Page 43 of Where I Should’ve Been

“Acquaintance,” I echo, leaning back in my chair with a grin I can’t quite fight off. “That’s a good word for us.”

She tilts her head. “I thought so. Very casual, you know? Like us.”

Her tone is light, but her eyes are pure challenge. There’s a heat there that doesn’t belong in a public coffee shop.

The air between us tightens. I can smell her perfume from across the table, and her leg shifts under it, the fabric of her jeans brushing just slightly against mine. It’s enough to make every rational thought in my head scatter like startled birds.

“Casual,” I murmur. “Sure.”

Before I can push it, before I can lean in and remind her just how casual the other night wasn’t, a familiar voice cuts clean through the tension.

“Morning, Beatrice. Morning, Hanson.”

I look up to find Sheriff Peeler standing at the edge of our table. His hat is in his hand, and he’s beaming like a man with zero awareness that he just stepped between two people on the verge of combusting.

“Sheriff,” Breezy greets in a crisp, polite voice.

“Sheep staying where they belong, Hanson?” he asks, grinning down at me with crossed arms.

“Always,” I lie and smile.

Peeler launches into a story about misplaced traffic cones out on Route 7. Breezy listens with picture-perfect grace, chin resting on her hand, lashes low, but I can see the pulse fluttering at her throat. She knows exactly what I’m thinking.

And I know she’s waiting for me to prove it.

While Peeler rambles, I slide my phone from my pocket beneath the table and type fast.

Me: All I can think about right now is how wet you got last time I had my mouth on you.

Her phone lights up. She doesn’t miss a beat with the sheriff, but the faintest pink creeps into her cheeks.

Breezy: Big words for a man pretending to care about traffic cones. Are you all talk, Hanson?

It takes everything in me not to laugh and not to drag her out of here right now. I text her back while Sheriff Peeler continues to ramble on.

Me: Woman, I’m all action. You already know that.

Her hand dips below the table, and I hear the faint tip-tap of her fingers on the screen.

Breezy: Maybe you should prove it to me. Tonight.

Heat licks low in my gut.

Me: You show up, and I’ll ruin that perfect composure of yours all over again.

She doesn’t so much as glance my way. Instead, she just blows gently across the rim of her mug, lips parted, eyes half lidded, as she responds to Peeler. “That’s fascinating, Sheriff. Truly. Red Bridge is lucky you got it all squared away.”

Peeler beams, satisfied with the proverbial pat on the back, and, eventually, tips his hat and ambles toward the door when Deputy Felix Rice waves at him through the big glass window of the coffee shop.

“Well, Ms. Bishop,” I say, standing to my feet, and my voice is rougher than I intend. “It’s always nice to see you. Hopefully I’ll see you around again soon?”

She looks up, perfectly composed but with that secret smile playing on her lips. “Maybe.”

Maybe, my ass.

I take my coffee, head for the door, and the second I step into the cold, my phone buzzes in my pocket.

Breezy: Don’t lock your door too early. I’ll be late.