Page 30 of Out Of A Fix

“Oh, man, if I knew your mother had a cast-iron pan, I wouldn’t have bought a new regular one.”

“She never used it because she got tired of cleaning it,” Griff told me.

“It’s easy. I’ll show you,” I promised.

“If you show me what to do,” Darwin began, “I’ll cook. Mom always said it was like science.”

I made a noise. “Not at all. Baking is like science. Cooking is more…experimental.”

“You should bake, then, Dar,” Griff suggested. “I’ll cook. You know I like to.”

He nodded. “Okay, I’ll bake. That’s a plan.” He leaned against me.

I noticed he did that a lot. Bumped into me and then didn’t move. I liked it and kept putting my arm around him and clutching him to me. Tatum slipped her hand into mine, like when we were leaving the diner or walking around the grocery store. She’d stayed by me, let my hand go when I was putting things into the cart, and then retook my hand when we started moving. Griff had driven the overflowing cart, but he too crowded into my space. They were all starved for physical touch, and as I was that way myself—demonstrative, possessive, and just a hugger—it worked well.

“What is that?” I gasped. Darwin had pulled a plastic bag out of the refrigerator filled with something in an alarming shade of green and white.

“I think they were tomatoes,” he said, lifting it to eye level to examine.

“That’s disgusting,” I declared. “That needs to be killed with fire.”

“I’m on it!” Tatum announced, and we all laughed.

Weston Kinney, and his associate, Emily Diaz, were both great with Griff and charmed by Darwin and Tatum, who delivered them bottled water and sliced apples with peanut butter.

“I haven’t had this in years,” Emily said, smiling at them. “Thank you so much.”

“This is yummy,” Weston assured them, then addressed me. “Your kids are great.”

“Thank you, but they’re not mine.”

“Oh no?” he asked innocently, and I smiled. “Tell me what precisely a fixer is, Mr. Miller. I might be in the market for one.”

I chuckled. “Call me Nash.”

“Please call me Weston.”

Emily rolled her eyes.

“Thank you, Weston.”

“Of course, Nash.”

I knew flirting when I saw it, though it hardly ever happened. And he was maybe mid-thirties, much too young for me. But I was very flattered. I had changed when I got home—didn’t want to meet the lawyers and the detectives in a blood-smeared shirt—and the henley I grabbed was one I normally only wore around the house. It was a little too tight, and that was probably what had sparked the pretty man’s interest. Usually, slick young lawyers didn’t look twice at me.

But whatever carnal thoughts were in his head went right out the window as soon as the detectives showed up. He was all business, and I really appreciated that. There were interruptions, questions where he asked the detectives, Marum and Heald, to clarify a point, while Emily recorded the interview and took notes. The two detectives, for their part, were extremely professional and seemed genuinely concerned about Griff. Weston commented on that, pleasantly surprised, and Marum and Heald said Griff was their chief priority. They also reiterated what their boss had told me, which was that there would be uniformed patrol officers rolling by in the next week. The house was on their rounds until it was determined who would be taking over from Wilson.

“So it’s certain Chief Wilson will be removed?” Weston asked Marum, the senior of the two.

He scoffed loudly. “Oh yeah.”

On Weston’s way out, he gave me his card. “That’s my cell number.” His gaze locked with mine. “Please call with any questions.”

“I will, thank you so much.”

“Or call without any questions.”

I smiled. He was a very handsome man, and I needed to stop worrying about age. My boss had married a much younger man who, I knew, would never leave him. I had to start taking more things on faith.