She smiles, her fork hovering over her plate. “Okay, Heinz, let’s see how well you work a microwave.”
I laugh. The feeling is almost foreign. Sure, I laugh with my mom, or on the job. But Alex is drawing out a kind of laughter that feels new, but also familiar. Like laughing with a long-lost friend.
She takes her first bite, and as hungry as I am, I sit still, not even lifting my fork, waiting to see what she thinks.
“Mmmm.” She smiles. Then she closes her eyes. “Mmmm. That’s really good.”
“You like it?” I cut in and take a bite of my own.
“I love it. And I’ve had some really good lasagna in my life. I only lived twenty minutes from Bensonhurst.” My face must show my confusion because she adds, “It’s an Italian neighborhood in Brooklyn.”
“Do you miss it?” I ask. “New York?”
“So far it feels a lot like being on vacation. I do miss things. Noise. I miss noise. This town is quiet—especially at night. I think it’s too soon to tell if I’ll get homesick.”
“I can’t imagine living anywhere else,” I confess. “This is the only home I’ve known—well, not this house, but Bordeaux.”
She nods but doesn’t say anything, too intent on her lasagna to bother with conversation. A grin spreads across my face just watching her enjoy it. We eat in easy silence for a while. Then she stands and carries her plate to the sink. It’s all but licked clean.
The sharp crackle of my portable radio slices through the comfortable stillness. My fork jumps, clattering against the plate as I reach for the radio on my belt.
We don’t get much crime around Bordeaux—small town, middle of nowhere. Columbus is forty minutes away if the roads are clear and you don’t get stuck behind an Amish cart that’s out for a ride. Still, I can’t help hoping Jeanie’s about to send us investigating another harmless offense. I don’t want Alex thinking she joined a snooze-fest.
I really should’ve listened to my cousin Landon’s advice and tried that dating app. Because right now, I’m way too interested in making an impression on the woman rinsing dishes in my sink. The sight is so domestic, I fight the urge to rub a hollow spot in my chest. The sound of someone else’s hands under the faucet, the clink of dishes, and her light humming filling the otherwise silent room—these are the kinds of ordinary noises that make a house feel like home.
Alex and I both freeze, eyes locked on the radio in my hand.
“Hey, you two,” Jeanie’s chipper voice fills the kitchen. “The Whitakers are missing some lawn decorations—sounds like holiday shenanigans to me.”
I press the button, trying to maintain my professionalism for Alex’s sake, and reply. “Thanks, Jeanie.”
“You know it. I hope you kids got to eat your dinner before this.” So much for professionalism.
“We did,” I grin at Alex.
She’s quiet, smiling back at me, but her posture is stiffer than it was before the call—all business.
“We’ll head over to the Whitakers’ now,” I tell Jeanie.
“Okay. I’m switching to the county line now, Jesse.”
“Got it,” I say, clipping the radio back onto my belt.
Alex is attempting to hide her look of confusion, so I clarify for her. “After hours, all complaints or reports are filtered through the county line. That way our local people can go home for the night.” I pause. “Probably not the way it’s done in the Big Apple.”
“I’m sure not,” she says with a soft laugh. “But I never saw behind the scenes there.”
I forgot that about her. This is her first position on any force.
She’s more subdued on the drive to the Whitakers’. I think back to my early days as an officer. I took a lot of heat from the old-timers. Still do. But back then they really made a sport out of every blunder. All I wanted was their respect. I’ll admit I went a bit overboard at times. Still do, if my introduction to Alex is any indication. I shake my head privately, chiding myself for overreacting.
“You take the lead on this call,” I suggest.
Alex hesitates, then squares her shoulders. Confidence looks good on her.
“Really?” she asks.
“Yeah. You’ve got this.”
