Page 108 of Detectives in Love

“Nothing.” He shrugs. “I just figured you wanted kids.”

I snort. “Why? I’m not exactly the patient, nurturing type.”

“But you are,” Xavier says, quieter now, and I can almost see the gears turning in his head. “You’re patient. And nurturing.”

I smirk. “With you—maybe. But I’ve always pictured myself working until I’m ninety and traveling the world,” I say, then tack on quickly, “with my partner.”

The second the word leaves my mouth, heat crawls up my neck. Did that sound like I meant him? No…right? Maybe? I feel ridiculous for even wondering.

Xavier holds my gaze, but his face is impossible to read. He stays silent so long it makes me fidget, and before I can stop myself, words spill out.

“Anyway, why do you ask? You want kids or something?”

Great. Perfect. If it didn’t sound weird before, it definitely does now—like I just implied our hypothetical future families are tied together. And judging by the way Xavier blinks, he might be thinking the same thing.

“Not really,” he says at last. “I don’t want them. But I’m…flexible. I mean—” He hesitates, color rising in his cheeks. “I decided I don’t want kids. But if my…partner does, then…I’d be on board with that.”

My heart stumbles at that word—partner.

Sure, I said it first, but I didn’t think Xavier would catch how queer-coded it usually is. He probably knows it means someone you’re with, sure, but the way he paused before saying it—like he picked it on purpose—makes me second-guess. It really sounded like he meant it the same way I did.

Maybe I’m delusional. Maybe I’m still half-drunk. But it sure as hell feels like we’re talking about having kids together. Or, rather,nothaving them. Either way, it’s completely messing with my head.

“That’s…nice of you,” I say, swallowing past the sudden dryness in my throat. Then, because I have to say something—anything—I add, “Are you hungry? I was thinking of making sandwiches.”

Smooth.

Xavier shakes his head. “Thanks. Maybe later.” Then looks right back at the laptop.

I glance at it too—and that’s when it hits me.

“This isn’t your laptop,” I say.

Xavier barely looks up. “Yeah, it’s Bridge’s.”

“Bridge’s?” I blink. “How the hell did you get it?”

“Took it when the wife wasn’t looking,” he mutters, throwing me a quick glance.

I groan. “So you stole it.”

Xavier flashes me an innocent smile. “Well, if we’re being technical…”

I snort. “You do realize the police are already after you, right? If they find out you’realsostealing now, I won’t be able to keep you out of jail.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,” he says, patting my knee absently—like I just reminded him to grab his keys.

Heat shoots straight to the spot where he touched me. Great. Amazing. Why am I this pathetic around him?

He enters the password, and I clear my throat. “Where did you get the password?”

“Guessed it,” he says with a shrug. “JAMIECOLIN. His sons’ names.”

I scoot a little closer as he opens Bridge’s email, then clicks over to the calendar and scrolls back to the day he died.

“Here’s his schedule,” Xavier says, eyes fixed on the screen. “It’s not the same as the one in the case file.”

I lean in, scanning the list of appointments—each with a time, a name, a number, and an address.