“It had to be Marabella.”
“She doesn’t leave things out of order. And why would she enter after I did and not check on me?”
“I’m sure she was afraid you’d be asleep. As for why she might leave things out of order, Giada and Gallo have her pretty rattled. But we can use the iPad in the kitchen to check the security footage, after you feed me.”
I laugh. “If you think I’m cooking, we had better call Marabella, because if I know how to cook, it’s traumatic and I’ve blocked it out.”
He laughs. “Traumatic. Yes, well. For a feminist, I can imagine it would be.”
“Don’t even go there,” I say as we enter the kitchen and he leads me around the island. “Because the whole point of being a feminist is that I can choose to cook or not cook.”
“You sure know a lot about this stuff,” he says, stopping us in front of the fridge and opening the door.
He’s right. I do, and I have no idea why. But before I can really analyze why, he’s already offering our dinner choices. “We have a new batch of spaghetti,” he says, glancing from the fridge to me. “I’m guessing that’s why Marabella came in earlier.”
“Which reminds me. She wants to set up days to cook and clean for us.”
“You two work it out,” he says. “And how do you feel about skipping the spaghetti and eating Kellogg’s Coco Pops?”
“Coco Pops? Are they like American Cocoa Puffs?”
“Basically the same thing, different name. And much to Marabella’s distress, I love the damn things, which means I have to sneak them in when she’s not watching.”
“Coco Pops it is, then,” I say, laughing, and together we gather bowls, the cereal, and a jug of milk before settling at the table.
“So when did this Coco Pops obsession start?” I ask, filling my bowl with cereal and eager for a further glimpse into the man behind The Hawk.
“College,” he says. “The whole ‘get drunk and eat an entire box of cereal’ routine.”
“Drunks are not in control,” I say. “You are, therefore I can’t imagine you drunk.”
“Neither could Kevin, which is why that phase lasted about three months.”
“So you went to college here?”
“Right here in this neighborhood,” he says, pouring milk into my bowl and then his. My gaze catches on the watch, and just that easily, I’m in the past. There’s another hand. Another watch. He touches my arm. He says my name, Ella, and I hear his voice, really hear his voice, for the first time since my amnesia. It’s deep, accented. Dominant.
“Ella?”
At the sound of Kayden’s voice, I blink and shake myself, only to realize that I’m holding his arm, right above the watch. “Please tell me I didn’t black out.”
“I think you did,” he says. “Is this happening a lot?”
“A few times since Enzo got shot. Nathan says it’s trauma, but I want to talk to him again.” I release his arm, and he catches my hand.
“What does the watch mean to you?”
“Him,” I say without hesitation. “And I just heard his voice for the first time ever in my mind. He’s not American. His English is good, but he has an accent.”
“What else?”
“Nothing else—other than you just happen to wear the same watch.”
He stares at me a moment and then faces forward, seconds ticking by before he stands. I twist around to follow his progress as he makes his way to the island, and then, oddly, presses his palms on the counter, seeming to contemplate the wall before him.
“Kayden? What are you doing?”
r /> He seems to shake himself back to the moment. “Just thinking,” he says, removing his watch and sticking it in a drawer. He then returns to sit with me, an iPad in his hand, scooting his chair closer to me. “Let’s look at the security footage.”