"Mila, help me with these," my mother called from the kitchen.
"Coming," I replied, setting the last spoon beside the soup bowl.
My heart was racing. Matthew's cologne danced in my mind, sending chills through my body. Why was he here?
My mother and I sat down once we had placed the food on the table. She had made her signature onion soup, grilled chicken thighs, stir-fried veggies, and brown rice.
Silence took over as we ate our soup. My feet were inches away from Matthew's. I looked up and watched him eat. He was calm, too calm. He was here for something. I needed to find out what.
"And to what do we owe the pleasure of your presence, Detective Reeves?" I asked, putting my soup bowl aside.
"Mila, let the man eat," my mother said.
"I'm sure he can answer just that," I pressed, eyeing him.
