“I’ll have a six-pack in the fridge with your name on it. And obviously I’ll pay you real money, too. I owe you big.”
I part ways with Cat, a smile on my face. It’s nice to be around the people in Sunset Harbor who don’t hate me.
I mean, I don’t think Beau hates me either, but he doesn’t count. Because I don’t want him to count.
I swipedown on my email inbox to check for anything new, but aside from a few weekly emails I’m automatically copied on, nothing new comes through. It’s a bit surprising, honestly. I was worried I’d be responding to constant questions during my time here, but it looks like Meredith meant it when she said she’d try to make sure I wasn’t bothered more than absolutely necessary.
The doorbell rings, and my heart does a little flip. Out of pure surprise and nothing else.
I put a hand to the claw clip holding my hair back instead of the usual elastic. I try to keep things interesting, you know? Switch things up. Live life on the edge.
Not really. I pulled my hair so tight earlier as a form of self-flagellation for admiring Beau that my scalp started feeling bruised. So, claw it is. I specifically dressed not to impress, so I’m in some ratty old sweats of Mom’s and a very faded Pearl Jam tee.
I pull open the door, and Beau smiles back at me. He’s shed his uniform for a pair of pale blue shorts and a white tee. “Sorry I’m late,” he says as Xena comes charging into the yard and up to the porch. “What! How’d you get out? Come on, girl. Back home. Go.”
“No, no,” I say, crouching down to pet her. “She’s fine. Aren’t you, Xena?” I feel more at ease having her here. Then Beau and I won’t be alone. Technically. If I get some weird urge to stroke Beau’s bicep, I can channel it to Xena and pet her instead.
“You sure?” he asks. “I can send her packing. She does listen to me occasionally.”
I stand and move aside, and she bounds into the house like I just opened the doors to Walmart on Black Friday.
Beau stares after her incredulously. “By all means,” he calls, “make yourself at home.” He shakes his head and follows after her, looking around appreciatively as we head for the kitchen. “This is a great place.”
“Thanks,” I say, shutting the door behind us. But I’m not dumb—I know Beau’s house is a lot nicer. “Grams has taken good care of it, thank heaven. Makes my job a lot easier. Anyway, I realize it’s Saturday night, and you probably have a hot date, but weshouldbe able to get things done pretty quickly.”
Beau gives me a view of his amused profile as he heads tothe living room. Is that confirmation? Or is he laughing at my not-so-subtle way of fishing for information on Jane and him?
“Down, Xena,” he says. She obediently lies down in the corner, panting as she watches us. “You got a phone date with your boyfriend?” Something about the way his eyes twinkle as he says it tells me he doesn’t buy that I actually have a boyfriend, which is, quite frankly, very true and very offensive.
“As a matter of fact, yes,” I say, fully accepting my new habit of lying to cops as I take my position at one end of the loveseat. “We’re watching a show together.” Technically, he’sactingin the show, but potato-potahto. “You and Jane have romantic plans? Tour of the island sewage plant, maybe?”
“I try to save that for a fourth date,” he says as we both squat and lift. “But if you’re asking whether Jane and I are dating, the answer is no.”
“What? I…I didn’t…I don’t care?—”
“We went out a couple times,” he says, bulldozing my stuttering as we shift the couch to its new place, “but we agree we’re better as friends.”
I suppress a scoff. They agree? Right…that’s Breakup 101. Pretend it’s mutual. If only I knew which one of them was pretending.
“This good?” he asks, stepping back for a better view of the couch. “Looks pretty straight.”
“Yeah, that’s good,” I say.
“So, what’s your boyfriend’s name?”
“Why? So you can do a background check on him?”
“That would be misuse of department resources, GG,” he says with a chastising look. He rearranges the pillows on his end. “I’ll just stalk his social media.”
“He doesn’t have social media,” I say. It’s true. He lived in the 1700s.
“Convenient,” Beau mumbles.
“What was that?”
He looks up at me, face innocent as a newborn lamb. “Hm? I didn’t say anything.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “His name is Jamie, if you must know. Would you help me with the rug real quick?”
