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Instead, he rose and positioned himself beside the bench next to her. “Be careful.”
“My middle name.”
She stepped up, onto the back of the bolted-down bench, and grabbed a sturdy branch to the left. Once she had a firm grip on it, she hoisted herself up onto the limb the boy had indicated. The Frisbee came loose with one tug, and she sent it sailing down before lowering herself back to the seat of the bench.
“Thank you, lady.” The boy grinned up at her.
“Happy to do it.”
Jack held out his hand to assist her down, and she took it in silence, descending to the ground mere inches away from him.
“One crisis averted. I wish all of them were as simple to fix.” Her tone was light, but her eyes continued to probe.
At least she hadn’t asked him why he’d let her do the climbing, despite her obvious curiosity.
“So do I.”
She played with the zipper on her jacket. “Well ... I have to get busy on the dessert I’m contributing to tomorrow’s dinner, so I best get at it. And I know you want to take a look around here. I should head home.”
“Did you walk over?”
“No. I drove. I used my rowing machine this morning, which is more than sufficient exercise for today.” She eased back a hair. “If you get cold out here and want to, uh, stop in for a cup of hot chocolate after you’re finished, feel free. I also have coffee, but my hot chocolate is legendary.” She displayed a dimple he’d never noticed. Or maybe she’d just never given him that kind of smile before. “No need to commit now. See how you feel after you’re done. And if you decide to pass, happy Thanksgiving.”
“You too.”
“Thanks.” She lifted her hand and took off at a fast clip for her car.
He watched her go, mulling over the tempting idea of detouring to her condo for a cozy get-together over hot chocolate.
Could there be a better prelude to Thanksgiving?
But if he accepted, would she expect an explanation for his odd reluctance to climb up and pluck the boy’s Frisbee from the tree?
And if she asked him about it, what would he say?
Shoving his hands in his pockets, he wandered toward the copse of trees where the alleged stabbing had taken place. The odds of finding any evidence to substantiate Lindsey’s claims were about as dismal as the odds of him finding a cure for his fear of heights.
And until a few minutes ago, he’d also have classified the odds of him sharing the cause of that phobia with anyone as equally dismal.
Somehow, though, the thought of giving Lindsey a peek intohis background wasn’t as stomach churning as he’d expected. And the explanation for his change of heart was simple. The appealing personal chef had gotten under his skin, as Bri had already discerned.
So since Dr. Oliver had seen more evidence of trauma than psychosis, it might make sense to begin opening up a bit in anticipation of the day when this strange and unsettling chapter was behind them and they could move on to a more personal relationship.
He stopped at the edge of the trees to assess the scope of his reconnaissance task, then began a methodical if informal grid search of the area, as he’d done on Sunday. Hoping for more productive results this go-round.
What he found or didn’t find here, however, had no bearing on his decision about whether to take Lindsey up on her invitation. That involved a leap of faith with no basis in empirical evidence. It was all about the heart. And trust. And laying the groundwork for the future.
It was also heavily contingent on whether he could dig deep for the courage to dredge up his terrible memories and reveal to her the source of the scars he’d never shared with a living soul.
HE WASN’T COMING.
Quashing a pang of regret, Lindsey poured the filling over the crust in the springform pan, slid her contribution to tomorrow’s dinner into the oven, and set the timer.
Now what?
Pie.
Why not make a pie too? Focus on baking instead of dwelling on the handsome detective who, sad to say, didn’t appear interested in her despite his chat with Dr. Oliver.
