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Grady arched his brows. “Hopefully we’ll know soon.”
“You know more than you’re letting on, don’t you?”
He grinned, then turned serious. “I’ve told you everything I know. Do I have suspicions? Yeah. But let’s give it a couple of weeks and see how things shake out.”
“A couple of weeks?” I balked. “You want me to sit on this for a couple of weeks?”
“Investigations take time.”
I was already overdue on getting back to Max about the offer on the Chronicle. My four-week deadline had come and gone—I’d been here for five weeks now. Kerry’s ultimatum to return to San Diego or lose my job was still hanging out there too.
The wise thing to do was make a counteroffer to the potential buyers, as Max suggested, and get back to California while I still had a job there. That was the plan all along. The goal.
But things were more complicated now. Because of the story I badly wanted to break and because of the lumberjack look-alike eating his third taco across from me right now.
“I’ll give you a couple of weeks,” I told Grady. “But you’ll have to keep me happy in the meantime.”
His smile was fond. “How can I do that? Other than sex and tacos, I mean?”
“Sex and tacos are an excellent foundation. You should also tell me I’m pretty and apologize when you’re wrong.”
He scoffed, still grinning. “Pretty isn’t the right word for you. You’re stunning. And if I’m ever wrong, I’ll apologize.”
My heart raced as our gazes locked. This felt so good. San Diego was full of single men; it was so unfair that the only one I wanted lived in snowy, icy northern Minnesota.
“Can you stay here tonight?” I asked him.
My ex never stayed at my place. He argued that his place was better because my bed was too small, my apartment was too bright, and he could never get a good parking place, so we always stayed at his place. I held my breath as I waited for Grady to respond.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’d like that. As long as you don’t mind that I get up and go early. I have to work out and then I’m meeting up with a state police buddy to talk about this investigation.”
“I don’t mind.”
We finished dinner and went into the living room, where we sat beside each other on the couch and Grady took some papers from an envelope he’d brought, showing me the discrepancies in the budget.
“I never expected anything like this,” I said as I scanned the numbers.
“I owe you an apology,” he said, his expression somber.
“I was kidding about making me happy by apologizing,” I said lightly.
“No, really. I pushed back when you got to town and wanted to do things differently. I get it now. Why it’s good to have someone outside City Hall looking at things.”
“Even ongoing investigations?” I teased.
“No, not those. But city officials handing Pete the stuff we wanted printed in the paper…that clearly wasn’t working.”
I leaned my shoulder against his large upper arm. “Thanks for saying that. I spend about sixty-five percent of my days in the newsroom doubting myself, so I appreciate it.”
“Don’t doubt yourself. I believe in you.”
I lifted my head and set my chin on his shoulder. “Don’t you also believe in Bigfoot, though?”
“I was born and raised in the Beard. Sven and Bigfoot are just part of the territory.”
I turned on the TV and scrolled through all three channels Pete got from his antenna.
“Looks like an early bedtime,” Grady said.
“I’m not tired yet.”
“Me either.” He grinned. “That’s the point.”
“Ah.” I stood up, my body already warming at the thought of going to bed with him.
My nights in the Beard were numbered; I had to make the most of each one.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Grady
“Hey, hon!” my mom called as soon as I walked into their house. “How are you?”
She’d heard about me and Avon—I could tell by the way she was glowing. We’d made no effort to hide anything, and between our Christmas Eve kiss at The Hideout, her car in my driveway that night, and my truck parked in front of the Chronicle building a couple of nights ago, everyone knew.
“Good,” I said, my stomach growling from the smell of her chicken and dumplings. “It’s been quiet. Pretty lonely, actually.”
“Ryan Andrew Grady, I was in labor with you for seventeen hours. You tell me about you and Avon right now.”
I smiled, knowing she was dying for information. She hardly ever broke out her mom voice anymore.
“We’re seeing each other,” I said. “I like her.”
“Good for you,” Dad said, rolling his wheelchair from the living room into the kitchen.
“Are you making mashed potatoes, too?” I asked Mom.
“Of course I am, but back up. I’ve waited a decade for this. I want details.”
I should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy. My mom wanted Shea and me to both get married and have kids more than anything.
