Sloane beams. “Right? I just love tempeh. It’s so versatile. Do you cook, Reyna?”
“Like a bloody Michelin chef,” says Quinn, warily eying a poisonouslooking fleshy gray lump on his own plate that could be a mushroom of some sort. Or possibly a boiled toad.
“Really?” says Sloane, intrigued. “What’s your specialty?”
“Sicilian cuisine in particular, but Italian food in general. My mother was born in Sicily, so many of my favorite recipes are handed down from her.”
With a hint of pride in his voice Quinn says, “She makes everything from scratch.”
Declan says forcefully, “Don’t tell me you make homemade pasta!”
When I nod, he groans. “Spider, you lucky bastard!”
With arched brows, Sloane turns to Declan. “Why, exactly, is he so lucky?”
Avoiding her searing gaze and an answer that might
