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“Garrett.” I quickly correct myself because she will read too much into me calling him by his first name. “I mean, Detective Whelan looked her up. When I saw her photo, I knew I’d seen her there before.”
“Garrett? You’re calling him by his first name already?”
See?
“Stay focused, Molls. I met my mom.”
“Shit. Sorry. I just want you to get laid so bad, girl. You deserve some of the D.”
“Gross,” I grumble. “You’re so-so—” I can’t think of the word today.
“Awesome? I’m so-so awesome?”
She makes me laugh. “I was trying to think of the word ‘crass,’ but yes, you are definitely awesome.” Rolling out of my twin bed, I place my feet onto the ground. My apartment feels chilly. That’s how fall is in Chicago thanks to Lake Michigan. It could be hot and sunny one moment and cool and damp the next. We’ve also got micro-climates. One neighborhood will be warm, and you turn the corner, and you need a winter coat.
But I’m getting off track. “Let me get dressed, and I’ll head your way.”
“Nah. I’ll drive your van over. You can take me to breakfast to pay me back for doing all the work last night.”
“Don’t you have homework?” Molly is back in school. She went off to college right after high school, but it wasn’t right for her. At least back then. Now that she’s a little older, she’s decided to try again. She’s majoring in economics for crying out loud. A good fit since Molly is hella smart. She’s been back about a month, and so far, she’s been very diligent about going to classes and completing her assignments.
“I’ve got time to go out for breakfast, especially if it’s on my bestie’s dime. I’ve got a paper to write, but I’ll do that this afternoon. I need sustenance.”
“Sounds fair.” And good. I want to tell Molly everything about last night. “Meet me at the shop.”
I’m renting a tiny storefront in the next neighborhood over. I’m talking teeny-tiny. There’s enough space for a desk in case I need to meet with clients there and a back room to house all my catering supplies. But the best part is it comes with one parking spot for my work van, right behind the building.
“An hour?” Molly asks.
“Perfect.”
After my shower, I’ve got my hair up in a wet, messy bun and I’ve donned my favorite Sunday comfy clothes when my phone rings. Glancing at the screen, I see a number I don’t recognize. “Hello?”
“Ms. Locket? It’s Detective Whelan.”
Why so formal?
“Good morning, Garrett.” I’m not sure why I didn’t counter with something equally formal. Maybe because that’s now how he feels to me. He doesn’t feel formal.
“Sleep well?”
I’ve got to think about it. “Fairly well. You?” Why does it suddenly feel intimate, you know, Garrett and I talking about how we slept?
“Fine.” There’s a moment’s pause. “What are you doing for breakfast?”
“I’m meeting Molly at my shop in thirty minutes to unload my catering gear, then we’re getting a bite.” Should I invite him?
“Where’s your shop?”
“Bridgeport.”
I hear a heavy sigh on the other end of the phone. “Better than McKinley Park, but still, Lucy. Jesus.”
“There’s nothing wrong with McKinley Park.”
“Mm-hm.”
“Why, where do you live?”
