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“I heard you had a girlfriend who passed away.”
“Yeah. That was a long time ago.”
I reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks.”
He seemed unable to look up at me. We sat in silence until our server brought the guac, and then Grady cleared his throat, ending the discussion.
“This is the best guac I’ve ever had,” he said. “You have to try it.”
I dipped a chip in, moaning when I tasted the sweet, spicy guacamole.
“That’s amazing,” I said. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Just remember if you come back here that the bartenders have heavy pours. A couple of margaritas from this place would knock you on your ass.”
“Noted.”
He cleared his throat, looking a little nervous as he said, “I have a proposal for you.”
“You want to marry me already?” I cracked. “I think that’s the guac talking.”
Grady narrowed his eyes slightly. “I was thinking maybe we could stop bickering over stupid shit and be friends.”
He wanted to be friends with me? I liked that idea better than being enemies, but I had to resist the urge to make another joke about whether there were benefits involved. Because would it really be a joke?
“I’d like us to be friends,” I said. “And sometimes friends do bicker over stupid shit, but they’re still friends.”
“True. And it’s near impossible not to bicker with you.” He grinned.
My heart pounded as he held my gaze. There was just something about him. He was poking fun at me, but it was almost in a sweet way. Like he wanted to make me smile.
And he did. As he put away nine tacos and I put away five, I smiled and laughed more than I had in a while. We talked about him playing high school football, me jumping into an icy lake for the first time and our shared struggle with not working on Svensdays.
By the time we had to leave the restaurant an hour and a half after arriving so Grady could get to a meeting on time, I was almost willing to carry my own bag through the restaurant and back to his SUV.
Almost, but not quite.
There was a twinkle in his eye as he picked up my bag and put the strap over his shoulder, and I enjoyed the hell out of it.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Grady
“Aw, come on, Chief.” Chris Vance gave me a sheepish look. “I saved you some money by not making you pay me overtime.”
Officer Vance was at the top of the state’s attorney’s shit list, and he was close to being at the top of mine. He was one of those guys who liked to wear a badge and uniform but didn’t like keeping up with the requirements of the job. Which was why he was sitting across from me in my office for the second time in six weeks.
“We just had this conversation six weeks ago,” I reminded him. “And I reminded you then that DUI reports must be completed before the end of your shift, even if you have to stay late to get them done.”
“I know, but that was a crazy night. We had that fight at The Hideout and I had to stay a couple of hours late just to get all that booking paperwork done.”
“Doesn’t change the rules about DUI paperwork,” I said. “I gave you a warning last time; this time it’s a three-day unpaid suspension.”
“What the hell?” he yelled.
“Watch your tone and language,” I warned.
“It doesn’t make any difference if I finish it at the start of my next shift,” he said.
He was hardheaded and I didn’t expect him to still be employed here in a year, but for now, I had to coach him as though there was hope.
“As I told you before,” I said, an edge in my tone, “if, for some reason, you missed your next shift, that would create a big problem. The state’s attorney wants our reports on her desk by 9:00 nine a.m. the next day.”
“This is bullshit,” he muttered.
“Would you prefer a weeklong suspension?”
He glared at me but remained silent.
“I’ll take your badge and gun. This suspension is effective immediately. You’ll also have to undergo an hour of training on our DUI procedures with Lt. Sommersby before you can return to work.”
“I’m appealing this,” he said as he unfastened his badge from his uniform.
That was a waste of his time and Coulter’s since Coulter was the police union president and he’d have to do the paperwork. This was actually a light reprimand, considering the potential consequences of his laziness.
“You’ll need to sign here,” I said, sliding him a paper as he passed me his gun and badge. “And I encourage you to read the part about what you are and aren’t allowed to do while out on suspension.”
He signed the paperwork, angrily swiped his copy from my desk and left my office. I checked my schedule and saw that I had seven minutes until my next meeting.
