Freedom's Kiss

by Sarah Monzon

  They sat like that, side by side, until with a deep sigh, Asa stood and swiped a large paw down his streaked face. “This is our turning point, girl.” He looked down at her, making sure she understood the meaning behind his words. From then on, their lives would be different. With Asa, there’d be no more looking at the past. He’d buried it in Georgia so deep, he wouldn’t unearth it again.

  She watched his back as he walked away, the pouch of jerky heavy in her hand. Reaching in, she withdrew a piece and bit off a chunk of the chewy, salty morsel. How could he do it? How could he shut out everything that had happened up to that point, rebirth himself in the moment? How could he forget the joy of the good along with the pain of the bad? Did they not both have a hand in weaving together his existence?

  She swallowed and stood, placed her feet on the path her father had followed, for he needed food as well. Her head hurt, and her heart weighed heavy in her chest. She prayed to God for a full night’s sleep and clarity with the dawning sun.

  Chapter 9

  Present Day, Florida

  He almost hated to see Mr. Grumpy Gills’s demise. Almost. The smells wafting across Olivia’s parents’ kitchen to where he sat on a stool at the island made the idea of Grumpy Gills’s future more…palatable. The corner of Adam’s lip lifted at his own joke and the memory of Olivia deepening her voice, pushing her lips together, and squeezing the fish’s mouth. She’d come up with the most painful puns imaginable, but it’d done the trick. Well, mostly. His foul mood was gone, but the ever-present guilt that jammed between his shoulder blades hadn’t left.

  He tilted his head and stretched the muscles in his neck—a futile attempt to alleviate the physical pressure. A constant reminder he didn’t need because he’d never be able to forget his part in Brittany Foresythe’s pain. Never be able to make up for it, though he’d tried.

  God knew, he’d tried.

  Humming pulled his mind out of introspection, refocused his zoned-out gaze on Olivia. She wore a red apron with white polka dots and a white ruffled sweetheart neckline—he was really going to have to wrestle the remote away from Amber more often—tied about her waist. She brushed a fillet with olive oil, then topped it with fresh minced garlic and salt. Bringing the bowl closer to her, she pinched the seasoning mixture inside, then sprinkled it generously over the tilapia. Next, she transferred the fillet to a skillet, melted butter popping as the meat hit the pan. Shifting her weight to the left, she positioned herself in front of the other burner and picked up the whisk she’d left in the pot of grits, stirring in quick, confident strokes. She turned off the flame and moved the pot from the heat.

  In his food truck, he’d dubbed her a hurricane, always moving with gale-force ferocity, never slowing or stopping. But here in her own kitchen, she seemed more…graceful. Steadier. Still determined, still focused, still on the move, but without the added exertion of striving. Like here, on her own turf, she didn’t have something to prove. Which was backward because that was exactly what she was doing—proving her dishes would be an asset to his menu.

  “This is one of my favorite dishes of hers.” David Arroyo slid onto a stool beside Adam.

  Adam turned toward the man, a little disappointed to no longer watch Olivia work. “I can see why. It smells delicious.”

  “She’s always been a talent in the kitchen, which is good since her mother can’t cook worth a hill of beans.” David winked, then leaned back, a look of expectation passing over his face.

  “Says the man who burns everything!” shot a disgruntled female voice down the hall.

  David chuckled, as if pleased with himself. “Olivia, tell your mother that it takes culinary skill to add a smoky flavor to food.”

  Eileen Arroyo emerged from the opposite side of the house. “Tell your father that’s only the case when one uses a smoker and not the blackened chars at the bottom of a pot.”

  Olivia waved a hand from her position at the stove. “I’m Switzerland over here.”

  Adam found his grin spreading. No doubt where Olivia got her quick wit.

  David rose and planted a kiss on his wife’s cheek. “I’m only kidding, mi amor.” With an arm slung over Eileen shoulders, he pulled her close and looked back at Adam. “Actually, my wife is a great cook. And that is all thanks to my saintly mother.” With a quick sidestep, he managed to dodge Eileen’s swat.

  She planted her hands on her hips, but the twinkle in her eye belied her true feelings. With a shrug, she let her arms fall. “He’s not wrong, although I’ll concede to your mother teaching me only how to make Guatemalan food. With everything else, I could handle myself in the kitchen, even back then.”

  “And now every Christmas I make myself fat with your tamales.”

  “Is that where your family is from? Guatemala?” Adam sipped the orange-mango smoothie Olivia had made before starting on the fish. He had to admit it tasted great—refreshing and cool—and the preparation wouldn’t take long in the truck. He’d need to invest in a heavy-duty blender, but with the heat of the summer, it would be a popular item.

  David nodded. “Born and raised. My family came to the States when I was a teenager. My grandmother had come over first and sponsored us. We waited years for our names to come up in the green card lottery. Got my citizenship a few years later and been here ever since. That was…” He touched his thumb to his other fingers in succession. “Thirty-one years ago.”

  “Wow. Do you ever miss it?”

  “I’ve taken Eileen and Olivia to visit, and I keep my heritage alive in my heart, but this is my country now. My home.” David sat back down on his stool. Hands at Eileen’s waist, he plopped her down on his lap. Her cheeks reddened, but she didn’t make any effort to stand or move to her own chair.

  She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “What about you? Where are you from?”

  Adam splayed his hands. “Here. Grew up in the house my parents still live in. I moved out, but not far. Same town.”

  “And heritage?”

  Olivia turned from the stove, two bowls of grits and blackened fish in her hands. “My mom’s really interested in ancestry and things like that.” She set one bowl in front of Adam and the other in front of her parents before going back for the other two bowls beside the stove.

  Eileen shrugged, a sort of what can I say? movement. “Sorry if I was too nosey. David always says my curiosity gets the better of me.”

  Olivia returned with the last of the dishes and slid onto a third stool.

  “Don’t worry, Mrs. Arroyo. I wasn’t offended. And I’m a bit of a Heinz 57, I guess. Haven’t really looked into my ancestry.”

  The woman’s eyes lit up. “It’s so fascinating. Why, my friend Debbie has been digging into her past, and she discovered that she’s descended from one of the Puritans that traveled on the Mayflower. Can you imagine?” She tapped her chin. “I wonder who I’d find I was related to.”

  “Let’s pray and eat before the food gets cold,” Olivia jumped in, then hesitated as she glanced at Adam.

  He tilted his head to alleviate the discomfort that crawled across her face. Their short acquaintance hadn’t led to any spiritual discussions, but she needn’t feel worried she’d offended him. Though he hadn’t lived up to and maintained the Bible’s principles of defending the helpless, he was still a Christian, still believed Jesus’s shed blood covered his sins. If only he could feel that promise of a new beginning…

  “Shall I?” he asked in an attempt to slam his thoughts closed. Heads bowed around him, and he followed suit. “Heavenly Father, for this meal we are truly thankful, and for the hands that prepared it. Bless the Arroyo family by your will and grace. Amen.”

  A soft amen followed, then the sound of forks being picked up and clinked against bowls. Adam pierced his fish, the meat flaking, glistening with juices. He scooped a portion of grits, threads of melted cheese stretching from bowl to fork until they snapped. He closed his eyes and took a bite, Cajun spices popping on his tongue. The creaminess of the
grits soothed the heat of cayenne and black pepper—a perfect combination.

  “This is fantastic,” he said around another mouthful.

  Pleasure beamed from Olivia as she dipped her own fork into her meal. “Good enough for a special?”

  “Definitely. Although we’ll need to make sure we have enough ingredients stocked. This is going to sell fast.” He took another bite and sighed. “That’s it. You have full control over the daily specials. From everything I’ve tasted today, I don’t believe you could make a dish that didn’t taste like heaven on a plate.” The chefs at Seaside we’re idiots for not inviting her into their kitchen. Oh well. Their loss, his gain.

  Excitement thrummed from Olivia—she nearly shook with it. Adam looked up, thinking her free rein over part of the menu was the reason, only to find her gaze locked on something out the window. He followed her line of sight, but the only thing he saw was a white mail delivery truck. It slowed, stopped, and then crawled along to the next mailbox.

  “Excuse me.” Olivia bounced out of her seat and barely contained her stride to a walk as she left the house.

  “That girl.” Eileen tsked and shook her head. “For days now, she’s been acting strange whenever the mail comes. Refuses to let me get it. She’s up to something.”

  David scraped the last of the food from his bowl. “Don’t let your curiosity ruin whatever her surprise is. She’ll tell us when she’s ready.”

  Adam watched as Olivia opened the mailbox and retrieved the contents inside. She shifted until she was in profile, then sorted through the envelopes placed between a folded magazine. Her hand stilled as she looked at one envelope longer than the others. Then she slipped the piece into her apron pocket, a wide smile spreading across her face as she walked back toward the front door.

  “Anything interesting?” The lift of Eileen’s brow and the tilt of her head gave away her feigned disinterest.

  Olivia set the stack of mail on the counter. “Just bills and junk.”

  Adam eyed the white corner popping up from behind the opening of her apron pocket, his own curiosity rising. Olivia folded her hands, her arms positioned in front of the two pockets on the front of her apron.

  Eileen slid off David’s lap. “I’ll just get these dishes washed up and—”

  Adam whisked the bowls from her grip. “Let me. I insist.”

  Her eyes widened. “But you’re a guest. I can’t let—”

  Olivia took the bowls from his hands. “I’ll do them, Mom. You and Dad go relax.”

  “But you cooked. I can clean up.”

  “Oh, let the girl pamper you a bit, Eileen.” David grabbed his wife’s hand and pulled her toward the living room. “We can even watch that show on Netflix you like about the royal family.”

  Eileen didn’t look certain but allowed herself to be led to the other room.

  Adam picked up the other two bowls and rounded the kitchen island, stopping beside Olivia at the sink.

  “So…” He drew out the word in a hushed voice and bumped her shoulder. “What’s the big secret?”

  She turned innocent eyes on him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Mm-hmm. Right. And I’m Brad Pitt.”

  Those eyes widened as she covered her mouth and acted like a starstruck teenager. “Really? Oh, Brad, I’ve always wanted your autograph.”

  He leaned his hip against the counter and peered down at her. “I’ll sign that envelope you’re hiding in your pocket.”

  Her hand dropped to her chest, lashes fluttering so quickly they almost made him dizzy. “Now why would I be hiding something?”

  He felt a bit like the big bad wolf as his lips curled and he lunged toward her. His movements faster than hers, he only felt the whoosh of displaced air as she made to knock his hand aside.

  Envelope in hand, he held it high over her head.

  She jumped up and snatched a fistful of nothing. “Give it back.”

  “Gonna tell me what it is?”

  Using his shoulder as leverage, she made another leap for the envelope. Too bad for her he had an impressive reach. Standing in front of him, she effected an Eileen impression—hands planted on her hips. “You’re a bit of a bully, you know that?”

  He grinned but didn’t lower the envelope. “My sister, Amber, would agree with you. But seeing as neither of you have been able to say that to me with a straight face, I’m not taking it to heart.” He lowered his arm but hid the piece of mail behind his back. “Now, are you going to tell me, or shall I guess?”

  “Oh, I’d love to hear that.”

  Rising to the challenge, he concocted the ridiculous. “You have a jailbird pen pal you’ve fallen in love with.”

  She folded her arms across her chest and pretended to be bored by picking at her nails, a shadow of a grin crossing her face.

  “Not it, huh? Are you sure? Could be in this letter he’s sent a way for you to break him out so you two can be together forever.”

  He’d have to go even more absurd to get her to crack. “Your talent for cooking is only a front. In reality you’re planning on using my food truck as a cover for a smuggling ring, and this letter is confirmation from a ‘supplier’ that everything is set up.” He matched her folded arms, letting the envelop peek halfway out from his creased elbow. Pushing his lips down, he forced an injured expression. “I’m hurt you’d use me in such a way.”

  “Everything all right in there?” Eileen called from the other room.

  Olivia’s eyes widened and jumped to his. “Yeah, Mom, everything’s fine,” she called over her shoulder. She took a step closer to him and lowered her voice, her words rushing out on a frantic note as she held out her palm. “It’s a surprise for my mom. She can’t see it yet, or her Christmas present will be ruined.”

  He handed the letter over and whispered, “I’m glad to know you aren’t just using me or that you’ve fallen in love with a convict.”

  She rolled her eyes and dipped her head to replace the letter to her pocket, but he didn’t miss the way her teeth peeked behind her curving lips. Lifting her head, her smile settled, and she regarded him with the same animation he’d seen earlier. “Actually, I’m so excited, I don’t think I can wait to open this.”

  “Need an excuse to get out of here?”

  She looked at him, then to the wall separating the kitchen and the living room, then down to the envelope in her pocket, and finally back to him. “Yes please.”

  “Done. Just let me rinse these dishes and get them into the dishwasher real quick.” He turned on the faucet and let the water run over the bowls, the leftover grits swirling down the drain. He placed the bowl at an angle on the rack in the dishwasher and finished loading while Olivia wiped down the counters and stove top with a damp rag. She rinsed the rag and then wrung it out and hung it over the sink divider. Grabbing a tea towel off the oven handle, she dried her hands and then offered the towel to him.

  He ran the towel over his fingers and rehung it, then pulled his keys from his front pocket and moved into the living room. A period drama played on the TV, but David paused the show when Adam made his way to the side of the couch. “Mr. and Mrs. Arroyo, it was a pleasure to meet you both. I hope you’ll forgive me for pulling Olivia away again, but we have a few more details to go over at the food truck.”

  David and Eileen rose, the first shaking his hand, the second wrapping him in a motherly hug.

  “Thank you for helping my little girl realize her dreams.” David’s grip was firmer than his voice.

  “She’s very talented, sir.”

  “See you later, Mom and Dad.” Olivia waved as she opened the front door, and Adam followed her out.

  Lengthening his stride to catch up with her, he tugged on an apron string still tied at her lower back. “Don’t get me wrong—it’s a cute look, but you sure you want the world to see the whole I Love Lucy thing you’ve got going on?”

  She stopped at the passenger-side door of his Jetta and reached behind her to
finish untying the knot. “You saw how nosey my mom is. If she’d gotten a peek at this envelope, she’d have stopped me and started a game of twenty questions.” Lifting the apron up over her head, she opened the car door then settled into the seat, giving him a pointed look. “And she’s a better guesser than you.”

  Adam put the keys in the ignition and started the car. Looking over his shoulder, he backed out of the driveway and then shifted into drive and pressed the gas pedal.

  Olivia turned, pressing her shoulder into the back of the seat. “I mean, seriously, what kind of guesses were those? How’d you come up with writing love letters to an inmate and heading up a smuggling ring from a food truck?”

  He flicked on a blinker. “My past life, remember? I’ve defended some interesting people, to say the least.”

  Even from his peripheral vision, he didn’t miss the way her face lighted with curiosity. “Why the career change, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  He fingered the white paper envelope lying in her lap. “You may not be curious as to what’s in there anymore, but I am. Open it.”

  “Does this mean it’s my turn to make guesses? Why did ace defense attorney Adam Carrington suddenly leave behind a lucrative and prestigious career to sweat behind a hot grill in a mobile kitchen?”

  He turned to meet her eyes, giving her the same glare he’d used when cross-examining a hostile witness. “Open the letter, Olivia.”

  She raised a palm in surrender. “Okay, okay. Don’t get testy.”

  Shimmying a finger into the corner of the envelope, she pulled, the sound of ripping overshadowing the hum of the car’s AC. She lifted out paper folded in thirds and smoothed it over her legs.

  Adam drove nowhere in particular but cast quick glances at Olivia. For the first time since he’d met her she’d gone completely still. Feeling the pit in his stomach sink, he knew.

  Something was very wrong.