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The coffee shop was a cozy little establishment just off North Main Street, surrounded by quaint little houses and with an evening crowd that wasn’t too much of an ear sore. We were sitting at a table by the large window looking out onto front garden that was decorated with enough gnomes and flamingos to make your mind spin, but the atmosphere was welcoming, and the soft rock music playing mixed with the aroma of fresh coffee splendidly.
“Nope, I’m serious,” Jenni said, laughing.
“Erotica?” I asked, shaking my head in disbelief. “I would never have imagined.”
“Why?” she asked, sipping at her coffee. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Agent Logan.”
“Apparently so,” I chuckled. “So why ghostwriting? Why not try publishing your own work.”
Jenni shrugged. “No idea, really,” she said. “Competition’s fierce, and getting a leg into the market’s hard. I got enough rejection letters to bind into an encyclopedia. Besides, it pays the bills.”
“But your ideas, you’re just giving them away.”
“Not really,” she explained. “Most of the time, they’re not my ideas. I get an outline to work with most of the time. So basically, I’m just filling in the spaces, if you think about it.”
“Wow,” I said, leaning back in my seat, and eyeing her. In the dim light of the coffee shop, she looked even more beautiful, and I found myself staring a little too hard. “Wow,” I repeated, not really knowing what else to say.
“I’ll send you a few things I’ve written,” she smiled. “Get your opinion and all.”
“I’m not much of a reader, to be honest, but sure, why not?”
She smiled wider and nodded, gazing out the window as we sat silently for a few minutes, just enjoying the coffee and each other’s company. I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt this comfortable, and it was strange. I found it funny that in Kent, of all places, I’d come across someone who didn’t make me want to immediately shoot myself in the head.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” I said. “Shoot.”
“Did you ever think of quitting?”
I frowned. “The DEA?”
She nodded.
I thought about her question for a few seconds, wondering just what I could say that wouldn’t make me sound too cliché. “Not really,” I finally answered. “I love the job. Small wins or not, I feel like I’m making a difference.” Yeah, not cliché at all.
“You’re not worried?” she asked.
“About what?”
“Well, you know?” She hesitated. “I mean, you were shot.”
I shrugged, trying to look like it wasn’t a big deal. “Part of the job.”
“Come on,” she scoffed.
“Okay, maybe that’s playing it down a bit,” I admitted. “Sure, it’s crossed my mind a few times. Especially since Kelly’s only got me and Samuel. I’d hate her to grow up without both parents.”
“But you wouldn’t quit for her?”
I frowned, wondering what she was getting at, and a part of me a little uncomfortable with where this conversation was going. I hated when people assumed that I didn’t care about my daughter, that I was being selfish, but I didn’t want to jump the gun and think Jenni was just going to attack me for this. She looked like she was genuinely concerned.
“If she asks me to, I probably will,” I replied. “So far she’s dealing with it as best as she can. She was my wall when I was bedridden after the accident. She’s a lot stronger than people give her credit for.”
“What exactly happened in this accident?” Jenni asked, leaning in and resting her chin on her hands.
I sighed and sat back, playing with the table spoon. “Long story.”
“I’m actually interested.”
