Chapter 2 The First Course of Action

Sage's POV

"She writes murder mysteries," I told Marcus, grinning as I chopped onions with practiced speed. The rhythmic sound of my knife hitting the cutting board was as familiar as my own heartbeat. "Actually writes murder mysteries. How perfect is that?"

Marcus adjusted his designer glasses and gave me his patented 'you're-being-an-idiot' look. "Perfect for what, exactly? Getting yourself written into one as the victim?"

I scraped the onions into a sizzling pan, enjoying the sharp hiss and aromatic steam that filled my newly arranged kitchen. "Come on, you saw her. All buttoned up in that oversized sweater, those big green eyes giving me the death glare. There's definitely a story there."

"Yeah, the story of how you're going to get evicted in your first week." Marcus leaned against my new industrial fridge, his dreadlocks neatly tied back. "Some people actually like quiet, Zane."

"Quiet is overrated." I turned down the salsa music anyway, just a notch. "Life needs flavor, spice, a little bit of chaos. Otherwise, what's the point?"

"The point is not getting murdered by your neighbor." Ruby Chen burst through my front door without knocking, her purple-tinted hair bouncing. She was tiny but moved like a tornado in vintage clothes.

"I just passed her in the hallway looking like she was plotting your demise."

"Ruby! Perfect timing." I held up a spoon of sofrito. "Taste this."

She pranced over, her collection of bangles jingling. "Don't try to distract me with your food, Rodriguez. I'm serious. Mrs. Garcia is already fielding a complaint."

"Already?" I laughed, but something in my chest twinged. I hadn't meant to actually upset my neighbor. "It's been like an hour."

"One hour, three complaints," Ruby corrected, then her eyes widened as she tasted the sofrito. "Okay, this is amazing. But still! You need to tone it down. Not everyone appreciates your particular brand of... enthusiasm."

I stirred the sofrito, thinking about those green eyes and how they'd flashed when she'd said "murder mysteries" like it was a threat. There had been something else there too - a tension in her shoulders, a slight tremor in her hands that didn't match her fierce attitude.

"Fine," I sighed, turning the music down further. "But you're both coming to Thursday's dinner, right? First official supper club in the new space?"

"Wouldn't miss it," Marcus said. "Tommy's been texting me non-stop about it. Kid's excited to see the new place."

The mention of Tommy made me smile. The teenager had wandered into my last restaurant on a freezing night six months ago, looking for warmth. Instead, he'd found a family.

"He's bringing his friend Maria this time. She's been sleeping in the shelter on 4th."

"Look at that face," Ruby teased, hopping onto my counter despite my protests about food safety. "Chef Zane Rodriguez, collecting strays again."

"Speaking of strays..." Marcus's tone turned serious. "Are you sure about this location? Residential building, shared walls, writers who need quiet..."

I pulled my favorite cast iron pan from a box - the one with the small dent from that crazy night in culinary school. "The kitchen's perfect, rent's reasonable, and Mrs. Garcia gets it. She said her late husband used to cook for the whole building. Called it his ministry."

"And the murder novelist next door?" Ruby pressed.

The image of Skye Mitchell flashed in my mind again - the way she'd hugged herself as she stood in my doorway, like she was trying to take up as little space as possible.

Something about her made me want to cook her a warm meal, make her laugh, maybe see what she looked like with her hair down...

A bang on the wall interrupted my thoughts.

"Mr. Rodriguez!" Skye's voice was muffled but distinct. "The music?"

I realized I'd been absently humming along to the salsa, loud enough to carry. "Sorry, neighbor!" I called back, then turned to my friends. "Okay, maybe she's a little intense about the quiet thing."

Ruby snorted. "A little? She's already got a nickname in the building. The Ghost Writer."

"What? Why?"

"Mrs. Garcia says she barely leaves her apartment. Orders everything in. Apparently, her sister's some hotshot detective who checks on her twice a week."

That tugged at something in my chest again. What makes someone hide away like that?

A timer dinged, and I pulled a tray of roasted garlic from the oven. The rich, warm smell filled the kitchen, and I had a sudden idea.

"Here," I said, pulling out a small container and spooning some sofrito into it. "I'm going to make a peace offering."

"Zane..." Marcus's warning tone was in full effect.

"What? Food fixes everything." I grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled a note.

Ruby peered over my shoulder. "'Sorry about the noise, hope this adds some flavor to your evening'? Oh my god, you're actually flirting with the woman who wants you dead."

"I'm being neighborly," I corrected, though my grin probably wasn't helping my case. "Besides, everyone loves my sofrito."

I stepped into the hallway and was about to knock on 4A when I heard voices from inside. One was Skye's, tight with what sounded like anxiety. The other was older, authoritative.

"...can't believe you moved here without consulting me first," the second voice was saying. "After everything that happened..."

"Sarah, I'm not having this conversation again," Skye's voice cracked slightly. "I'm fine. I'm safe. I just need-"

"What you need is to stop isolating yourself! It's been twelve years, Skye. Mom and Dad wouldn't want-"

"Don't."

That single word carried so much pain it stopped me cold, my hand frozen in mid-knock.

"Fine," the other voice - Sarah - sighed. "But I'm running a background check on everyone in this building. Especially that new neighbor with the loud music. Something about that setup feels wrong."

I backed away from the door, still holding my peace offering. Through the wall between our apartments, I could hear cabinets closing sharply, like Skye was stress-organizing her kitchen.

Back in my apartment, I set the sofrito down and stared at it. Marcus and Ruby were watching me with matching expressions of concern.

"Changed your mind about the peace offering?" Marcus asked quietly.

I picked up my knife and started chopping peppers, letting the familiar motion calm my racing thoughts. "No," I said finally. "Just changing the recipe."

Because I'd recognized that crack in Skye's voice, the same one I'd heard in Tommy's that first night. The sound of someone trying desperately to prove they were okay when they weren't.

And I never could resist trying to fix things with food.

I just hoped my mysterious neighbor wouldn't actually murder me before I got the chance.