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“And you’re beautiful.” He reached out his hand. “Do you accept my terms?”
She reluctantly took his hand to shake it. “Yes.”
He cupped her small hand in his and brought it to his mouth to kiss her knuckles. Her flesh broke out in goose bumps again. Something he was getting fond of witnessing.
“That’s my favorite word you say to me,” he said.
“Well, don’t get used to it.” She snatched her hand away. “Now I have to get back to work and clean this mess up. So . . .” She made a “run along” motion with her fingers, and he rose to stand tall.
“Of course. Just point me in the direction of our home, and I’ll be on my way.”
“Our home?”
He nodded. “I’m staying with you, baby. Being married and all.”
“Will you stop saying that?” she said quietly, looking around.
“Well, you can either tell me where we live, or I can hang out here with you and loudly yell sweet nothings about how our wedding was—”
“Four fifty-three Glenda Avenue,” she said quickly.
He smiled. “I’ll see you at home.”
“Can’t wait,” she said sarcastically.
Grant walked out of the bar, feeling good for the first time in months. He had two weeks with his wife to convince her of forever.
He’d had worse deadlines.
Chapter Two
Hannah threw the door to the small Yachats Sheriff’s Department open harder than she’d meant to. Thankfully, she’d gotten the rest of her shift covered so she could be there before midnight. It was just past eight and dark, but the station was still open, because the single cell had someone in it.
Her dad.
The light was on in the lobby. Which was two square yards of blue linoleum with a single chair next to a small table with year-old magazines on it.
“Hey, Hannah,” Gabe said, getting up from his desk in the back. She could see the entire station from where she stood in the doorway. A small partition where Bette, the busty receptionist of sixty-five, sat during regular hours didn’t hide the three desks and open area behind it. Because that’s all it really took to run this small town. Nothing happened here. Except when the drunks in town didn’t know when to stay out of town.
“Sorry about my dad,” Hannah said. A line she’d uttered well over a million times over the past two decades. She adjusted her shoulders in her leather jacket. The squeak of the material sounded louder in the stillness of this office.
“Don’t worry about it. I just brought him in. Kept it off the books.”
“I appreciate that, Gabe.”
Gabe nodded, walking around the partition and coming to face her. He was in his usual uniform. Badge and name tag shining brightly. Gabe had always been the good boy next door. Even dated Hannah’s best friend back in high school. They’d been the quarterback and the homecoming queen, while Hannah was the weird Goth girl going through an angsty phase. Too bad no one had realized it wasn’t a phase. It was her life. At eleven, she’d been scared all the time with worry for her dad. At fourteen she’d been annoyed by getting her dad out of whatever drunken jam he’d found himself in. At sixteen she’d gotten angry at him for the same old crap he pulled every week. At eighteen she went through a self-blaming stage, thinking she had ruined his life somehow and that’s why he was the way he was. Finally, as a grown woman, she was just exhausted.
Twenty years of bailing her dad out.
Twenty years of disappointment.
And still . . . she showed up.
“Looks like I’m the real idiot,” she mumbled to herself.
Gabe frowned. “What?”
She shook her head and gave her best fake smile. “Nothing. Long day. Talking to myself again.”
