Chapter Twenty-Eight
Max
Later that evening, I took a pull of my beer and glanced across the counter at Harlow. She was in the midst of chopping onions for a stir-fry she was making. She clearly liked to cook, and I finally decided to ask a question that had been feathering through my thoughts every so often.
“So tell me, with your dad traveling all over the place and taking you with him when you were growing up, when did you learn to cook?”
Harlow’s wide brown eyes met mine, a flicker of sadness in them. It passed quickly. She lifted the cutting board and carefully used the knife to slide the onions into a pan.
“Before my mother died, I used to spend time with her in the kitchen. I was pretty young, so I didn’t learn too much, but she loved cooking. Later, one of my nannies got me th
