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“Some,” he admitted grudgingly. So like a man, not to want to confess that a car wreck might’ve left him less than one hundred percent.
It was a flaw, but one she could live with. “Poor baby. How about a nice, hot soak in the tub?”
Oh, she liked that sigh. The one that came from deep inside, that revealed without a word that he was affected. “Only if you’ll soak with me.”
Jaclyn smiled and rose up on her toes to kiss him. “Sounds good to me.”
Eric just wanted a decent cup of coffee. Coffee that didn’t taste like chocolate, or hazelnut, or—he still could hardly believe it—crème brûlée. A fine dessert when served with coffee, but damned if he wanted that taste in his coffee. Still, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Turned out that god-awful swill from the first time had been a onetime thing.
It had been a couple of weeks since Taite Boyne had been arrested and had rolled on the senator. The case had fallen together perfectly, piece by piece. Of course, the resulting press had been epic. The paperwork had been epic. But things were settling down, and even his personal life seemed to be in order.
He was all but living with Jaclyn. At least, he had a toothbrush and a change of clothes at her place, and he was there more nights than not. She even had him watching HGTV, though to be fair they didn’t spend a lot of time in front of the television. Soon enough they’d make the living arrangements full time—he could see it coming, wanted it surprisingly badly. By fall, Christmas at the latest, they might as well get married. He’d let Jaclyn do all the planning.
The arrangement was almost perfect. He hadn’t yet worked up the nerve to confiscate her coffee and take command of her coffeepot; she kept thinking he would grow to love chocolate-flavored coffee in the morning, and he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. He loved her, more than a little. Eventually, though, they were going to have a come-to-Jesus talk about her coffee. Maybe his and hers coffeepots were in order. Surely she’d let him keep a can of Maxwell House in the cabinet.
But for now, he wondered if it was safe to stop somewhere and buy a cup of coffee. He hadn’t dared try it, but maybe that particular streak of bad luck was behind him. Still, he didn’t want to go to the Mickey D’s drive-through, and the gas station/convenience store was off-limits. Jaclyn had been bragging about Claire’s, and he thought he could kill two birds with one stone. Muffins for Jaclyn, a cup of decent coffee for himself, and brownie points for bringing her the muffins.
Naturally, a place like Claire’s didn’t have a drive-through, so he had to go inside. He glanced around, liking what he saw. Plants—either real or very good fakes. Little round tables and uncomfortable-looking chairs. Gentle, unobtrusive music played through hidden speakers. Best of all, middle-aged, nicely dressed people—mostly women—were sipping coffee and nibbling at muffins. Couples talked and ate. Women chatted. One woman sat alone and read a book, another was on her laptop. What could be safer? This was not the kind of place where he had to duck behind a stack of motor oil.
Eric ordered his coffee and a half dozen muffins. Different flavors, since he didn’t know exactly what Jaclyn’s favorite was. He fantasized about feeding them to her, one pinch at a time. The woman behind the counter was handing over his coffee—he didn’t even have the muffins yet—when the door chime signaled a new arrival. The cashier who’d just released his coffee cup turned white, and she stepped back so abruptly she crashed into the coffeemaker.
An angry voice split the silence. “You bitch! I knew I’d find you here!”
Eric glanced over his shoulder. Then he closed his eyes and dropped his head forward. “Oh, shit, not again!”
