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“It’s a big part of the job,” I admitted, shifting my focus back toward the farmhouse. “Sometimes it’s long hours of just... waiting for something to see.”
Dakota glanced around the inside of the truck, her expression thoughtful as she pulled her blanket up a little tighter around her. “So, why’s your truck so clean? If you spend all that time in here, I’d expect it to be messier. Like... snack bags, old coffee cups, maybe a random sock or something.”
I raised an eyebrow. “A sock? Just one?”
She shrugged. “I dunno. You know what I mean. Just... lived-in.”
I chuckled, shaking my head. “If I’m going to spend more time in this truck than in my house, it might as well not smell like old coffee or gym socks. Plus, I don’t like my space to be cluttered. It’s hard to focus, and I’ve gotta be on my game out here.”
Dakota nodded, her attention drifting back to the yarn in her lap as she adjusted the stitches on the scarf. “That makes sense, I guess. So what’s a typical day like for you when you’re not chasin’ down treasure or getting shot at?”
I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling a little tension settle between my shoulder blades. “Honestly? A lot more boring than what you’ve seen so far.” I shot her a quick grin. “Sorry to disappoint.”
She laughed softly. “Is it? That is disappointin’. Tell me more.”
“Well,” I started, glancing out the window again. “We get a lot of insurance fraud cases, suspected adultery. Companies hire us to find out if someone’s faking an injury for a big payout,and individuals hire us to figure out if their spouse is cheating. Missing people or objects aren’t as common, but they still happen from time to time. Usually not as exciting as it sounds.”
“Who would’ve thought your time in a town like this would be more excitin’ than usual?”
I shrugged, trying to ignore the twist in my gut as I thought about going back to that life outside of this town. The one without her in it. “Colt’s the more analytical one, though, and I’m grateful for it. He doesn’t mind handling the invoicing, coordinating with the local police departments, keeping our licenses current. He’s the guy who handles the paperwork, while I... well, I’m the one who spends hours sitting in a truck waiting for something to happen. We both do interviews, but usually, I’m the one who gets them to talk.”
“Because you’re such a people-person?” she teased.
I snorted. “I think we both know Colt’s the people person. But sometimes the people we deal with need a different sort of person to get them to open up.”
“Like a scary lumberjack ninja?”
Chuckling, I shook my head.
Dakota’s fingers paused briefly on the yarn, and she looked up at me again, her eyes soft. “Sounds like you two make a good team.”
I nodded, staring straight ahead. “Yeah. We do.”
But as the silence stretched between us, I could feel the weight of everything pressing down on me. This—sitting here, making small talk about my day job—this wasn’t the conversation we needed to be having. This was too safe. Too normal. Or, rather, it was reminding me that life after this case was closed would be as safe and normal as it ever was, before she came into my life.
And right now? That was the last thing I wanted.
Before I could stop myself, I reached over and plucked the crochet hook right out of her hand, holding it just out of her reach. Her startled gasp was almost comical, and she turned to me, her eyes wide with mock outrage.
“Excuse me!”
I didn’t give her time to grab it back. Instead, I leveled my gaze on her, my voice low and laced with more emotion than I expected. “Are we really not going to talk about what happened at dinner?”
Her smile faltered, and I watched as her expression shifted—confusion morphing into something more serious, more vulnerable. Dakota stared at me for a second, her eyes flicking between my face and the crochet hook still in my hand. I could see her trying to escape the conversation I was forcing, but I wasn’t about to let her get away with it.
“Talk about what, now?” she asked, trying to play dumb, her voice a little too casual.
I raised an eyebrow. “You know what.”
She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back in the passenger seat. “Tucker, c’mon. We’re on a stakeout. Can’t we just chitchat and have a good time? Talk about stuff that doesn’t matter?”
I shook my head, not ready to let this drop. “Meaning, you thinkthismatters.”
She sighed, her lips pressing into a thin line as she glanced out the window, avoiding my gaze. “I mean… even if it does, what’s the point, Tuck? We both know how this ends. You’re leavin’, and I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
I clenched my jaw, gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary as I turned my attention back toward the dark house in front of us. We were sitting in the middle of nowhere, in a quiet truck, on a stakeout. But the tension between us was louder than anything I’d heard in days.
“It still matters,” I muttered, my voice hushed but firm. “And we should still talk about it.”
