He wags his brows playfully and I laugh.
“How many times have you used that line on a girl?”
It’s meant to be a joke, but something in me twists a little thinking of Jesse pursuing other women in his past. It’s irrational. I had a serious boyfriend. We were engaged. Our plans to stay together long term seemed rock solid. Jesse’s never even mentioned having had a girlfriend.
“Only you, Officer Keller,” he says softly. “Alex. Only you.” His voice is low enough that I feel it more than I hear it.
The air is heavy again. A weighted blanket of expectations, hope and uncertainty. It’s obvious we have feelings for one another. I’m not blind. The way Jesse is looking at me right now says he feels it too.
Breadcrumbs. I practically hear Memaw’s voice encouraging me to be patient.
“I’ll bring dinner,” Jesse says, puncturing the silence. “And I’ll come by around four forty-five before the sun starts to dip. We need to be there before it’s dark.”
“I’ll see you tonight, then,” I say, pulling up in front of his house.
“Bring cookies,” he says with a wink. And then he hops out of my car and heads toward his home.
A groan leaves me as soon as his front door shuts behind him. I don’t know how much longer I can dance around my feelings for Jesse without being the one to push things further. And there’s nothing wrong with a woman making her move, but something in me longs for him to be the one.
So, for now, I’ll wait.
Chapter 13
Jesse
Everyone knows you never find love when you go looking for it.
You have to wait for it to find you.
~ Sarah Morgan, Miracle on 5th Avenue
I spentall morning trying to come up with an excuse to reach out to Alex. I could have just called her, but with the way we left things after work, I didn’t want to overstep. Then Duke texted about the yard decorations.
My heart races, and there’s this pull—low and tight—right beneath my ribs. We’re going on a stakeout. I’ve never done anything like this. But, if I’m honest, it’s not the thrill of actually solving the biggest crime in Bordeaux history that’s making me antsy. It’s Alex—spending a night alone with her in my car. If all goes well, I’ll ask her out.
If the look she gave me in the alleyway is any indication, she might say yes. I can only hope.
I pick up Italian to go, then I drive to Alex’s home. She’s standing on the porch, waiting when I arrive—probably as filled with anticipation as I am.
“Hey,” she says as she slides into the passenger seat. “Wow. It smells delicious in here. Don’t tell me you got chili dogs. I have my limits. Two in one week might be pushing it.”
“I got pasta.” I glance over at her. She’s beaming. “And salad.”
“Yum.”
“And … tiramisu.”
“Ohhhhh.” She practically moans. “There’s this place in Brooklyn—Osteria Nonnino—It’s family owned. Their tiramisu is to die for. I’ll have to take you sometime.”
She almost gasps. Then she starts to backpedal. “Sorry. I get too excited over food. Especially Italian food. And tiramisu is my favorite. It reminds me of home.”
“Nothing to be sorry for,” I tell her. “I hope I get to see Brooklyn one day—with you.”
It’s a bold statement, I know. But I’m feeling brave tonight. She makes me step outside my comfort zone. Wanting her is the sweetest ache. Seeing her again is like drinking a cool glass of water on the hottest day.
“Be prepared,” I tell her. “The tiramisu I got tonight is probably not anywhere near the caliber you’re used to eating.”
“Well, a bad tiramisu is better than none,” she says cheerily. Then she asks, “So, are you ready?”
