Page 19 of Detective for the Debutante (SAFE Haven Security #3)
The tension riding piggyback along my neck and shoulders after a hellacious week lessens, becoming more distant as I focus on our conversation, a welcome distraction from the work weighing me down.
“Sounds like a big family.”
I nod, backing into the street.
“It is. And Riley hasn’t even gotten started.”
With a jolt that tightens my fingers on the steering wheel, I realize I won’t know Riley’s kids as well as Quinn’s. I’ve always been there for Jasper, Erin, and Aisling. Holidays and birthdays, zoo trips, and even a sleepover once with Aisling last year.
“I hope Cole and Hannah Grace have kids soon,” she says.
I glance her direction to find her face turned toward her window as she watches our surroundings.
“Looking forward to being an auntie?” I ask.
I wish I could focus solely on her, but the green light pulls my attention to split between her and traffic.
“Hell, yes. I’m going to spoil them rotten. I’m going to be cool Aunt Leigh and descend with presents and junk food as often as I can.”
I can picture it. Her blonde hair pulled high as she holds a baby or sneaking ice cream before meals with small kids as all cool aunts and uncles do.
“Are you looking at relocating to California or something?”
Why does the thought of her moving away make me sad when I’ll be leaving sooner rather than later?
She shrugs.
“Maybe. I’ve thought about it. Hannah Grace is there.
And Sydney. She keeps trying to talk me into it.
Mistletoe Creek is home, but there are more opportunities in California.
” Her face turns toward me, her lips turned down.
There’s wanderlust in her expression—I recognize it, having felt it myself—but sadness too.
Like she’s not quite sure whether to stay or to go.
Join the club.
“What’s with the frown?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
“Huh?”
“Your frown. Here.” I run my index finger between her brows, taking advantage of the red light to reach out and glide my finger along her skin.
She lifts her own and mimics the motion, our fingers skimming and sending little electrical pulses through my body.
I drop my hand back to the steering wheel, the side of my finger where hers brushed against it still tingling with the memory.
“I didn’t realize I was frowning.”
“You went from excited to frowning in zero point five seconds.”
Her smile is smaller than normal, still tinged with whatever thought created the frown.
“I…miss Hannah Grace.”
I don’t believe that’s what she was going to say, but don’t call her on it outright.
“Hmm,” I say, accelerating with the traffic.
“What? You don’t believe me?” Her mix of sass and sweet, serious and not, is pulling me deeper into her orbit by the minute.
Several other blocks pass by as I consider what she said.
“I do believe you miss your sister,” I say at last.
“But?”
“How do you know there’s a but at the end of that statement?”
“I just do. But what?”
“But I think there’s something else.” I feel it in my gut. There’s something else on her mind. Something she hasn’t shared. And it’s up to her to tell me.
“Interesting observation, Detective.” She turns her attention back out her window, and I want to groan.
I no sooner peel one layer and another presents itself. A rose barely opening, the beauty teasing me in its complexity.
We’re almost downtown, the neon starting to flicker on. Bright lights tout open mics and concerts—some artists trying to get their start, or recognizable names doing a smaller show for one reason or another. I change the subject, hoping to have her gaze on me again.
You like it too fucking much. Having her eyes on you.
I don’t bother to deny it.
“Do you like Max?” I ask.
Her head whips back around.
“From Searching for Love ?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
Her gaze softens, her mouth parting as a breath rushes out. The softness of her lips tugs at my attention, and I have to force myself to focus on the street, on finding the turn for the parking lot I need.
“I…I do. Although I wish he would have picked Kenzie. I don’t think Tara was the right fit for him.”
“Agreed. The two always seemed…fake.” I pull into the public parking lot and find an open spot. “I probably should have asked, but are you okay with a little walk?”
She glances down, lifting her leg to reveal the block-heeled booties on her feet.
“Okay.”
“You’re sure?” I ask, remembering the last time I brought Quinn with me and she had some crazy heeled boots on.
We’d ended up with her riding piggyback the way she had when we were kids.
“Positive. If these were my stiletto heels, no go. But these are pretty comfortable.”
I nod and grab the keys, getting out of the car where she meets me at the back. Fuck, I had wanted to get her door.
“What?” She runs her index finger between her brows.
The tightness between my own confirms she’s asking why I’m frowning.
“I was going to get your door,” I tell her.
She lifts a shoulder and her purse swings next to her until she shifts it to cross her body. It fills me with an unexplainable pride she does, aware downtown Nashville is not the same as her small hometown.
“I got it.”
“Dad would have had my head. ‘Women don’t touch doors in the presence of a man,’ he would tell me.” His deep voice still sounds as clear in my mind as if I had just heard it yesterday, the slight tinge of his accent peeking through.
“He sounds very chivalrous.” She falls into step beside me, the moment comfortable as we join the crowds beginning to form on the streets.
“He was. Mom didn’t touch a door until after he died and even then it wasn’t very often. I wanted to do that for her.”
The words are wistful, far away, and much too serious for a Friday night.
“You’re very sweet,” she says, reaching over and squeezing my bicep. Her hand is small, her fingers cool, even through the thin fabric of my Henley. “Sydney thinks it’s fake.”
“Me?” I ask, glancing down, finding her gaze with mine.
Amusement lights up her face and she giggles.
“No. Sorry. The show. Searching for Love .”
I stop, not caring that people stream around us as the neon continues to hum to life.
“It’s not fake,” I tell her.
A breeze kicks a strand of hair against her cheek, and I can’t resist the urge to lift my hand to tuck it behind her ear.
“H-how do you know?” she asks, slicking her tongue along her lips, and the moisture glistens in the neon light.
“Because love exists.” Maybe not for me. But I’ve seen it.
My parents. My sisters.
And I know someday, Leigh will fall in love.
That reality breaks the spell she has over me and I step back, clearing my throat, and we continue walking down the street. If she notices the momentary lapse in my sanity, she doesn’t comment on it.
“I know. That it’s real. Or mostly real. Some of it has to be staged. Otherwise how else do you explain the fight between Catherine and Julia on Peter’s season?”
The better word for what she’s describing is brawl, but I don’t correct her.
“You’ve never met my sisters when they would get into fights as teenagers.” I shudder dramatically, loving her giggle.
“Your sisters sound amazing.”
“They are, but no one needs to tell them. Their heads are already big enough.”
We stop in front of a stone facade building. The bricks may be old, but they are lovingly restored, and it’s one of my favorite places to hang out on a Friday night.
“My lips are sealed,” she says, miming zipping her lips and dragging my attention back to her very kissable mouth.
I have to force my gaze back toward the opaque door, tracing the lines of the giant CC on the center of the door until I can safely look over my shoulder at her.
Country music blasts us as I open the door, her eyes widening at the level of sound reaching out toward us.
But it’s the curiosity in her expression that has me moving us forward and has my own excitement building.
“Welcome to Cue Craft, Leigh. My favorite pool hall and place to grab a beer in all of Nashville.” I drop my hand to her lower back as I usher her inside, enjoying the slight body heat through her shirt and the tiny patch of skin above the waistband of her jeans.
The fact that as soon as we walk in we come face-to-face with Kenneth Scott?
My knuckles crack at my side as Leigh’s body radiates tension.
What the fuck next?