Free Valor on the Move by Keira Andrews Page B

salty.”
    “Okay. I’ll check that. Thank you.” Rafa speared a piece of ravioli and tasted it without the sauce or pecans. “You’re right—bit too salty.” He hurried over to his notebook and scribbled. One day he’d perfect a signature dish that had all the flavor notes just right. He went back to the bread and served up the roasted tomatoes, basil, and goat cheese. “It’s kind of like bruschetta, I guess. But hotter. More filling, especially with the olive oil. It’s supposed to soak the bread a bit.”
    As Shane took a bite, Rafa anxiously shoved a piece of bread into his own mouth. The tomatoes and cheese tasted good, and the basil chiffonade looked almost professional.
    “Mmm. This is excellent. Delicious.”
    “You think?” Rafa beamed.
    “Absolutely.” After a few moments of eating, Shane nodded at Rafa’s shirt. “Why so dressed up?”
    “This?” Rafa glanced down at himself. “This is my usual.” He’d tried on four nearly identical button-down shirts before finally going with the one he wore.
    Shane didn’t comment, instead taking another bite of bread and tomatoes. He made a little satisfied noise low in his throat that threatened to transform Rafa’s tingling arousal to a full-fledged hard-on.
    Rafa cast about for something to say. “Did you always want to be in the Secret Service?”
    “No.” Shane sliced another ravioli in half.
    “So what did you want to be?”
    Eyes on his plate, Shane smirked. “An astronaut. But who doesn’t?”
    “Me. I think I’d throw up in zero gravity. I love food too much to risk it.”
    This time, Shane chuckled—a rumble that nearly had Rafa gripping the side of the counter. Shane checked his watch.
    No, don’t leave yet. “I’m going to Australia next year,” Rafa blurted. “After the inauguration.”
    Shane seemed to ponder it for a few moments, leaning his hip against the counter as he scooped up more tomato mixture with a piece of bread, the goat cheese oozing. “Why Australia?”
    “It’s stupid. You’re going to laugh.” Rafa fiddled with a pot lid. Why had he said anything? He almost felt like he was outside his body, watching this surreal conversation unfold.
    “I won’t.” Shane said it with his usual gravelly voice, but there was something else there too. An underlying tone of compassion, perhaps?
    “Okay, well…there’s a Cordon Bleu in Sydney, and other cooking schools. And in Australia hardly anyone will recognize me. I could go to Europe, but Australia’s always seemed…I don’t know. Magical somehow. Like another planet, as far away from DC as I can get. I can finally learn to cook from real chefs, and…”
    Shane waited.
    Rafa swallowed hard. “I’ve always dreamed of something else too.” He forced out a breath, the words tumbling with it. “I want to surf. It’s stupid, I know.”
    “Surfing’s not stupid.”
    Rafa chanced a glance at Shane, who was smiling. In fact, his eyes were twinkling, and he was smiling so widely there were matching creases in his cheeks. “You don’t think so?”
    “I grew up surfing. It’s the thing I miss most about California.”
    “Really? You can surf?” Electricity zinged through Rafa.
    “I could. Been a long time now.”
    “Where did you live in California?”
    “Orange County. The regular burbs, not the gated communities. Laguna Beach was a couple of bus rides away. I practically lived there in the summer.”
    Rafa loved listening to Shane talk. There was something pleasing about his rumble-y voice, and he wanted to hear more. “That’s so cool. I’ve always wanted to learn. I was obsessed with surfing websites as a kid. Did you have brothers and sisters? Did they surf too? My family always thought it was a weird interest considering I grew up in central Jersey.”
    “I was an only child.” His expression tightened, and then he cleared his throat and didn’t say anything else. He checked his watch. “I should get back down there.”
    Rafa was dying to ask