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DAY TWO

No message from Teague, which meant I should expect him for breakfast. Even better, bringing breakfast.

When he arrived, I wasn’t as pulled together as Dova Dorrio, but I also wasn’t in torn jeans and a flannel shirt. Or my PJs. Though he never seemed to mind either outfit.

He also didn’t seem to notice the sartorial step-up I’d achieved.

Didn’t bother me at all, because he zeroed in on me as soon as he walked in and kissed me even while we leaned forward to bridge both dogs. After a timeout for him to adequately acknowledge them, we did even better.

We microwaved the eggs and bacon he’d brought from the café to take the chill off without turning them to rubber. Then we feasted on those and warmed-up pastries and fresh coffee.

Our conversation centered on the dogs and their unpredictable and exorbitantly cute habit of trading off beds throughout the night.

Wake up one time and they’re each in their own bed.

Roll over and they’ve swapped. Get up for a trip to the toilet and both are curled together in one bed.

Finally acquiesce to opening your eyes and both occupied the other bed.

Not a word of murder or investigation or questions Clara and I might have asked and answers we might have received.

Until he stood to leave.

I fought an instinct to try to keep him here. He looked tired and there’d be more of that to come.

He said, “Anything you want to tell me about Derrick?”

“No. Like you, we’re just getting started.”

“But you did talk to his wife and son.” Not a question.

“How do you—?”

“Don’t ask and I won’t have to avoid answering.”

Fair enough.

He pulled his jacket on.

“Teague.”

He turned back to me.

“I was thinking...”

He didn’t say anything smart to fill in my gap. Another of his positive attributes.

“With you working so much — with your job at the sheriff’s department and substitute teaching. I mean, not this week, of course, since there’s no school, but there will be soon and sometimes you leave things here and if you needed something quickly...”

He waited.

I jumped sideways, to something I’d known I’d talk to him about, but hadn’t known it would be now.

“What Clara said to you yesterday, that wasn’t fair or accurate.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I do worry about it. I’m disappointed that she, that my friend—”

“Don’t let it hurt your relationship with Clara. It doesn’t change how I feel about her. They teach us early on that we’re often encountering people under the worst circumstances of their lives. Some lash out. You have to put it in perspective.”

“But Clara knows you—”

“She also empathizes with people. It’s one of the things you love about her. In this case, these are people who are hurting, who had someone they love convicted of murder — rightfully. But that doesn’t change how much it hurts them. It’s part of my job. Knew that going in. You get used to it.”

I wanted to say I didn’t want him to get used to it — to have to get used to it. But that might sound like I didn’t want him to do this job he loved. And that would be worse.

“You’re a good man, Teague O’Donnell.”

One side of his mouth lifted. “’Bout time you recognized that.”

I jumped to a topic I hadn’t known I was going to raise now. Despite my nocturnal activities.

The thing about nocturnal activities is you don’t have to assign them logical, succinct words. Not for the doubts and wonderings that surround the activities, much less for the hopes and dreams.

But here it came, out of my mouth.

“Why don’t you ever suggest I stay overnight at your place?”

He leaned back against the edge of the door jamb. “It’s small. The HVAC’s not great, so it’s warm in the summer, cold in the winter. And you are deeply attached to this house.”

Surprised and rather pleased at both the truth of what he’d said and that he’d paid close enough attention to come to that conclusion, I said, “I am, aren’t I?”

“You are. I’d say you love the place, except you’re changing it piece by piece, so maybe you love what you think it can be.”

I’d have to think about that. No time now for contemplation, because he kept talking.

“All around, it seems better — more comfortable for all of us—” He included the dogs, of course. “—to be here. Do you mind?”

“Mind? No,” I said emphatically, “In fact, I see your points about your place. As a matter of practicality...”

Then I stalled. Why had I brought in practicality?

“You don’t want to stay at my place,” Teague summarized. “Are you saying you don’t want me staying here?”

“ No! ” I drew in much-needed oxygen. “I like you staying here. I’m good with you staying here. I wouldn’t really mind staying at your place sometimes, if you prefer that, but...”

“Not particularly.”

“Okay, so we both prefer staying here. I mean — assuming you want us to stay in the same place—”

“That’s a yes,” he interrupted firmly.

I let out the breath I’d been holding, feeling the pressure of it on my ribs now that I’d released it. This breathing stuff was getting complicated. I needed to get this out so I could get back to a normal in and out rhythm.

“Okay. Then, I thought — I mean, I want to, because it would be so much easier with your schedule changing every day, especially with the sheriff’s department and times like now with a case. Oh, hell. I want to give you a key to the house.”

“A key,” he repeated, as if it were a concept from another planet.

“So it’s easier for you to come and go and you won’t feel you have to stay at your place because you might come in late and disturb me after I’m already in bed.”

I saw the amusement in his eyes before I heard it full-force in his voice. “You sure you’re not hoping I’ll talk in my sleep and you’ll find out more about the investigation that way? Trying to take advantage of a member of law enforcement?”

I propped my hands on my hips and mock-glared. “I like that. Here I am, trying to be nice and make things more convenient for you and I get an accusation like that.”

He chuckled, slid one arm between my bent elbow and my ribs, and brought us together.

“It’s very nice and—,” He gave the next words more meaning. “—it would be much more convenient for us .”

“There’s that, too,” I said briskly.

This time he laughed.

Without breaking contact, I reached over to the counter — sometimes a small kitchen is really convenient — and pulled out the key on the plain loop, with the paper stuck through it. He took it and kissed me with unspoken promise for later.

When we separated (because if we didn’t, we wouldn’t be waiting for later), he looked at the key, seeing the paper for the first time.

“What’s this?”

“Code to the garage door. We should sync it with your vehicle. Later.”

He looked at the time and mumbled a mild curse. “Yeah, later.”

He took one step away, then turned back to me. “Do you want a key to my place? I can get one made and—”

“Not necessary. I can always get the Murphy key from Clara if need be.”

“Great. My dog will let my girlfriend into my place.”

He didn’t display any of the awkwardness with girlfriend that I felt with boyfriend . But someday we’d see how he coped with boopsie-doodle .

“Worse. Your dog’s pal’s owner.”

He was laughing as he left.