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“I’m not at liberty to speak on the mailbox,” I say.
Constance presses her lips together, holding on to a smile.
If I was racking up points for making her smile, I’d be winning.
I pull the car up the gravel driveway, illuminating the bungalow with my high beams. My mind is racing, grasping at anything to get her to stay in the car. Just a few minutes longer. I’m not ready for her to go yet. I know I could call her, I know I could make her meet up with me to discuss the case. But I’m too scared to lose this moment and lose what tonight was forever.
“For what it’s worth,” I say, putting the car in park. “If I were Fred Frederickson, you would have had me convinced.”
Constance lifts her blue eyes to mine. “Really?”
I’ve never heard her be unsure. At least not like that. Usually, people say things to her and she defines them as fact. “Really,” I say. “I learned a lot from you. If I wasn’t just the sheriff of a county, I’d snatch the Wilhelm House right out from Fred Frederickson’s nose.”
“You’re ridiculous,” she says. I know she means it kindly.
I tilt my head back against the headrest. “Seriously, Chaplin. It’s not over until it’s over. Take it from me. I’ve seen a lot of stuff in my life and sometimes you think it’s… that razor thing. And then it’s not.”
She snorts. “That razor thing?”
“Yeah, what was that thing you said? When we were looking at the skeleton?”
Her eyes squint together in thought until it dawns on her. “Occam’s Razor?”
I snap. “That. Occam. His razor.”
Constance laughs. Come on, you can’t tell me I’m not special for being able to get her to laugh.
“Often times, things are simple. Sure. And sometimes…” My gaze falls to her lips for a brief moment. “They’re just not.”
We stare at each other. And I mean stare. Neither of us afraid to turn away.
Constance leans in. Then I lean in. But not all the way. No, I’ll let her make a move if that’s what she really wants.
And she does. She lifts her hand to my cheek and… kisses me.
I melt into her touch, accidentally letting out a hum as my body uncoils with relief. Carefully as to preserve both our dignities, I slide my hand around her waist. Much better than her shoulder. Constance puts her other hand against my chest. I’m suddenly very embarrassed for how my heart is racing. She can feel it. She knows.
Knows how my heart beats for her.
Suddenly, she withdraws her mouth from mine. I go to follow, but Constance puts her hand up. My lips land against her fingers.
“This can’t happen again,” she says.
I’m not sure I heard her right. “Huh?”
“It’s a conflict of interest,” Constance reiterates as if it’s a simple fact.
An Occam’s Razor, if you will. I’m not sure I’m using that right.
“With the case going on and me assisting you, it just…” Constance unbuckles her seatbelt and sighs, “Well, it just doesn’t work. You understand that, right, McEvoy?”
I’ve been content with our silly game of nicknames until this very moment. I want to hearRoryslip out from between her berry-painted lips. “Yes, I understand that.”
Constance puts her hand to the door. “Thank you again for driving me, really. And for being there tonight.”
“You’re welcome,” I reply, hoping my voice doesn’t crack with disappointment.
Constance climbs out of my car.
