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She shakes her head. “I don’t think I miss it.”
“Really?” I ask, leaning on one of the file cabinets, all too aware of how my body is positioned, hoping more than I’d like that it’s appealing.
Constance’s lips twist to the side. Have I caught her being unsure? That’s unusual. “It was fun for the first few years. I mean, the pay was terrible and the hours were grueling, but I was doing exactly what I wanted. It was the adventure I had dreamed of.”
“And then…”
“And then it became too competitive. And lonely, gosh, it was lonely,” she says.
I smirk. “I can’t imagine you getting lonely.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks.
“I just mean that you seem like you’re a bit of a lone wolf. March to the beat of your own drum.”
Constance sighs. “I should have known you’d be one to mix metaphors.”
I let that one roll off my back. “You know, you seem good on your own. That’s all.”
“So do you, Sheriff.”
A silence falls over the dank room. I hold my breath as her eyes find mine, then fall away again.
“The only people I knew were other archaeologists and historians, people in the field. Which meant all my friends were my competition. And don’t get me started on boyfriends.”
“Your boyfriends?” I can’t believe I’m jealous of men I don’t even know.
Constance laughs, runs her hand through her hair, pushing her bangs out of her eyes. “I know I’m not everyone’s cup of tea, but?—”
“I didn’t say that, I just didn’t take you for the boyfriend type.”
She raises her eyebrows, lips pressed downward in concession. “To be fair, I haven’t been that type for a while.”
My heart flutters in my chest.Flutters. This isn’t good. Not at all.
“The guys I dated were in the field too, which meant we were always working together, which is, well, let’s say that’s bad for business and morale. We all did it, though. So it was messy.”
“I can’t imagine you messy.”
Constance grins. I swoon. “We all have our moments, don’t we?”
“Fair.”
“Messy is fine for your twenties, but then you’re thirty and you wake up and you’re getting ready to head on a three-month-long trip to the South American wilderness with your ex-boyfriend, who is now dating your so-called best friend, and the only other available man on the trip is the dig lead who happened to be your professor at university and while I don’t have anything against the man, I don’t have a taste for the seventy-and-above crowd, so…”
I laugh. “Oh no.”
“Anyway, it got complicated.” Constance leans on the box she’s been rooting through. “I’m not grateful my dad got sick. But I am glad something called me home. And perfectly timed too, because the museum curator wanted to move to Boca. Now here I am.”
I take her in. Darkness forming under her eyes from exhaustion, shoulders slumped. No sign of stopping, though. “Well, let me just say, Chaplin, I for one am very glad you’re here.”
Her expression softens, lips parting. “Oh, well. That’s nice of you to say.”
I give her a nod, then open up one of the file cabinet drawers to make myself at least look busy after being all too forward.
“I’m glad you’re here too, McEvoy.”
I don’t look up. Might kill me if I do. Or I might just push everything out of the way, wrap her up in my arms and?—
