Page 22 of The Awful Truth

Winslow pulled him in for a quick kiss. “I think, deep down, we’re all a little desperate for approval.”

“Me, yes. But you couldn’t care less about what people think of you.”

“I care what you think.”

Miguel gave him a slow kiss this time. “Well, you’re in luck because I think you’re the sexiest man alive.”

“Except for Beckham.”

“Well, obviously,” Miguel answered, causing them both to laugh.

A minute later, they both climbed into bed, and Miguel scootched over to Winslow’s side, resting his arm on his chest. His eyelids closed and he felt his breathing grow steadier. Just as he drifted off, he told himself to remember this moment. He had a very bad feeling this might be one of the last times they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

AFTER THE INCIDENT

“You see, but you do not observe.” ~ Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

6:32 P.M. — WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 12

PETRA

Petra was woefully overdressed. Not only was the tiny restaurant a log cabin with plastic red and white checkered tablecloths (plastic?!), but Luka was wearing jeans, a white t-shirt, and a pair of Keds. She had managed to squeeze into her little black dress, pairing it with some dangly silver earrings and a matching necklace, and the four-inch heels that terrified her. She was going to have to walk very carefully over to Luka’s table to avoid the dreaded ankle buckle. She gripped her shiny silver clutch (was it all too matchy-matchy or did it look coordinated? She never could tell), then tried to imagine floating across the room.

It turned out that it didn’t matter if she crossed the restaurant like a sailboat on a quiet lake or if she resembled a first-day foal testing out her legs. Luka was too busy looking at his mobile phone to notice. She reached out and grabbed the back of the wooden chair to steady herself before she cleared her throat and said, “Good evening.”

Luka looked up, and his eyes grew wide in what she hoped was attraction, although it could’ve just as likely been shock that she was so dressed up or embarrassment because he was so under-dressed for their date. “You look really nice.”

“Thank you. You, too.” When he didn’t get up, she set her clutch on the table and pulled out her own chair. As soon as she sat down, Petra felt a sense of relief come over her, starting at her squished toes.

Luka flagged down the waitress, then had a sip of his beer from the bottle. “I got here a bit early, so I already ordered a drink. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, of course I don’t mind.” Petra did mind. He should have waited for her to arrive. She was only two minutes late, after all, and it felt like he was starting the date without her. No matter. When they were married, she’d let him know not to do that anymore.

The waitress hurried over. “What can I get you?”

“I’ll have what he’s having,” she said, hoping that a shared love of beer would help Luka see how perfect they were for each other. She had read an article about how men love a woman they can share a beer with because they see them as more fun in general. So, she would pretend to enjoy it when the truth was, Petra disliked beer immensely. Just not as much as living with her parents.

As soon as the waitress was gone, Luka leaned in. “So? Did you find anything out? I’ve been scouring the internet all afternoon, but there’s nothing about any deaths or anyone famous visiting Croatia this week.”

Secretly, she was glad he struck out. There were so few times when a girl like her could be a hero. “Whatever is going on, it’s hush hush. I managed to sneak into The Director’s office when he went for a smoke. He keeps this little notepad on his desk, and whatever he wrote down must be so secretive, he ripped the page out.”

Luka’s face fell, and she saw that little angry line between his eyebrows appear again. “So…you’ve got nothing?”

The waitress came back with her beer and asked if they were ready to order. Luka looked at Petra. “Do you want to go with the cevapi and fried potatoes?”

“You did say it was the best in the city, so I have to try it.” Turning to the waitress, she smiled. “See if he’s got good taste.”

The waitress paused for a second too long before answering, and Petra could read the word ‘no’ across her face. As in ‘no, he doesn’t have good taste if he’s out with you.’ “We’re the best, for sure.”

Petra would have to get used to brushing off those types of expressions. Or maybe not, because she was definitely going to lose at least thirty pounds after she moved in with Luka because she’d be too busy being happy to bother binge eating cake all evening. She might even get a nose job and get her chin fixed too. Then they’d come a lot closer to matching each other.

As soon as they were alone again, Luka started tapping his fingers on the table restlessly. “Back to the case. Did you find out anything?”

She stared at his impatient hand for a second. Huh, maybe he really was just using her. After all, he’d ordered his beer before she got there, he didn’t stand or pull out her chair, and now he was all business. Not only that, he was being a little rude about it. Maybe she should just say no and that she was sorry but she wasn’t going to be able to help him. In fact, they probably shouldn’t see each other again. It was a real risk to her career, after all. She could go to the ladies’ room and flush the piece of paper down the toilet and never know what was on it. Luka could find out about the dead body when the rest of the world did, and Petra would go back to her regular life.

But when she glanced at his face, those brilliant green eyes were staring back at her with such vulnerability, she couldn’t say no. “Well, I do have something. I mean, maybe it’s something. I thought it might be fun if we found out together.”

Opening her clutch, she pulled out the piece of paper and the pencil which she’d had to sharpen down by several centimeters to make it fit. The whole thing took far too long, since the only sharpener she could find in the kitchen was dull and her mother had scolded her for wasting. “Pencils don’t grow on trees, you know. They cost money.”