Page 58 of Finding Noah

She shrugged. “I dunno. Probably not too long.”

He nodded, keeping his expression soft, but when his eyes flickered toward mine, there was a hardness buried inside. A warning that didn't make a single bit of sense to me.

“I'm down the hall,” he said to both her and me.

“Okay, Dad,” Meg replied with a slight roll of her eyes.

She pulled the coffee cups from the tray and was turning to hand one to me through the bars when she realized Sergeant Kinney was still standing there, his arms crossed and his mouth twisted with question and concern. She looked up at him and said, “You can leave now.”

He blew out a heavy breath, his stern glare on me, then gave her a quick nod. “I'm right down the hall,” he said again.

“I heard you the first time.”

“Right. Okay.”

Then he turned and meandered back down the hallway, taking his time as he went.

She waited for him to disappear before turning and handing the coffee cup through the bars.

“I had no idea how you like to drink your coffee,” she said.

I sniffed a laugh as I accepted the cup gratefully. It might be the middle of July, but the RCPD was kept colder than the North Pole.

“I'm not picky,” I said before taking a sip.

It was sweet with only a hint of underlying bitterness from the coffee.

The flavors of caramel and vanilla exploded on my tongue, and I furrowed my brow as I swallowed the familiarity to say, “You got me a caramel macchiato?”

She cleared her throat and turned away to grab her coffee from the container. “I, um … I saw you order one at Black & Brewed once, so I figured …” She shrugged as she took a sip of hers in lieu of something else to do.

She remembered.

She lied … and she remembered.

I tried to think of when she would've seen me ordering at Kylie O'Leary's coffee shop on Main Street. I’d only started drinking coffee a year ago, maybe two. When had I been to Black & Brewed at the same time as Meg? I noticed her everywhere. I knew she was somewhere before I saw her—or so I thought.

She held up the pastry bag and said, “Croissants.”

“You didn't have to do that.”

“Well,” she said, balancing her coffee cup between her legs as she opened the bag, “I woke up late and skipped breakfast. So, I'm starving. If you don't want one, that's okay.”

She woke up late. Which meant she had gone to bed late. What had kept her up all night?

Envy left a sour taste in my mouth as I lowered the cup from my lips and held it tight between both hands.

“Yeah, sure, I'll have one,” I said, my voice gruff. “Thanks.”

I accepted the golden-brown pastry, knowing its crispy outer crust hid the soft, flaky perfection inside, despite the nauseating feeling swirling in my gut.

I guessed her date had gone well. I guessed they had made out, maybe gone back to her place … or his. Maybe he'd even stayed over, and now, as she sat with me, she still thought of his arms around her. Did she smell like him? Was he going about his day, smelling like her?

“Grow the hell up.”

I sniffed back the jealousy as I cracked the croissant in half, then took a bite.

“You don't like jelly or anything on yours?” Meg asked.