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“But it could just be from a litterbug,” I heard Lila say, a small frown on her face.
Tara’s face however, lit up like a searchlight. “That’s exactly right, and it’s more likely that it’s from a litterbug than a criminal, which is why we always have to think critically.”
“Critically?”
Tara nodded. “It means looking at the facts to form a decision rather than emotions. So you might want that piece of trash to be from the criminal, but if you look around and see more trash on the ground, it’s likely just litter. Not a clue.”
“Like if Brittany doesn’t like my shirt it’s ‘cause it’s ugly, not because she’s jealous of me since she likes all my other shirts?”
Tara beamed like a proud mama and I felt my gut clench. “Exactly. The fact is that she’s your friend and likes your sense of style, so maybe it’s just that particular shirt she doesn’t like.”
“Or when your dad is late, it’s not because he forgot about you, it’s because he was intrigued with his new imaginary friends.” Lila startled and Tara arched a brow at my interruption.
“Daddy, hi!” Lila flung herself at me with an energetic hug. “You never forget, you just have a time problem.”
Tara snickered at that proclamation and straightened herself to a standing position. “He does seem to have that, doesn’t he?”
“Not always,” I insisted.
“Just often,” she shot back with a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Lucky for you Lila is such good company.”
“Let me make it up to you.” The words were out of my mouth before I realized what I was saying. Before I reminded myself that we’d agreed to be friends.
Just friends.
Tara folded her arms over her chest, and luckily all the good parts were hidden by the oversized Pilgrim PD sweatshirt she wore.
“Yeah? How do you plan to do that?” There was a challenge in her eyes and her lips curled into an appealing grin that I couldn’t quite decipher. The writer in me wanted to believe she was flirting or throwing down a playful, sexy challenge.
The pragmatist in me knew better. Mostly. “Have dinner with me tonight.” When she glanced over her shoulder at Lila, I smiled because I had a ready answer. “She’s heading to a sleepover this evening, so what do you say?”
She sighed and I prepared myself for the rejection. “We talked about this, Chris. We don’t want the same things.”
“Maybe we do, maybe we don’t. But we are friends and we do have to eat. You still eat, don’t you?”
When her lips twitched, I knew I still had a chance. “You know damn well I do.”
“Then, what? Scared you won’t be able to control yourself around me? I have been told that I’m particularly irresistible.”
Heat flared in her eyes even as she scoffed at my words. “So scared. That I might end up smacking you, and someone we know will see and report me to Xander.” Her plump lips twitched again but this time the laughter escaped and echoed around the room.
“Kinky.”
Tara shook her head and made her way towards the door where Lila wrote in her wannabe policewoman’s notebook. “Fine, where do you want to meet for a friendly, platonic dinner? A friendly platonic Dutch dinner?”
There was no way in hell I’d let this woman, or any woman pay for my meal. Call me sexist if you want, but that’s just how it was. “The Mayflower.”
“Nope. It’ll set too many tongues wagging, and I have neither the time or energy for all that. Pick again.”
“My place.” Her eyes were as round with shock as mine, but as soon as the words were out, I knew it was the right idea. The perfect idea, actually. “Completely platonic, I swear.”
“Gonna show me your etchings?”
I shrugged. “They are pretty impressive, for the lucky woman who gets to see them.”
She laughed again and shook her head. “If you say so. Personally I’ve never been a fan of etchings. Too old school. Too predictable.”
I knew a challenge when I heard one, but telling Tara so would only have her reinforcing the guard she seemed to have up at all times. “Then you have nothing to worry about, unless you’re afraid of having a good time?”
“I’m afraid of nothing,” she practically growled at me, but her lips were curled into a playful smile. “Time?”
I blinked at her abrupt subject change. “Um, eight?”
“Um, okay? Eight-ish it is, then.”
“Fine Seven-thirty,” I told her with a lot more certainty and she smiled again. That smile, it felt like a gift that was just for me, and I couldn’t wait to see it again. “Don’t be late.”
Her laughter sounded behind me as I made my way over to Lila. “Afraid your etchings will fade?”
Now it was my turn to laugh. She was quick-witted, something I hadn’t had in so long that I’d forgotten how much I missed it. “Deathly.”
