“I usually grab dinner at home—my house—when I’m alone on duty,” Jesse says as we pull away from the scene of the décor wars. “Or I hit up the diner. Do you have plans?”
“Are you asking me to dinner?” My words are intended as a tease, but sound slightly flirty once they’re out of my mouth. “I mean … I was thinking of Memaw’s cupcakes.”
“For dinner?” he asks, effectively skirting my question.
“I’ve been known to eat worse.”
“How about we grab a bite and then swing by for the cupcakes afterward—unless we get another call.”
“Sounds good.”
Jesse glances over, “You handled that well.”
“The call?”I ask lightly.Or your invitation to dinner?
“Yeah. I think they settled down faster just to impress you.”
“I didn’t do much.” I fight the urge to fidget under his praise. “Maybe I picked up a thing or two watching you in action.”
“You mean when I arrested you?”
“Mm hmm.”
He laughs easily, the sound filling the cab. “Do as I say, not as I do.”
“Noted, Officer Heinz. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Working with Jesse feels steadier than it should—even our banter feels seamless. His appreciation settles over the place Marco’s rejection left raw, like salve on an open wound. I’m not sure what that means for my future here in Bordeaux. I guess only time will tell.
Chapter 5
Jesse
I still get the jitters every time I start a new job!
I love it—makes you feel alive.
~ Camille Guaty
I’m blasting “Rockin’Around the Christmas Tree” through the cruiser; Alex is pretending not to smile, but I catch her out of the side of my eye. She’s interesting. Not like the women I’m used to around here.
The heater hums, filling the silence, and my accelerating pulse keeps time with the beat of the popular holiday song ringing around us. The closer we get to my house, the more I’m second-guessing my choice of location for dinner.
I pull into the driveway and Alex flashes me a confused look. “Where are we?”
“My place. I figured dinner here would be as good as any.” I pause, trying to read her reaction. “Actually, we can go to the diner.” I twist my key in the ignition, turning the car back on.
Alex reaches across, her fingers wrapping over my palm. “Here’s fine.” Her eyes meet mine. “Unless you prefer the diner?”
In lieu of a response, I twist the key, hop out, and walk around to open her door. She already has it open by the time I make my way over to her.
“You don’t have to open my door for me,” she says.
Her voice is brisk, but her eyes flick up, catching mine before she steps out. There’s a spark there—maybe amusement, maybe challenge—and it throws me a little off balance.
I nod. I hadn’t meant to demean her. I know women are capable of opening their own doors—obviously. So far from what I’ve seen, Alex seems capable of much more than most people.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Force of habit.” I stroll up my walkway and open my front door.
