Page 39 of Sigh of Relief

“Where are we on recruitment?” Elton asked.

Aidan finished his bite and set down his fork. “Complete in my office. The others?”

Elton had been in charge of recruitment outside of the Bay Area, his EAD-related travel a convenient cover. “Ready to make the jump when we are,” Elton said, before asking Nic, “And the USAO?”

“We’re doing what we can to wrap our cases without getting mired in others. I want to be done before those depos because I can’t promise I won’t level that asshole.”

“If you do,” Aidan said, “I’ll give you a raise before you even start.”

They all laughed, then cheered as their pitcher hit a two-run homer over the right field wall into McCovey Cove.

When they settled back into their seats, Elton broached the subject he needed to get out in the open with his partners before they made these unofficial meetings official. “What are the rules here as far as our personal lives go?”

Nic stopped mid-lift of his fork and tilted forward, leaning around Aidan to look him in the eye. “Something you want to tell us, El?”

Aidan waggled his brows. “Does it have something to do with that sexy silver fox winemaker?”

Nic’s brows snapped together. “Is that why you pushed so hard to have my and Cam’s anniversary party up there?”

Aidan thunked his best friend’s side. “This is why your husband solves cases and you prosecute them.”

Nic shoved him back with a shoulder and a laughing “Fuck you.”

Elton couldn’t help but smile. The road ahead for the Talley Foundation would be hard—there was so much work to do, and the stakes had never been higher—but he would be traveling that road with good people, with friends.

And with Archer by his side was nonnegotiable.

“I’m planning to propose to him tomorrow,” he said, and before they could lift their jaws off the floor, added, “We’re also kinky. Is that going to be a problem?”

Aidan didn’t flinch. Instead, the Irishman’s smile grew impossibly wide, bordering on unhinged leprechaun. “The only problem is that you didn’t give me a heads-up. I would have gotten us some canned champagne from the bar.”

Nic nearly choked on a popcorn kernel, Aidan having to thunk him again, for real. “Do not ever let Mel hear you say that,” he said once he caught his breath. He shifted his gaze to Elton and lifted his nearly empty mini helmet. “This will have to do for now.” His smile was more reserved than Aidan’s but no less genuine, the shared joy and goodwill shining from his bright blue eyes. “To love.”

“To the future,” Aidan added, lifting his.

Heart full, the future feeling as bright as the sun overhead, a welcome change, Elton joined with his, tapping them all together. “To friends.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Elton opened his condo door to an assault on the senses—the good kind.

Aromas of stewed beef, rosemary, shallots, and Parmesan.

The funk rock baseline of his favorite Chili Peppers album.

His boyfriend behind the kitchen island, hips swaying to the music while working several pots and pans on the stove.

Elton dropped his bag in the foyer, beneath the framed photo of Archer’s vines, then headed toward the kitchen, raising his voice to be heard over the music. “You think you’re cute with this LA shit, don’t you?”

Archer shot a devastating grin over his shoulder and desire seared Elton’s soul, love tumbling through his veins. “You’re the one who had an original pressing of the vinyl on your wall of music.” He flicked his gaze past Elton, to the étagère full of records on the far living room wall. “How many are on there?”

“Stopped counting,” Elton said as he rounded the island. “And Stadium Arcadium is on that wall because the Chili Peppers are from California and it’s their best album.”

“Says you.”

“Says me.” He pressed his front to Archer’s back and wound his arms around his waist, careful of the hot stove. He didn’t expect Archer to be here, to be in his arms again before tomorrow. The early arrival was a pleasant surprise, another something great on a great day already. He nuzzled behind his ear, smelling vines and sunshine. “How’d you get in here?”

Archer cuddled back into his body while continuing to work a pan of shallots and a heavy-bottomed pot of what looked like polenta. “I think between the two of us, we know half a dozen lockpicks.”