Page 50 of Hard Rain Coming

“He’s something, all right,” Dallas replied.

“Are you going to keep him?”

“Probably not. I’m sure I’ll be able to find him a home.”

“He obviously likes you and wants to stay,” she said with a small smile.

“Liking doesn’t always mean that staying is a good idea.”

Her eyes widened at that, and she looked away, eventually getting to her feet and walking over to the window.

“It’s still bad out there.”

“It is.” He set down the kitten, who protested loudly, and then got up. He was restless and felt off. “You made chili.”

“I made chili.”

Dallas eyed her closely. “What are we doing here?”

If she was surprised at his direct question, Vivian didn’t show it. She gave a small shrug. “I don’t know.”

“Playing house is moving past no-strings.”

“Is that what we’re doing?” she asked softly, moving toward him. “Playing house?”

“You made the chili.”

She nodded. “I did.” Her tongue darted out to swipe at the corner of her mouth. “We have to eat, don’t we?”

“Yeah,” he replied, voice low. “We have to eat.”

“It’s why I made the chili.”

“When did you learn to cook?” he asked, noting this was the question that surprised her. Best he could remember, she could barely boil an egg.

“I’ve been on my own since I was seventeen, Dal. I had to learn to survive and cultivate new skills.” Her chin jutted up a bit. “One of those skills was making a mean chili.” Her voice softened. “It reminded me of home.”

The two of them stared at each other for a good long while, so long that Ringo was able to jump off the chair and claw his way up Dallas’s leg and torso. This space between them was full of things left unsaid, but Dallas wasn’t in the mood to explore any of that. Not yet.

“Let’s eat,” he said, turning toward the kitchen. He grabbed some bowls from the cupboard and the large ladle from the drawer, while Vivian slid onto a chair at the island. Dallas filled their bowls and then sat down beside her. “Smells good,” he said.

“Thank you. Luckily, you had most of the things I needed.”

“Yeah?” He side-eyed her. “What are we missing?”

She swallowed. He couldn’t help but follow the delicate lines of her neck and shrugged, twirling her spoon in the bowl. “Chickpeas, baked brown beans, romano beans, and red kidney beans.”

“That’s not chili.”

“Oh, it is, my friend.” She flashed a smile. “The best kind you’ll ever eat.”

They finished their meal in silence, and for that, Dallas was grateful. He wasn’t in the mood to talk or be social. Maybe he’d been living alone too long.

He took their empty bowls over to the sink and rinsed them. “That was good, thanks.” He could be a polite asshole.

“Sounds like the storm might be letting up.” She stood beside him, so close he could smell her. His nostrils flared, and he cleared his throat, moving away to give him some space. The woman was dangerous. Always had been.

“What happened to Gunner?” she asked softly.