They talked easily.
About Mercer. About the media circling the town like sharks that smell blood. About the absurdity of internet sleuths suddenly deciding they knew everything about Jackson County.
Between strategy and speculation, the conversation drifted into lighter places.
Reid told her about the first time he sat second chair on a murder trial and nearly knocked over counsel table when he stood up too fast.
“You?” she said, amused. “Mr. Calm and Collected?”
“Tripped over my own briefcase,” he admitted. “The jury pretended not to notice. They absolutely noticed.”
She laughed.
“I once called a judge ‘Your Honor, sir’ and then immediately apologized for saying ‘sir’ like I’d sworn in court.”
“Tell me it was federal court.”
“Oh, of course. I only humiliate myself on the biggest possible stage.”
Later their server set down a basket of bread.
They both reached for it at the same time.
His fingers brushed hers.
A small, accidental contact.
Eleanor felt it all the way to her chest.
She didn’t pull away. She simply took a piece of bread and told herself the rush of warmth was the wine.
Liar.
Later, when the plates were cleared and the patio had grown quiet, Reid leaned back and just looked at her for a moment.
Eleanor set her glass down.
“What?”
One corner of his mouth tipped up.
“So,” he said, “have you been thinking about me all week?”
Heat crept into her cheeks before she could stop it. She rolled her eyes.
“You really don’t need any help with your ego, do you?”
His low laugh slid across the table.
“Didn’t answer the question, Counselor.”
She took another sip of wine that absolutely wasn’t stalling.
“You look happy tonight,” he said.
She tilted her head.
“I am.”
