“Right. Except that.” I winked and shot him a smile that he didn’t reciprocate.
Reid was inside now, standing on my crocheted doormat, scanning my apartment with a slow, deliberate sweep of his head.
“This is the place,” I said, when he remained silent.
“This is…wow,” was all he said.
I grabbed a sweatshirt that I had abandoned on my yellowy-orangey velvet sofa earlier and pulled it on. “Too eclectic for you?” I guessed.
“It’s very…you.”
I chose to take that as a compliment, even though Reid didn’t know me all that well—and even though it probably wasn’t a compliment. What did he know about me, aside from the fact that my life was a mess? That didn’t exactly scream “great interior design taste.” But whatever. He was right. This placewasme.
Reid couldn’t take his eyes off the massive grandfather clock that separated my kitchen and living room. Technically, it was placed in the middle of what should be an open floorplan, but I liked it there.
“This has no hands,” he pointed out.
I shrugged. “It came that way.”
He balked. “But…it’s a clock…with no hands. What purpose does it serve?”
“Um, it looks cool?” I offered. “And who uses a clock to tell time anyway?”
His eyebrows shot up. “Plenty of people.”
I waved him off. “I inherited a lot of stuff when my grandma moved into assisted living,” I explained.
“I can see that.” His attention was now trained on a large antique mirror propped up next to the fireplace. I tried to take in the place from his perspective. Knickknacks invaded every inch, taking over any empty space like they’d won a battle. But I liked it that way. It was cozy. Most of all, it reminded me of her and the house I’d grown up in. Maybe some people rejected memories when they lost loved ones, got rid of things instead of hanging onto them because thinking about what was lost was too painful. Not me. The present was what was painful. These reminded me of when times were better. Not necessarily simpler—we’d always been struggling with money, or something or other—but more…full. Gran really knew how to fill up a life.
“You ready?” I asked, once I pulled the sweatshirt over my head. “I’m eighty-two percent sure the office is only occupied until noon.”
He took one look at me and said, “Coat.”
My eyes rolled to the ceiling, but I walked over and pulled open my front closet, grabbing my puffy blue jacket with one hand and holding the rest of the over-stuffed contents in oneplace with my other. I pulled hard and the puffer jacket broke free from the cluster.
I slipped it on. “Happy?”
“Thrilled,” he deadpanned. “Now, what’s the plan? Do you know who works in there?” Reid followed me out of my apartment and into the courtyard—after insisting I lock up, of course.
“I think it rotates, but it’s usually this older guy. I’ve had to pick up a package or two from there before.” When we reached the entrance to the small office, I stood on my tiptoes to peer into the window. Reid stole a glance too, before taking me by the arm and pulling me a step away.
“Okay, gameplan.” He rubbed his hands together. My brain couldn’t help but pause on how adorably into-this he looked. “I’m thinking we lead with the fact that your cat was stolen by a nonresident. Tell them that we’ve filed a police report and everything. They don’t need to know that the police have been zero help. Hopefully, if they think we’ve got law enforcement involved, they’ll give us the footage without asking any follow-up questions or waiting for a formal request.” There was a distinct twinkle in his eye. For someone who had resisted the stakeout so hard, he was absolutely eating this up.
“You love this,” I said, biting back a smile.
Reid’s lips parted before he cleared his throat. “What? Uh, no. I don’t know. I guess. I’m used to doing this kind of thing from behind an e-mail address.”
“Not as thrilling?” I asked.
“I mean, my heartisracing a little.”
“As much as the other morning?”
His jaw tensed. “No more stakeouts, Hazel. This is just a simple request, nothing fancy. If we act like it’s no big deal and we’re expecting him to hand the footage over with zero argument, maybe he’ll comply.”
“So, nonchalant. Got it.”
“Can you do nonchalant?” he asked, eyebrows raised.
