“After tonight I’m not sure I need to eat for at least two days,” Saks joked as he rubbed at his stomach. “Tell me you can cook like your mother.”
“Saks! You’re in trouble now,” Chrissy growled, a wicked glint in her eye. “You just told me some other woman’s cooking was better than your mother’s.”
“I did not.” He looked appalled at Chrissy’s accusation.
Chrissy closed her laptop and lifted her head, smiling evilly at Saks. “Yes. You did.”
“You are a wicked, wicked woman. A man can’t appreciate someone else’s cooking?”
“Nope. Either it’s your mother’s or your wife’s. Every other woman’s you say nice things, but you never ever admit it comes close at all to either your mom’s or the wife’s.”
“Well, tell me you can cook like your mother, then.”
“Sorry,” she said with a twist of her mouth.
“You can’t?” Saks' mouth hung open in disbelief. He couldn’t imagine an Italian girl who didn’t learn the craft at her mother’s side. Even his sister was a fair cook when pushed to it.
Chrissy laughed. “Got you! Who filled your fridge with food when you first came home from the hospital? Why would I do that if I didn’t intend to cook?”
“Yeah,” said Saks. “That would have been nice. Too bad that got interrupted. Then I’d know what I’m getting in this deal.”
Chrissie stood and threw her arms around his neck. “Well, there’s one kind of cooking I am good at.”
“You think so, eh? You aren’t giving credit where credit is due.”
“Hmm,” Chrissy purred. “Let’s see who gets whom to a boil first, and we’ll see who’s a better cook.”
A squeak left her as Saks lifted her from the floor by her rear, and in a fit of laughter the pair fell into bed. In a tangle of lips and limbs, their breath quickened and their temperatures rose, but neither could claim ultimate victory. Instead, it was deemed a tie, and when morning came far too quickly there was barely enough time to make it to the airport, so a rematch was off the table.
“You’re not nervous?” Chrissy asked curiously as they waited at the gate.
“No, of course not,” Saks lied. In reality, she seemed a cool cucumber, all calm and under control, while he fought down his jittery nerves at the mere prospect of getting on a plane.
Chrissy’s lips pulled into a smile. “I mean, it would be weird that a guy who zips around Connecticut’s highways for fun on a bike would be nervous about getting on a plane.”
“What’s to worry about?” Saks shrugged. “Flying high in the air? Falling out of the sky? Going splat on the ground? Nah. Not worried a bit.”
“That’s what I like about you,” Chrissy said. “Such bravado.”
One glance out the window to where giant aircraft were pushed around the tarmac built his nerves up again. At least on a bike, he was the one in control. Here, he had to trust three or four strangers to get him safely over a broad ocean. So, it wasn’t until they were in the air he thought of a critical question.
“Chrissy?” he said as he fidgeted to try and adjust his cramped legs. “How do we know that Pearson is in London?”
“We don’t,” she said.
“But what if he’s in the U.S.?”
“He isn’t. I checked the airports where we usually land, and his plane hasn’t arrived at any of them.”
“When did you do that?”
“Last night. I couldn’t sleep.”
Apparently, he wasn’t the only agitated traveler of the pair. They were both relieved when they landed in the UK and cleared customs. Outside, as they waited for their ride, Saks shivered. It was at least ten degrees colder than Connecticut’s spring weather, and he quickly pulled his Hades Spawn jacket from his duffle.
“Will this cold snap last long?” he asked.
Chrissy smiled. “This isn’t a cold snap, babe. This is the warmer weather.”