Page 19 of Hale Yes (Highway to Hale #1)

CHAPTER TWELVE

The goose and the gun

Helix

Three carafes of sangria later, Nicolette and I are laughing our asses off. I’d started off sitting across the table from her but moved to the chair beside her about two liters ago as the buzz in the busy restaurant became louder.

“Oh my god! You did not steal an old lady’s fake pig from her front yard when you were a teenager,” she whisper-yells.

“Yes, we did,” I affirm with a grin. “Fucking thing was a lot heavier than it looked. It was made of some kind of stone.”

“Let me guess, from what you’ve told me, this was either Dutton or Phoenix’s idea.” We’d talked enough about my family tonight that she was able to make that assumption correctly. However, every time I’ve tried to ask about her family, she’s deftly turned the conversation to another topic.

Pressing my hand into my chest, I used my best wounded voice. “You think I couldn’t come up with such a stellar idea? I’m hurt, queenie.” And yeah, that nickname happened about one liter ago.

With a mock solemn face, she replies, “Oh, pardon the hell out of me. I’m sure you were perfectly capable of instigating such mischief. Where was this anyway?” She takes a sip of her wine, her eyes ripe with interest.

“It was in the small town near where Dutton’s ranch is located north of Houston.” I dumbly point upward like that actually denotes north.

“So what happened next?”

I groan and swipe a hand down my face. “Turns out the old woman the pig belonged to was a widow. She put a personal letter in the local paper begging whoever stole Precious the Pig to bring her back.” Wincing, I finish with, “Because it was the last gift her husband gave to her before he died.”

Nicolette covers her eyes with her hand. “Oh my freaking hell. Please tell me you took it back.”

“We did,” I assure her. “Along with a note thanking her for letting us take Precious on a most excellent adventure, signed anonymously, of course. Then we detailed said adventures.”

Her brows pinch together. “Like what?”

“We just made up a bunch of stuff that sounded adventurous. Climbing Mt. Everest, whitewater rafting down the Colorado River, eating croissants at a little café in Paris.”

Nicolette’s face softens. “That was actually really sweet. Probably made her feel better about missing her prized possession while she was abducted.”

“It did. The ranch manager from Dutton’s farm overheard the widow talking about it in the General Store. She was laughing about it.”

“Did anyone suspect you guys?”

“The ranch manager did. He’s the one who showed Dutton the newspaper and told him if the pig wasn’t replaced by the next day, he was going to find out who stole Precious and shoot them.” I can’t help the grimace that crosses my face as I stroke my chin. “I think he was only half kidding.”

“Yikes!” Her eyes follow the movement of my arm when I lower it to the table. “I’ve been trying to look at your tattoo all night. May I?”

“Of course.” I turn my arm over to expose the inside of my forearm.

She mouths the words she sees there, and my skin tingles when she drags her soft fingertips over the ink. “Pursuit of…” I see it the second she recognizes the molecule of serotonin, and her eyes meet mine with a big smile on her face. “Pursuit of happiness. I love that.”

“Do you have any ink?” I ask. Perhaps a tat on your inner thigh you’d like to show me? Thankfully, I don’t voice that thought aloud.

Nicolette swivels in her chair and pulls her hair to one side, revealing the outline of an oxytocin molecule on the back of her left shoulder. There’s a pink rose with the curvy stem entwined around the lines of the molecule. It’s the perfect mix of smart and feminine.

I feel a certain pull toward this woman because of our congruous tattoos. Oxytocin and serotonin are two of what are known as the “happiness hormones,” the others being dopamine and endorphins.

But oxy, specifically, is considered a love hormone, present during birth and bonding moments. “So you’re looking for love?” I ask, and her nose wrinkles when she turns around and releases her hair.

“No, not necessarily. I got this as soon as I turned eighteen. I was in college and feeling… down, I guess.” Nicolette picks a slice of wine-soaked orange from her glass and nibbles on it. “You know that high you get when oxytocin is released into your system while someone is hugging you?”

I nod. “Yes, some people refer to it as the hugging hormone because of that.”

“Right. I was craving that, so I got the tat to remind me that one day I’d find that feeling again.”

“That makes sense. You lived away from your family. I hope you got lots of hugs when you went home for the holidays.”

Her lips tighten into a humorless smile. “They’re not really the hugging type.” She mumbles the next two words, and I know they’re not meant for my ears, but I hear them anyway. “With me.”

Before I can ask what that means, Vicente appears beside the table. “More food or sangria?” On top of the three carafes of wine, Nicolette and I shared six small tapas.

“None for me,” Nicolette answers immediately.

Her eyes turn questioningly toward me, and I shake my head. “I’m good.”

When Vicente hands over the check, she attempts to reach for it, but I playfully smack her hand. “Don’t even think about it.”

“I can pay for my own food and drinks,” she argues, but I ignore her protests, handing over my card. After the manager departs to run my card, she glares at me. “Are you always this bossy?”

I meet her gaze. “Yes.”

She snorts at my blunt and concise answer. “I’m going to run to the restroom. I’m not even sure how long it will take me to walk home.”

Walk home? “You’ve lost your mind if you think I’m letting you walk home, Dr. Bell,” I tell her, reverting to her official name for stern emphasis. We have a staredown for a long moment before she sighs and rolls her eyes.

“Fine,” she snaps before standing and stomping to the back of the restaurant.

I watch her go as that little skirt swishes with each step, only pulling my eyes away when Vicente brings my debit card back. “She’s fantastic.”

“I know that,” I say shortly.

“Bring her back. I want her to try our bacon-wrapped figs next time.”

My eyes narrow at him. “She doesn’t like figs.” Okay, I have no idea if that’s true or not, but he’s getting on my nerves.

“She’ll like my figs,” he replies with annoying confidence.

“You keep your figs away from Nicolette,” I growl, but he just laughs good-naturedly.

“Bring your lovely mother in next time as well.”

“Why? So you can flirt with her too?” I’ve suspected for a while that Vicente has a crush on my mother, despite being ten years younger than her.

“So I can share my figs with two beautiful women,” he replies, bobbing his eyebrows before turning to walk away.

“I’m not leaving you a tip, smartass,” I call to his back, and I can hear his deep laughter until he reaches the front of the restaurant. I sigh and leave Vicente a very generous tip.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and since Nicolette is still in the restroom, I check it to find a message from my mother.

X-Chromosome: I want to meet your new girlfriend.

I stare at my phone like it’s an alien.

Helix: What girlfriend?

X-Chromosome: The one you’re having dinner with at The Tapas Table.

Glancing toward the front of the restaurant, I see Vicente grinning at me. The fucker.

Helix: She’s not my girlfriend. She’s the new lab manager.

X-Chromosome: Great! I want to meet your new “lab manager.” Bring her to lunch one day.

Helix: We don’t eat lunch together. This was a one-time thing, so don’t start, Mom.

X-Chromosome: You really shouldn’t make your “lab manager” eat alone.

Helix: Stop with the quotation marks. I’ve gotta go. Love you.

X-Chromosome: Love you too, sweetheart. I look forward to meeting your “lab manager.”

For fuck’s sake. Houston is one of the largest cities in the nation, but sometimes it feels like a tiny little town with the way gossip spreads. I shake my head and put my phone away.

Thank you for dinner. This place was amazing,” Nicolette tells me as I guide her out the side door to the parking lot. She stifles a yawn as I open the car door for her. “I’ll have to tell Cruz that other restaurant he recommended is closed, but I bet he’ll love The Tapas Table.”

My curiosity heats the back of my neck as I walk around and slide into the driver’s side. “Who is Cruz?” I ask, but there’s no answer.

Because Nicolette Bell is fast asleep in the soft leather seat of my Bugatti.

I pull into the driveway behind Nicolette’s townhome. We discussed this at dinner, and she told me which street she lived on and that hers was the blue one. Just to be certain, I hop out and peer through the window on the garage door to find her Audi safely tucked inside.

Going back to my car, I pull open her door and squat down. “Nicolette, you’re home.” She doesn’t respond, so I shake her gently. “Nicolette, can you wake up for me?”

Absolutely no response… unless you count the loud snore she emits. Hells bells, she wasn’t kidding about wine knocking her out. I try three more times to awaken her before finally deciding, fuck it, I’ll just carry her inside.

Tentatively, I pick up the small bag in her lap and unsnap it.

This makes me extremely uncomfortable. My mother taught me to never go through a woman’s purse after she caught Phoenix and I stuffing her tampons into our Nerf guns and shooting each other when we were seven.

But I really don’t have much choice. She’s not waking up, and I can’t exactly leave her in the driveway.

Luck is on my side when I see her keys directly on top. Pulling them out, I search them in the glow of the car’s overhead light, finally finding one labeled BD. I can only assume that means back door. I jog over, and sure enough, the key unlocks the door on the side of the garage.

Once I have Nicolette unbuckled and in my arms, I bump the car door closed with my hip. Then I almost scream when I turn around and find…

“Is that a goose?”