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“Showed us pictures. You think you’ll find her?”
“What kind of question is that?” Alex sometimes assists on criminal investigations, but she’s a behavioral scientist and a professor at UCSB. “Have you got doubts?”
“I think Sage is an optimist.” My insides sink because what she’s implying is that she’s wrong to be optimistic right now. It’s something I’ve tried hard not to think too much about, but we’re grasping at straws. It’s why I’m glad Ryan’s sending men. When the tech nerds can’t find anything, it’s time for boots on the ground. And she’s been missing for over two weeks now. Statistics aren’t in our favor.
“She obviously adores her sister. I think she might even have some matchmaking in her.”
“What do you mean?”
“Seemed to think her sister was all that. And she’d be a good fit for you.” I don’t miss Alex’s teasing expression. Definitely teasing.
That’s the problem with these married couples. Every single person needs to be matched up pronto.
“Sloane’s not my type.” She’s never been my type. From what I remember, she doesn’t speak much. Or smile. Hardly ever looks you in the eye. Talk about a unique set of siblings.
“What is your type, Knox? I’ve been meaning to ask you. You know, I work with a lot of single grad students.”
Sage approaches with a wide, relaxed smile and glowing cheeks, partially hidden beneath the rim of the faded ball cap. She’s in shorts that hang low, leaving a stretch of smooth waistline beneath today’s tight-fitting tee, and beat up Converses without socks. The conversation drops, but I give Alex’s question consideration. If I had a type, it’d be casual, natural…and yeah, sweet. Kind. Real. Strong.
Trevor’s words play in my head. As always, the man is right. Sage Watson is over twenty-five. She’s a grown woman. There’s no reason to feel guilty for being attracted to her. Except that she’s got a heart of gold and deserves the best. And given I live on the opposite side of the country from her, and I don’t do difficult relationships, I’m not the guy she deserves. Not only that, I’m not looking for a relationship. And she’s definitely the relationship type.
CHAPTER 12
Sage
There’s a surfer off in the distance, straddling his board. The waves are rolling in with ease, so there’s nothing for him to surf. He’s wearing a tight black wet suit, which, given the chilly temperature of the Pacific, I expect is a surfer’s uniform in these parts.
The old school California beachfront restaurant opens onto the ocean and offers a walk-up counter to order. Old surfboards hang from the rafters inside, and slightly faded turquoise paint covers the building. There are some tables out front in the sand, but Knox’s friends secured a long table on the patio.
“I’ll take a golden ale. You want anything?” Knox asks.
I tear my gaze from the shoreline to the waitperson. He’s a young guy, with a sunburnt nose, cheeks, and flaming red ears. After a second of fumbling in my bag, I pull out a small container of sunscreen. “I’ll just have water. Thanks.” With a cautious smile, I pass him the travel-size sunscreen tube. “And here. Take this. Please.”
He doesn’t understand. “You’re burnt,” I say, and point at my nose, then my cheeks, then wave my hand all over my face. He’s burnt everywhere.
He’s slow to grab the tube from me, but he does eventually take it.
“I’ll take water, too,” Maria says. She smiles sheepishly as the orders go around the table. Maria, the kids, and I are the only ones who opt for non-alcoholic beverages. I don’t drink alcohol. Is she like me, or is she pregnant? The way Alex grins at her, I get the feeling I’m not the only one to have picked up on the possibility.
But then Alex turns her attention to me. As does Stella. And I blurt, “I don’t drink alcohol for medical reasons.”
Why do I do that? Make things awkward. If Jimmy were here, he’d say something funny. He’d guide the conversation. Have everyone laughing. I fiddle with the napkin on my lap, fully aware they must think I’m odd. They turned their attention on me because I’m new. They were being nice. Stella helped me get my prescriptions. No one was wondering if I’m pregnant. She probably assumed alcohol might interact with one of my medications.
“With all the calories in beer, I should stick with water.” Ryan pats his belly. The sun sparkles against the grays mixed in with his short, dark strands. Alex presses her lips to his shoulder and whispers something in his ear.
I look away, giving them their private moment. Alex might be the tallest woman I have ever met, but with her husband sitting beside her, clasping her hand, she looks, well, not petite, but delicate. Like a retired runway model next to a former professional athlete.
I’m sitting on the opposite end of the table from the kids. There’s a pole that supports the deck near the table, and that’s what I’ve got Millie’s leash looped around. The waitstaff brought out a dog bowl of water and Millie is stretched out beside the bowl, basking in the sun.
Knox is in a conversation with Trevor. One kid holds a phone out, asking something, and Alex pushes up from her chair and walks to the end of the table. Stella shifts her chair closer to me.
“I should have your medication on Monday.”
“Thank you. I can’t believe…it’s so expensive without insurance.”
“Happy to do it. Let me know if you need anything else.”
It’s the way her eyes look at me. It’s hard to describe. There’s curiosity there, but she doesn’t want to pry. She’s polite but curious. It’s one of many standard responses, but I’ve found people glaze over if the explanation gets long winded.
