The door opened.
Eleanor stood there barefoot in worn jeans and a silky cream-colored camisole, her hair loose in soft waves around her shoulders.
Reid’s brain took one look and kindly handed control over to the part of him that remembered her in his bed instead of a courtroom.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hey.” He held up the wine. “I brought a peace offering. Since you left my house Sunday after an entire weekend of bliss—if I do say so myself—and then walked into the sheriff’s office Monday morning looking at me like we were meeting for the very first time.”
Color shot into her cheeks. “Reid.”
“What?” He leaned one shoulder against the frame, relaxed, shameless. “That’s accurate. I’ve spent all week walking around like a sixteen-year-old schoolboy with a crush, and you’ve been out there perfecting the art of the polite nod.”
“I have not.”
“Eleanor, you tried to have a conversation with my tie instead of my face in Burke’s office.”
“I was surprised to see you there,” she said tightly. “There’s a difference.”
“Mm.” His mouth curved. “You know they all know, right?”
Her eyes flashed. “No. They don’t.”
“Oh, yes, they do. Maybe not the details. But anyone with half a brain in that bullpen can see something’s going on.”
“Because of you,” she snapped back. “You were the one hanging on to my hand like we were at prom.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “You offered it. I was being polite.”
“You were being smug.”
“And you,” he countered, “were blushing.”
“I was not.”
“Oh, you were.” A smug little smile tugged at his mouth. “They see the way you look at me.”
“Me?” she demanded. “They see the wayIlook atyou?”
“Oh, yeah,” he said, enjoying this far too much. “Can’t get enough of me.”
She stared at him, horrified and half a second from laughing. “Oh my gosh. Ego much?”
“Hey, you can’t blame me, Counselor.” The grin he gave her was pure trouble. “You’re the one who invited me over for dinner. I’m working with the facts as presented.”
She rolled her eyes hard enough to qualify as an athletic event. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” he said, holding the wine out again, “here I am. On your porch. Invited.”
Despite herself, her mouth twitched. “Are you coming in, or are you planning to flirt with my gaslights all night?”
“I like the gaslights,” he said easily, pushing off the frame. “Very you.” His gaze dipped, taking her in from bare toes to the slim straps of silk. “Also like the jeans. Don’t get me wrong, I deeply appreciate the skirts and heels in court—closing arguments are a spiritual experience—but casual Eleanor has her charms.”
Heat flared under her skin again, for a different reason.
“Get inside, Calloway,” she said, stepping back. “Before one of my neighbors decides to come out and eavesdrop.”
He brushed past her, close enough that she felt the heat of his body through the camisole, and let the door swing shut behind them. Jazz and the smell of whatever was on the stove wrapped around them.
