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“Where to?” he asks, arm stretched out and hand lying over the steering wheel.
“Hank’s,” I answer firmly. “We’ve got work to do.”
He blinks first, shaking his head in confusion, but without a word, he puts the truck in reverse and makes the trip to the bar as if it’s a perfectly reasonable request to take me to work on the one day off I get. And, you know, our third date.
I have him park around back, not wanting Chief Gibson to interrupt again, and use my key to open the back door. “Come on. In here,” I direct him. Once he’s inside, I close and lock the door behind us, flipping on the light switch.
“I know I told you I wasn’t fucking you on the bar before, but I’m still not,” Bobby jokes.
At least I know I’m not the only one thinking sexy thoughts.
“That’s not why we’re here. And I’m still not having sex on the bar.” At this point, I absolutely would and he damn well knows it. I am wrapped around his little finger tighter than a spring waiting to be sprung, all this potential sexual energy bound up and begging to be released, and he’s the one with his finger on the trigger.
“Then what are we doing here?” he asks, looking around Ilene’s kitchen as though she might jump out from behind the stove and demand to know what the hell we’re doing in her domain. Actually, that might happen, so we’d best get out of here, especially since the kitchen’s not the issue.
“In here.” I walk through the bar and into Unc’s office, Bobby right behind me. I point at the stacks of papers—some on the desk, some on the floor, and some restacked on the booth where Bobby and I sat that first night. “These all need to be sorted and filed. The desk needs to be cleared and cleaned. And I need to bring up some inventory from the storage room.”
Bobby looks at me in confusion. “Why don’t you do this during one of your shifts?” I see a flash of fear on his face and he verbally retreats. “I mean, I’m happy to help with whatever Hank needs. Always am, but what’s up with the sneaking around?”
My brows lift. “Have you met Hank Davis? He would as soon wrestle a greased-up pig as admit he needs me to help him organize this stuff. But he’s not going to do it or he already would’ve. So I am. It’ll be one less thing for him to worry about.”
I look around the room, knowing this mess must weigh on Unc’s shoulders. He’s been carrying this business his whole life and done a really great job at it, but he can’t do that when his paperwork is in utter chaos.
“He’s gonna be pissed as hell. You know that, right?”
I shrug, using a phrase I’ve heard Unc say. “Then he can get glad in the same britches he got mad in. Once it’s done, he can bitch and moan all he wants, but it’ll still be done either way.”
Bobby’s smile is pure gleeful evil. “I like the way you think. Let’s do it.”
And with that, we get to work sorting out the piles of papers into organized stacks, then slotting them into the file cabinet in the corner. “I don’t think this cabinet’s been opened in at least two years,” I tell Bobby, holding up a file folder as I add the latest invoices into it.
“Hank’s been busy. He’s a one-man show, but I know he’s glad to have you here now.” There’s a hitch in his voice that tells me he’s not just talking about Unc.
It takes us a couple of hours, but with some music from the jukebox and some easy conversation, the work goes quickly. We get the paperwork done, the desk cleared, the office cleaned, and the inventory restocked and ready behind the bar.
“Looks good. What else?” Bobby asks, ready to keep working.
“Glad you asked. This next part isn’t as easy,” I say slyly.
“Are you shitting me?” Bobby asks, incredulous. He looks up and down the empty street as though we’re going to get busted any second.
“Nope. Completely serious,” I say. “Doc took Unc fishing today. Said they’d be gone till mid-afternoon, so we can get it done if we hurry.”
“Woman, you are something else.” He’s shaking his head, likely thinking I’ve lost my mind, but we get out of his truck and I walk to the back, where he’s already lowering the tailgate. “This is trespassing, you know? And probably some other misdemeanor charges if we’re lucky.”
“And if we’re not?” I joke, batting my lashes behind my glasses.
Bobby sighs, resigned. “We’ll be lucky if Hank doesn’t come out with a shotgun and pepper our asses.”
“Then we’d better hurry.”
He laughs, and I’m feeling pretty proud of myself. This is a bold move, but I think we can get away with it if we act fast.
