Page 4 of The Time It Takes

He gave a small, satisfied nod. "It is good. I guess it's about Darby, then."

"Yeah," I admitted. I braced myself for some unwelcome advice. I mean, I read enough advice about relationships online. You'd think I wouldn't mind getting some aimed at me. Or maybe that I'd even welcome it. But that certainly didn't feel like the case.

I braced myself, but he said nothing, just went back to his own food. I guess he really was hungry, too. Or else he was just eating to keep me company.

After the meal, I felt a lot better. The problems with Darby would keep. Or else they wouldn't keep, and one of us would decide it was time to break up. Soon, probably. I very much doubted we'd be able to have a mature conversation about it and decide together we just weren't right for each other.

The thing is, on paper, we really worked. We liked a lot of the same things. We were the same age and our goals matched up. Neither one of us wanted kids, but we did want to buy a house in the next five years. It was the same in other areas: we lined up pretty well politically, neither one of us was religious, and we both wanted to travel. We even looked good together in pictures.

It was just that apparently we couldn't go one day without arguing about something at this point, and I was starting to feel trapped and suffocated. God knows she was feeling a lot of things too—she told me about them, at length.

We headed back to the precinct, and I tried to pack all of this away. It could wait. It would have to. We had work to do.

#

"You're wearing that?" Darby looked at my outfit like it had a weird smell.

"I was going to. Why? You've got a better idea?" I was trying to answer carefully and not take offense.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to dress you. You're a grown man. Just look presentable, would you?"

I looked down at my clothing, wondering what wasn't presentable. Bitterness rose in me, like a sour taste. I wouldn't tell her to change without giving her an idea of what was wrong. She'd basically just gone 'ew, you're gross,' without telling me why or how to fix it. Sooo nice.

I debated getting into it, telling her how hurtful her tone was. I debated telling her to change into something better so she could see how it felt. I felt so tired all the sudden. I went to the closet to try to find something else. I wondered if I'd hear about it either way—if there was a right answer at all, and how much it was even worth it to try.

#

"You alone?" A coworkerleaned around the corner, scanning the area. He relaxed when he saw Arlie wasn't here.

"What's up?" I got alert. Why should I be alone to hear whatever it was?

"His birthday's next week, right? We gotta plan a cake or something. C'mon." He motioned me after him, and I hurried to follow, relieved this was the reason. I must've been starting to get tensed up, wondering if there was some other reason. Something bad.

Not that I'd noticed anyone not liking Arlie. He seemed to get along with everyone pretty well. He had a calm presence and was good with people. My partner was bigger and taller than me, with a sturdy build, a broad face, and kind eyes. People tended to like him, and he had an open, welcoming air about him. He wasn't exactly handsome, but there was something appealing about his face.

I was glad the precinct liked him well enough to want to celebrate his birthday. It wasn't something we did all the time, so they must really like him.

My coworkers and I discussed it briefly in a hurried, mini meeting, and were nearly done when there was a light knock at the door. "Cole? You in there?" Arlie's voice was tentative.

I hurried to the door and opened it to smile at my partner. How much had he heard? I didn't think we'd said anything incriminating just then, but I wasn't sure, and he had good hearing.

"Hey." I smiled at him. I wanted to hug him and get that self-conscious, uneasy look off his face. "It's all good, big guy. What's up?"

"Uh, we're supposed to go check something out. I couldn't find you."

"Just text me if you need to. I'm not going anywhere."

We headed out, but the uneasy, self-conscious look stayed on his face. "Is everything okay?"

"I don't know," he said slowly. "Someone tried to tell me you weren't over there, but I knew you'd gone that way. It was strange, like they didn't want me to find you. Do you think they're annoyed with me or something?"

"No, everyone likes you," I told him. I debated. And then gave in. Sure, it would spoil the surprise—but that might be for the best. Arlie didn't always do well with surprises. He needed to be warned.

"They're planning a birthday celebration for you—just a cake and a few snacks, maybe singing happy birthday if you're unlucky. It's supposed to be a secret, so pretend to be surprised, okay?"

"Oh." His face relaxed into one of his sweet, warm smiles. His fingers flexed and unflexed on the steering wheel. "Oh, wow. Thank you. That's so nice."

I found myself staring at his hands, not sure why. He had such strong-looking hands, powerful fingers, perfectly formed hands, the hands of someone who'd worked hard. Very masculine hands.