“Chicken marsala.” Her whole face lights, and she says what I know she is going to. “That’s my favorite!”

I know. I always know when it comes to my angel.

6

Eve

“Who taught you to cook like this?” I take another giant bite of the chicken marsala. I don’t think I’ve ever had one this good before, and I order it on any menu if I see it.

“The Internet.” I burst into laughter. Maroc’s lips twitch. “I thought you’d say your mom or something.” For some reason, I can’t see Marco searching for recipes on the Internet.

“I don’t have one of those.”

“Oh.” Shit. How do you respond to that? “A father?” He shakes his head no. Double shit.

“Don’t feel bad for me. I barely remember them. How about you?” I stare into his eyes for a long moment. He might not remember them too well, but they’re there somewhere in his mind.

“I’ve got both of mine.”

“But you never go home for the holidays.” He says it as if he knows this for a fact.

“Keeping tabs on me?” I raise an eyebrow in question. How does he know when I go back home? It seems Marco keeps a tighter watch on Snow Hills than any of us really know.

“I notice things.” I bet he does. Marco is the kind of man that watches. It makes me curious to know if he’s always been that way. I’ve only learned he really talked today.

“The holidays were never big for us.” I shrug to downplay it. That’s what I always told myself growing up.

One holiday my parents didn’t bother to pick me up, having forgotten altogether that it was Thanksgiving weekend. I ended up spending the weekend with one of my teachers at the boarding school. My parents never even acknowledged that they forgot me and missed Thanksgiving that year, but I hadn’t been shocked. So many of the other girls would get care packages and small things sent to them. I never did unless it was something I specifically requested.

“Both of my parents are lawyers. They’re busy.” They aren’t just any lawyers; they're big-time trial lawyers. The kind that are very sought after. Which means they never really had time for children. Pretty sure I was an oops baby.

“Interesting.” He takes a bite of his own food.

“Why is that interesting?”

“You got your degree in criminal justice, but you didn’t go on to law school.” I didn’t think he could surprise me anymore tonight, but that’s exactly what his words do. This man sure knows a lot about me. That should probably frighten me, but it does the exact opposite.

“How do you know that?” Has he been secretly stalking me? I’m having my own lumberjack romance story unfold in my mind. This one won’t be a secret baby, though. I don’t know why I love those so much. Because you secretly want a baby. Oh, no. I shove that thought all the way down. I have to stop reading all those romance books. It’s hard when your best friend is a damn librarian and knows which ones you’ll love.