"Good." I meant it more fiercely than the word suggested. "How is Hyacinth? Have you heard?"
"Stable. Baby's fine, they're keeping her overnight as a precaution, but the doctor said everything looks good."
“Is she going to be in trouble for anything?”
“No, definitely not. She’s the witness that corroborates everything Reginald did and she didn’t do anything intentionally.” He poured his coffee and leaned against the counter in the spot that had become his, too, ankles crossed, watching the rain streak the window over the sink. "Robert's with her. He was a wreck in the hallway.”
"I think this was a milestone in their relationship."
"You always find the silver lining in a felony."
"It's a gift." I refilled my own cup, mostly for something to do with my hands. “Or as Taylor would say, poppycock.”
"That the title for the podcast episode?"
"Maybe. Maggie's going to want three episodes minimum. She's already texted me eleven times today with subject lines like 'skunk detective vindicated' and 'we need to talk about the checkers thing.'"
"The checkers thing being Reginald playing against himself in your parlor?”
"The whole city's going to know about the checkers thing by morning, Hollis. I give it until Tuesday before somebody's selling t-shirts."
That got the ghost of a smile out of him, the real one, not the flat detective one he wore for witnesses and reporters. It had taken me the better part of a year to learn the difference between those two smiles, and I still felt a small, private satisfaction every time I got the real one out of him on purpose.
We stood there a minute, not talking, just listening to the rain hit the gutters and the low, contented hum of Teddy grooming himself on the kitchen chair. I thought about a man who loved old houses more than he loved the truth about them.
"You never told me how you knew," Hollis said, out of nowhere. "Not the timeline. The theory. Every step you took, you were already three ahead of where the evidence technically put you. I want to know how."
"Instinct," I said. "And dumb luck."
"Harper. It’s not dumb luck.”
I turned my mug in a slow circle on the counter, the way he'd been doing with his. "I just listen for what people actually need to say, instead of what they're saying."
Hollis was quiet for a moment, studying me over the rim of his mug in a way that made the back of my neck go warm.
"That's a real skill," he said finally. "I mean that. Not the smart-aleck version of a compliment I usually give you. A real one."
"Careful," I said. "I might start expecting these."
"Don't get used to it." But he was still looking at me. “I didn’t mean it that way. Not the way you took it. You’re not nothing. You are actually the opposite.”
For the first time in my entire life, I knew what people meant when they said they forgot to breathe.
"For what it's worth," he said, setting his mug down. "I've been telling myself for months that keeping this professional was the smart move. Neighbor. Sometimes-consultant. Occasional fake boyfriend when a suspect corners you at a coffee shop."
"Little pumpkin patch," I said, mostly to see him wince and because I was nervous as hell.
He didn’t wince.
"I stand by pumpkin patch." He took a step closer to me. "I'm done pretending the smart move is the one I actually want. When what I actually want is…you.”
Yep. Stopped breathing. I might have even blacked out.
“How so?” I asked, and my voice sounded ridiculous to my own ears. All flirty and full-bodied.
He closed the distance between us in a way that felt inevitable.
The kiss was unhurried, and a little rain-damp at the collar where he was still drying out. It lasted long enough for me to decide that this could be a very, very good thing.
