nodded. “Okay.”

  There it was: the crazy. And the crazier part of it was she couldn’t make herself care.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  “You’re going next door again?” Galina looked up from her laptop, her reading glasses perched low on her nose. She’d been typing away there for an hour or so. Ilya hadn’t asked her what she was doing. “She’s still sick?”

  “She’s feeling better, but yeah, I’m going over.” He held up a takeout rotisserie chicken and sides he’d picked up from the grocery store. “We’re going over the menus. Talking about staffing. That sort of thing.”

  Galina made a noise low in her throat. “Hmm.”

  “Hey, Mom. You know, we could use your advice on some things. About the diner,” Ilya said.

  He wasn’t expecting her to look so affronted, but she did. Deliberately, his mother removed her glasses and looked down her nose at him. She closed the laptop lid.

  “The diner? Why on earth?”

  “You’ve worked in one,” he said.

  Her scowl flashed into something else for a moment before she smoothed her expression. “I’m not going to come waitress for you, Ilya.”

  “I’m not asking you to be a waitress. I just thought you might have a decent idea about how some things are run. Forget I asked.” He shook his head. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Ilyushka. Wait.”

  He grimaced. “Don’t call me that. You’re not Babulya, and I’m too old for it.”

  Galina sighed and took off her glasses to pinch the bridge of her nose. “You’re so sensitive.”

  “Hello,” he said. “Pot, have you met kettle? I asked you a simple question, and you jumped down my throat.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He’d had apologies from his mother in the past, plenty of times. Galina blew more hot and cold than March winds. He didn’t trust her, so he’d been a little stupid to even ask her the question in the first place, but that was the thing about his relationship with his mother. He would probably always give her another chance, and she would probably always prove she couldn’t be trusted.

  “Look, I asked to be nice, and because I thought maybe you might want to help out. This is a big deal for me. It’s a lot of work, and I’ll be the first to admit I don’t have the first idea how to run a restaurant. I’ve been going into this blind. I thought maybe for once, just once, you might want to do something to help me out.” Before she could speak, he waved her to silence. “I’m going next door. Forget I asked. Keep on doing whatever it is you’re doing.”

  He heard her calling out behind him, but he didn’t stop. Crossing the street, he let himself into the Harrison house, calling out Theresa’s name as he went into the kitchen. He found her there wearing soft pajama pants, a thin T-shirt, and a half-zipped hoodie. She’d pulled her hair into a messy tangle on top of her head, but several dark ringlets had sprung free to frame her face. She was still moving slow, recovering from being sick, but she smiled when she saw him, and that was all it took to make his heart do a slow barrel roll.

  “I brought dinner.” He held up the food.

  Theresa rubbed her belly. “Yum. I was going to make tuna-fish sandwiches and macaroni and cheese, but that smells much better. I actually have a little bit of an appetite back.”

  “Tuna with mac ’n’ cheese—damn, that is old school. I think that needs to be a menu item. On whole-wheat bread with the crusts off?”

  “It’ll be a top seller,” she said. “Side of salt-and-vinegar chips, right?”

  “That’s how we always did it.” He set the food on the table and moved closer to her so he could take her by the shoulders to study her face. “You think you’ll be back to work soon? You look better.”

  “The Internet tells me this flu’s been hitting everyone hard, that it takes about a week and a half to really get through it. I’ll be okay.” She tilted her head and gave him a faint smile. “I’m sorry I haven’t been up to getting over to the diner. I know you’ve been busy. I really want to see everything that’s been going on.”

  “When you feel up to it, that will be fine. I was over there today. The electrical guys finished up with everything, and the plumber will be there tomorrow, although he said he hadn’t seen anything that needs to be replaced beyond a few washers in the sinks.” He let his hands run down her arms to grip her above the elbows, reluctant to let her go.

  “That’s a relief,” Theresa said.

  The past week had seen them spending a good portion of every day and most evenings together. She hadn’t felt up to driving anywhere but had been able to do some work from her laptop, including researching suppliers and getting quotes as well as arranging service appointments to take care of the few problems they’d known about before buying the place. Ilya had done the running around, meeting contractors and supervising deliveries.

  The “them” part of all this had hovered between them, unspoken, since the night he’d slept over to take care of her. He’d thought about kissing her every single time they were together but hadn’t. First, because although she’d been fever-free and the headaches and body soreness had passed, Theresa had still been feeling weak and easily worn out enough that by the end of the day, all she’d wanted to do was lie on the couch and watch funny movies. The fact that he’d been willing to do that and nothing more had told Ilya more about how he felt about her than anything else, but if Theresa had noticed it, she hadn’t brought it up.

  They were dancing around it, but it felt a little bit like Theresa might be doing a country line dance while Ilya was attempting a waltz. They were both moving, but not always in the same direction or to the same beat. Now he’d been holding on to her for too long that it was becoming awkward, so he made himself let her go.

  She gave him that curious head tilt, studying his face. “Let’s eat. I have some menu samples for us to look at. We’ll need to get them printed soon to have them ready in time. Are we still aiming for the June opening date?”

  “If everything goes as planned, yeah. I talked with the sign guys you hooked me up with. They can have it ready and installed, but we need to decide on the name.” Ilya went to the cupboard to pull out some plates.

  Theresa got silverware from the drawer and added it to the table. They settled in to eat, making lists on a pad of yellow paper she’d already filled most of. He got her laughing, and although the giggles trailed into a fit of light coughing, she was still grinning when she recovered.

  “I love how you laugh with your whole body,” he said abruptly.

  Theresa had gone to the sink to wash her hands after coughing into them, and she turned with a look of surprise. “What?”

  “You laugh with your mouth, your eyes—your shoulders shake. You vibrate with it. I can always tell when you’re laughing for real or you’re faking it,” Ilya said.

  “That’s funny. Most men can’t tell when a woman’s faking it.”

  He groaned. “Nice.”

  She laughed—stopped as though in surprise to look down at herself—then laughed again, harder. “Oh, man. It’s true!”

  She shook with infectious guffaws that made him laugh, too. Their hilarity spiraled up and up. Every time there was a pause, their eyes met and it began again, until Ilya had to wipe his eyes against tears, and Theresa was clutching her belly and leaning on the counter like it was holding her up.

  “Stop,” she gasped. “Omigod, stop . . .”

  He couldn’t, not really. Laughing with her felt too good, too perfect. It felt right in that moment to get up from the table. To kiss her.

  Hesitantly at first, the lightest brush of his lips on hers. Deeper in the next moment when she didn’t pull away or push him off. She tasted of the sweet tea they’d been drinking, when his tongue slipped inside her mouth, and of her own unique flavor. Her hands went to his hips just above the waistband of his jeans.

  “You’re going to get sick,” she murmured against his mouth.

  “You’re not