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“I hate that you’re this upset, Patty. I really do, but I don’t know if I can help with this.” I drag my eyes off Tucker and drop them to the counter.
“I don’t want to lose my grandbaby.”
“You’ll never lose Kingston, Patty. You’re always welcome at my place anytime you want to visit with him.”
“Thank you, Miranda. I just…” She lets out a long breath. “I just wish I knew what’s gotten into my son.”
“I don’t know,” I say softly, because I honestly don’t know what is going on in Bowie’s head right now. I’ve never known him to act so irrationally. Then again, I wonder if I even knew him at all.
“Maybe he’s going through a midlife crisis.” She laughs, but the sound is hollow.
“Maybe.” I watch a plate slide across the counter toward me piled high with a stack of crisp-looking fries and a burger that could grace the cover of a magazine. “Thank you.” I look up at Tucker, and he smiles at me—something he’s been doing a lot more often.
“Oh good grief. Listen to me complaining, and you’re busy,” Patty says, and I drag my eyes off Tucker as he walks to the fridge.
“I’m just getting ready to eat dinner. You’re fine.”
“No, I won’t take up any more of your time. Thank you for listening, and please kiss Kingston for me.”
“I will.”
“Bye, Miranda.”
“Bye.” I start to hang up, but call out, “Patty?”
“Yeah.”
“I love you, and I know—even if Bowie is being an idiot right now—he loves you too,” I say softly, and the phone goes quiet for a minute before I hear her take a shaky breath.
“I love you, honey.” She hangs up, and I set my phone down next to my plate, then look over at Tucker when he takes a seat next to me.
“You okay?” he asks gently, his gaze roaming over my face.
“Yeah.” I chew the inside of my cheek, then shake my head. “Or… I don’t know. Bowie told his mom she’s not allowed around when Naomie is there at the house, and then he told her she needs to work on her relationship with Naomie if she wants to be a part of Kingston’s life.”
“What does Naomie have to do with Kingston having a relationship with his grandmother?”
“I don’t know. Then again, I don’t know what is going on in Bowie’s head right now.”
“I hate to tell you this, baby, but that problem is not yours to take on.” He smooths my hair away from my face and tucks it behind my ear.
“I guess you’re right. I just…. I feel like I should talk to him.”
“And say what?”
“Why are you being such an idiot?” I shrug.
His lips curl up. “I’m not sure that’s gonna help.”
“Me neither, but maybe someone needs to say something to him before he looks around and wonders what happened to his life.”
“Sorry, baby, but that someone is not going to be you,” he says gently but firmly. “He’s not going to be open to anything you say to him, and it’s not your job to try to show him the light. He needs to figure out shit on his own.”
“You sound like Emma.” I sigh, then whisper, “I just feel bad for Patty. She and Bowie have always been really close.”
“Then they’ll work things out.”
“I guess you’re right.” I say quietly.
“Eat.” He orders, giving me a swift kiss. “The fries suck when they aren’t hot.”
Picking up a fry, I dip it into the barbecue-mayo concoction I watched him mix up, then pop it into my mouth and chew before I take a bite of my burger that he loaded with tomatoes, lettuce, and cheese, then slathered the same sauce on. Once more, I’m blown away. The fries are spicy, but the dip adds the perfect amount of sweetness, and the burger is so delicious I don’t think I will ever eat another regular hamburger as long as I live, because the vegetarian ones are obviously so much better.
As I swallow, I glance over at him, and he meets my gaze. “You know, if it wouldn’t be weird, I’d totally ask you to marry me right now,” I joke, but there is nothing funny about the look he gives me right before he leans in and kisses me breathless.
“I’ll take a rain check,” he whispers, pulling back, and I dig back into my food, hiding my smile.
As the two of us are finishing up, his cell phone rings, and he pulls it out, checking the screen. “I gotta take this, baby.” He wraps his hand around the side of my neck as he stands. Using his thumb, he tips my head back to kiss me before walking off, putting his phone to his ear as he answers with a clipped, “Beckett.”
I watch him as he walks toward his bedroom and then disappear through the door. I slide off my stool and grab both our plates, carrying both around to the sink. When he appears a few minutes later wearing a plaid flannel with a thick vest over it and his gun holstered to his hip, I bite my lip. Bowie is not a detective; he’s always been a patrol officer, so it wasn’t often he got called into work. But there were times over the years when something was going on and he’d suddenly appear wearing his uniform.
