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“We got it,” James says, and they lead Beckett down the hall.
* * *
Libby barely said a word on the way home. She kicks off her shoes just inside the door, hangs her blazer on the bedroom door, and squats down to give Spiegel a good rubdown.
I’d thought she looked good in a track suit, but her dress pants do something else entirely, especially in that position.
After putting Spiegel out in the back yard to run off her energy, we head for the couch, where Libby stretches out with her feet over my lap.
I slip my fingers up the leg of her pants to massage the smooth skin over her calf.
She gives me a lazy grin. “I could get used to this.”
I know she’s not proposing an every-day thing, but the comment paralyzes me for a moment, turning my skin frigid.
Libby’s shoulder falls, and she pulls herself upright, then straddles my lap so we’re eye-to-eye. “I wasn’t implying—”
“I know.” But deep down, I could get used to it, and that’s what startles me.
Lacing her fingers behind my neck, she holds me in place. “I know everything keeps coming at us, and it’s almost impossible to know which way we’re going, but you’re not here for tacos. Maybe you came here to unravel the mystery behind the attack, but I don’t think that’s the full story either.”
I pull up her shirt, so I can slide my hands up her back, pulling her hips forward. “You’re right, but I don’t want to ask you to wait around until I find the time to be with you.”
“Then don’t.” She tilts her head, but her brown eyes stay intently trained on me. Looking right inside of me, like she always seems to do. “I fully understand your commitments, between the job and Kenzie. I don’t need someone to take care of me, but you’ve given me this feeling deep inside my chest. A peace like…”
Dragging her tongue between her teeth, she drops her chin. “Like at the end of a long day, when all the pieces come together, and you kick off your shoes, and lounge on the couch with some fresh baked bread.”
I laugh so hard it takes my breath for a moment. “Everything is about food with you, isn’t it?”
She purses her lips, subtly tipping her head.
“Sorry, I forgot coffee and whiskey lemonade.”
“You figured out the Libby mystery.” She leans forward and presses her forehead to mine. “When I saw you standing in my doorway yesterday, it felt like the first time I could breathe since we parted ways. I’ve waited years for that feeling. And if you’re willing to put up with my blunt and ridiculous commentary, I’m all in to see where this goes.”
I lick my lips and run my fingers over the soft fabric of her blouse, pulling her forward until there’s no room for anything else between us. “You’ve given me more than I ever though I deserved, and sometimes I need your blunt commentary.”
Chapter Seventeen
Libby
At the beginning of February, I made the final decision to end our months of phone tag, video calls, and visits that came few and far between. I put in a four-week notice at work, packed up most of my things, and decided to rent out my house. I signed a rental contract with Ryan two weeks later. That contract meant there was no turning back.
Even if my own mother thinks I’m crazy. I can’t blame her. Even I wonder if I’m jumping in too fast.
I’ve spent my whole life trying to make reasonable choices and expecting everything else to fall into place if I focused on that. Since I was eighteen, I’ve been neck deep in justice studies and police work, hoping to find my place and make a difference, but nothing could give me the sense of belonging and peace that Riker gave me. There was a reason we met. A reason the universe decided I had to reckon with my feelings. So, for once, I’m letting emotion take the wheel.
I need this. I need to know if this feeling of peace I get with Riker is about more than rushed meetings and video calls.
Twelve hours ago, in the wee hours of the morning, I packed up what I could fit in my trunk, got Spiegel ready to travel, and began the long road trip from Ashville to Virginia Beach.
After more than twelve hours on the road with frequent rest breaks and walks with Spiegel, I exit I-64, drive another quarter mile, and pull into what I hope is Riker’s apartment complex, and park near the east entrance.
If this isn’t the right place, I’m just sleeping in the car.
A few spaces down, a dark-haired man climbs out of a purpleDodge Challenger and waves in my direction.
“We made it,” I say to Spiegel, who’s also more than ready to get out of the car. She paws at the window, wagging her tail.
