It’s an interesting story, and one I don’t expect based on my limited experience with her. “I didn’t think you got along with your uncle.”
She exhales a laugh and looks out the window. “We get along okay. He just wants me to be a straight-laced Sunday school teacher. It doesn’t interest me.”
We’re at my place, and I park the truck. Her eyes return to mine, but now a brow is arched. “I figured since we’re covered in paint, we might as well go to my place.” Her hesitation makes me pause. “We can go somewhere else if you’re uncomfortable—”
“No, it’s okay. You are a cop. And where else would we go?”
“Carry the food?” I take the paint-covered towels off the seat. “I should have mentioned bringing a change of clothes.”
While I unlock the door, we both slip off our shoes at the bottom of the staircase leading up to my warehouse apartment. “You can leave them there.”
She follows me up the narrow flight of stairs. “This is nice.”
It’s a big, open space with exposed brick lining the exterior walls. It’s industrial and very male, with a brushed metal bar dividing the kitchen from the living room, where an enormous flatscreen TV hangs over a gas fireplace.
“Thanks.” I cross to the washroom located behind the refrigerator. “The rent’s unbelievably cheap. Robbie restored it, but he couldn’t get any renters.”
“Why not?” Turning to look at the whole space, her confused gaze lands on mine.
“Who wants to live over the sheriff’s office?”
“The sheriff’s deputy?” She drops the bag on the bar, and I walk back, giving her a nod.
“Right. And nobody else.”
That makes her laugh. It’s a bright, melodic sound I haven’t heard much up to tonight. She’s always scowling when I’m around.
Taking down the plates, I level my eyes on her. “So what’s the deal, Tabby? Why have you spent the last year treating me like the enemy?”
Her jaw drops. “I haven’t been doing that.”
I pull out the foot-long, paper wrapped sandwiches. They smell like heaven. “You’ve been doing exactly that.”
She clears her throat and shifts from one foot to the other. “I’ve been really busy that’s all.”
She turns and walks across the living room to the built-in bookcase beside the television. I’m not looking to kill the mood. As much as I want an answer to my question, I’m mostly teasing.
“Want that beer now?” It’s offered as a truce.
She looks over her shoulder. “Got anything stronger?”
The braid is out of her hair, and in the small spotlights, I see she has caramel highlights in the front. Even with paint spattered on her cheek, she’s really beautiful. Maybe the paint adds to it. All I know is for a second, my brain decides not to work.
“Chad?” Her voice snaps me out of it.
“Right. Um… I’ve got whiskey and tequila.”
“Tequila it is.” She turns to the bookcase again, and I give her cute backside a once-over before going to the refrigerator and taking down the gold bottle.
“Want to mix it with something?”
“Look at you!” She crosses the space between us carrying a picture frame.
Stepping toward her, I stop when she’s beside me, small in her bare feet. She’s holding my graduation photo from military college.
I give it a glance, and exhale a short laugh. “That was a while ago.”
“Did you serve?”