Drake nods slowly. “All right. Thanks, man.”

“No problem. See ya, Noelle.”

I wave at him then glance at the clock on the wall. Five thirty. “Maybe we should get dinner before we do anything else.”

He shakes his head. “I wanna get this sample and get it to the lab.”

“Fine, but by the time I get food and it arrives, you’ll be done.”

He sighs. “I dunno, Noelle. I can eat later. I wanna keep going while this is fresh in my mind.” He gets up and walks out of the door.

Oh, hell no. That man is eating, and I will handcuff him to a chair and feed him with a baby spoon if I have to. Neither of us has eaten since cupcakes.

I grab my purse and heels and follow him, naturally barefoot. Why not? Shoes are overrated. I follow him into his office and kick his door shut. He turns when it slams.

“We’re not fighting,” I tell him. “So don’t you even try to argue with me, Drake Nash. You need to eat or you’re going to pass out where you’re standing. Jason is finding Eddie. I’m sure you can spare ten minutes after doing what you need to do right now to eat something.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but I hold my hand up and cut him off.

“I told you we’re not fighting. I’m tellin’ you you’re gonna eat, and you’re damn well gonna eat.” I wiggle my finger at him. “Comprende?”

Drake pauses, shrugs, then smiles. “Comprende. What are you feeding me, then, woman? It better be good.”

I grin and slip my shoes on. “Trust me.”

Thank God my car is still outside the station.

I walk out of the station, digging for my keys in my purse. I find them, get into my car, start it, and turn for my parents’ house.

One of the perks of being in an Italian family is that there’s no such thing as too much food. Nonna doesn’t care if she’s cooking for three people or for the whole family—she uses the same size pot and makes the same amount of food. I have several Tupperware containers full of sauces and dishes because she can’t bear to throw it out.

She’ll be all too happy to hand me over several containers of yummy food to feed everyone working their asses off on this case. In fact, it’ll be hard to stop her from coming with me, but I think I’ll be able to manage it.

Devin’s truck is in the driveway when I arrive, so I pull up behind him. My car beeps when I lock it, and I knock lightly on the door to announce myself before walking in.

“Hello?” I ask.

“Noella!” Nonna cries.

“Hot wench!” Gio screams.

Oh, sweet baby Jesus. “What’s Gio—ah.” I walk into the front room and spy a couple of scrapbooks and wedding magazines laid out on the coffee table in front of Nonna, Dev, and Amelia.

Didn’t take long for them to get fed up of Gio.

“Please tell your boyfriend he needs to sleep with one eye open,” Dev hisses.

I grin. “You’re setting a date, then.”

“Next-a January!” Nonna claps her hands. “We have-a come-a to an-a agree-a-ment.”

Amelia grimaces.

“Good for you, Nonna. I have a favor to ask.”

“Ask-a away!”

Oh, crap. She’s in a great mood.

“Do you have enough food for me to take some to the station? They’re working real hard and don’t have much time to—”

“Say-a no-a more!” She gets up quicker than a woman her age should. “Come-a.” She waves to me and scuttles into the kitchen. “I was-a making some-a to keep-a. You-a have-a it.” She waves her arms.

“It smells amazing in here,” I whisper. Am I drooling? I feel like I’m drooling. I wipe at my chin just in case.

Nonna bends over and pulls several large Tupperware containers from the cupboard. She lines them up on the kitchen counter and pulls the lids off. Then she turns her attention to filling them. After draining the spaghetti, she fills two full of her homemade strands of carb goodness. Another huge tub is filled with marinara-coated meatballs, and another is piled with her breaded parmesan chicken.

Now, I know I’m drooling.

She replaces the lids on every single tub and then goes back to the cupboard. I smile as she pulls out a pile of paper plates and a packet of plastic cutlery.

“Nonna, I had no idea you kept all those things,” I say in awe, watching as she assembles it expertly.

Once upon a time, when Nonno was in charge of the Holly Woods Police Department, this was a weekly thing. The guys he worked with when he was sheriff are probably the best fed in American police history.

Nonna shrugs and hands me a big bag. “Once-a a cop-a wife, always a cop-a wife.”

I take the bag from her and pause for a second. She smiles widely, the corners of her eyes crinkling as the warm, brown gaze that’s so familiar sparkles with happiness. This woman—she’s as mad as a box full of frogs. She’s insufferably persistent and stubborn, but I truly believe that, if everyone loved someone as fiercely as Nonna loves everyone, this world would be a much brighter place.

“Hey, Nonna?” I say softly, setting the bag down.

“Si?”

“Ti amo.” I kiss her weathered cheek, letting my lips linger there for a second.

“Ti amo, Noella,” she replies, hugging me tight. “Now, go-a feed-a those-a men! No Italiano woman lets-a her-a man be-a hungry.” She sharply claps her hands and shoves the bag back at me. “Go-a.”

“Got it. Feed man.” I wink and head out of the door.

I buckle the bag into my passenger’s seat to keep it upright once I’m in my car and start the engine. I make the drive across town in only a few minutes and pull up outside the station. I’m parked next to Drake’s truck.

A smile plays with my lips. I think I’m about to make several men very happy—and I don’t even have to be naked to do so. How about that?

After grabbing the bag, I hold it close to my body and make my way inside. I bump the door open with my hip and grab it before it swings back on me.

Charlotte stands up and drops her eyes to the bag. “Uhh, I smell food. Good food.”

I guess the officers aren’t the only ones working overtime.

“Did someone say, ‘food’?” Trent pops his head out of his office.

Even Sheriff Bates appears from his behind the reception desk. “That ain’t any food.” He sniffs and comes over to me. “That’s Italian food. She didn’t?”

I smile. “Yes, sir. You should know she’s always got enough to feed this department. She couldn’t pack it up quick enough. It’s still hot.” I set it on the counter and pull the plates and cutlery out.

“Oh, God. It’s just like when your grandfather was alive!”

I laugh. “Something about always being a cop’s wife.”

“Are you back already?” Drake asks, coming out of his office. “Why can I smell marinara sauce?”

“Because”—I pull the big carton of meatballs in the sauce out of the bag—“I raided Nonna’s kitchen. This should feed y’all.”

Drake moves faster than I’ve ever seen and grabs the tub. “Don’t count on it.”

Trent nods in agreement. “Better call her. Get her to cook more.”

“Jesus—she’s gonna pass out in excitement! Can’t you call her?”

“No. I’m hungry. You do it.”

“I’m hungry too.”

“Shut up,” Drake mutters. “Just eat.” He shoves a plate with spaghetti and meatballs on it at me. “Call her after. They can wait. We were here first.”

I take the plate and watch openmouthed as the sheriff of the Holly Woods Police Department and his two leading homicide detectives delve into the containers and pile their plates full with food.

Sheriff Bates wipes some sauce from the corner of his mouth and groans happily. Charlotte giggles from behind the counter.

“I never thought I’d say this, ever,” he says, looking at me, “but thank the Lord for Liliana Bond.”

Trent grunts his agreement. “Woman’s batshit crazy, but when she cooks like this…”

I bite into my meatball, grinning.

Drake levels me with a look. “Time to up your cooking game, Bond. I know you don’t make fresh meatballs because yours ain’t this good.”