Free Thread on Arrival by Amanda Lee

handles, and the countertops were dark gray granite. The room would have appeared too dark had it not been for the skylights and recessed lighting over the island and the chandelier over the table in the breakfast nook. I noticed with pleasure that Ted had set the table—complete with two white taper candles in the center—and had white wine chilling.
    “You’ve thought of everything,” I told him.
    “I wanted tonight to be special.”
    “It is,” I said.
    He smiled and—did I detect the hint of a blush?—went to the sink and washed his hands.
    “Can I help?” I asked.
    “Sure.” He dried his hands on a kitchen towel on a hook by the sink. “You can sit here and talk to me while I cook for you.”
    I sat down on one of the high-backed stools in front of the island. “Have you lived here long?”
    “A couple years . . . I moved here when Jen and I split up.”
    “That must’ve been hard,” I said.
    “Divorce is never easy. One of my friends—an older guy who’d been both divorced and widowed—said death was easier to go through. He said he didn’t have the lingering questions or doubts and that he didn’t feel as if his time had been wasted.”
    I tilted my head toward my shoulder. “Not sure I agree with that last part. Love given is never really wasted, is it? I mean, I’ve been hurt in the past, but I have to believe that putting my heart out there and being willing to take a chance made me grow into the person I am today.”
    He gave me a warm, lazy smile. “I’m glad you’re taking a chance on me.”
    “You’re worth the gamble.”
    “So are you,” Ted said. He took my face in his hands and gave me a slow, thorough kiss.
    “I’m glad you’re taking a chance on me too,” I said.
    “Hmm . . . let’s see. . . . You’re beautiful, loving, smart, independent . . . heck, the girl of my dreams. Why
wouldn’t
I take a chance on you?” He laughed. “I’d better get my mind back on our dinner.”
    “I’ll change the subject then. How did Adam Cantor take the news of his father’s death?” I asked.
    “Wow. I wasn’t ready for a topic
that
serious yet. Pour us a glass of wine, would you?”
    I did as he asked, handed him a glass of wine, put mine on the island, and sat back down. Ted took the chicken breasts, which he’d already butterflied, from the refrigerator and placed them in flour on a small plate. He salted and peppered them before dredging them through the flour and placing them into a frying pan with olive oil and butter.
    Finally, he turned to me. “Adam didn’t take it well. He seemed legitimately shocked and devastated.”
    “So you aren’t considering him a suspect?”
    “I didn’t say that.” He frowned. “I’ve been on the force long enough to know that people can fool you, but I didn’t get the feeling he was faking his grief.”
    “What about Melanie?” I asked. “She must be heartbroken.”
    Ted nodded. “And I think she’s kind of scared.”
    “Was she told that her grandfather was murdered?”
    He used a fork to gently turn the chicken breasts. “No. But she knows that now they aren’t leaving, and I think that’s why she’s scared. Officer Dayton talked with her and her mother in the school guidance counselor’s office before Mary took Melanie home. Melanie wanted to know how mad her dad was and if anyone had let their plans slip to him.”
    “Poor kid.”
    He sighed. “It’s sad. She loves Adam—she and Mary both do—but they can’t live with his violent temper.”
    “Why won’t he get help?”
    “Because he doesn’t think he has a problem,” Ted said.
    “Do you have any other suspects in the murder?”
    He grinned at me over his shoulder. “We’re working on it, Inch-High. We’re working on it.”
    * * *
    We finished the main course, and then Ted took a turtle cheesecake from the refrigerator.
    “That looks terrific,” I said. “Did you make that too?”
    “Of course.” He grinned. “I made it down to