Page 21 of Retool

He nodded.The soft whisper of his hand moving over the blanket filled the space between us.“I know you heard what the sheriff said to you last night.And I know you understand why she said that.But I also know that you’ve been through this before, and you have legitimate reasons for believing you need to be involved.”

“It’s not—” I tried, and then I stopped.“I know the sheriff is a good person, Bobby.But I feel so helpless.And it’s Vivienne.And I keep thinking there’s going to be a trick or a trap orsomethingbecause everything about Vivienne is always such a mess.”

His hand fell still.Outside, far off, a gull cried.

“Okay,” he said.“What are we going to do?”

“Well, first I—oh no.”

It wasn’t exactly a smile, but the expression on his face gave me a glimpse of what a young Bobby Mai must have looked like when he got up to trouble.

“You can’t,” I told him.“You’re a detective.”

“Exactly.”

“But the sheriff told you to stay away from it.”

“And I will.I’ll take a couple of personal days, and I won’t do any police work.I’ll hang out with my boyfriend.Spend time with him.Follow him around and make sure he’s okay.”

“No, Bobby.The sheriff will be so mad.”

He shrugged.“I’m not going to let you do this on your own.”

“I’ll be fine—”

“Dash, you went through this by yourself once already.Being a suspect.Being accused.”He did smile now, but it was soft and small.“I told you: it’s not going to be like last time.”

And what, ladies and gentlemen, was I supposed to say to that?

“Thank you” seemed like a pretty good place to start.

Bobby bent.His hand curled around the back of my neck, and he kissed me.It was a serious kiss.Not playful.Not flirty.Intense.And a promise.

Let me tell you, itdidsomething to me.I’m surprised my pajamas didn’t pop off like they were spring-loaded.

“Nope,” Bobby said.

“It’s still early—”

“We have a conference to get to.And we’ve got Keme’s surf competition this afternoon.”

“There’s some wiggle room in the schedule.”

“Great.Maybe later.”

“But you’re naked!”It was practically a wail.

Here’s the thing: Bobby isn’t the smirking type.He’s smart and observant, so he knows how attractive he is.But he doesn’t care about it.And if you’ve ever known somebody like that, somebody who is heartbreakingly beautiful and somehow kind of…careless about it, you know it’s ten times as powerful.

Which was why I decided to treat myself to a show, and I lay there and watched Bobby get dressed: jeans, polo, jacket.

“If you’re not out of that bed in five minutes,” he said as he combed his hair, “I’m turning the shower to cold and shoving you in.”

“How dare you?”

But you’d better believe I hopped in the shower two minutes later.

After a quick breakfast in the kitchen—oatmeal for Bobby, oatmeal chocolate chip cookies for me—we hit the road.