Eloise sweeps in first, arms wrapping around him in a proud, practiced hug. “My Sergeant,” she says, voice thick with emotion.
Colter’s next, offering a firm handshake. “Proud of you, son,” he manages, gruff but sincere.
And Zoey, ever the little sister, punches his shoulder lightly. “Congrats, loser.”
Patrick grins. “Thanks, kid.”
I’m nudged lightly from behind, and before I can turn, Patrick’s already glaring over my shoulder at whoever it was. His hand finds my waist, pulling me in closer.
Eloise watches us with a knowing smile,while Colter clears his throat. “I think that’s enough handshaking for one day. How about we head to the restaurant?”
Patrick glances at his dad, then back at me. “I’m gonna stop by O’Reilly’s for a celebratory drink with the guys. How about Lore and I meet you there?”
Zoey perks up immediately, eyes sparkling. “How about that, Milo? Want to ride with Auntie Zoey in hernewcar?”
Milo releases Patrick’s pin and turns, eyes wide with delight. “Can we get ice cream on the way?”
“Milo, we’re going to a rest-” Patrick starts, but Zoey cuts him off with a grin. “Of coursewe can.”
Before Patrick can protest, she’s already lifting Milo out of his arms, smug satisfaction written all over her face.
“Zoey,” Patrick warns, but she just winks, shifting Milo onto her hip. “Relax, Sarge. I’ll see you there.”
We both watch as she heads toward the exit, Milo chattering nonstop about sprinkles and waffle cones. Eloise and Colter follow a moment later, Eloise leaning in for one more hug, Colter giving Patrick’s shoulder a firm, approving squeeze.
When they’re gone, I turn to Patrick, smoothing my hand over the front of his shirt, adjusting the new silver pin on his chest. “How do you feel?” I ask once we’re alone.
Patrick’s lips lift in a small, heart stopping smirk. He steps closer, closing the space between us until our chests brush. To anyone watching, it might look like he’s just shifting in a crowded room, but I feel the truth of it in the light pressure of his fingers tracing the curve of my spine.
A shiver runs through me. “Excited?” I manage.
He leans in, voice low. “Very.”
The word hums against my skin, his breath warm against my mouth. Then he kisses me, softly, a barely-there whisper of lips against lips. My hands curl around his belt, the rough leather of his uniform brushing against my palms.
I pull back with a groan. “Do we have to go to O’Reilly’s?”
He grins, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “You’re just mad you can’t drink.”
I open my mouth, ready to defend myself, then close it again. “It’s unfair,” I mutter. “I get fat, can’t drink what I want, can’t eat what I want, and you-” I give his waist a squeeze, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt, “you look like this.”
Patrick laughs, the sound rumbling against my palms.
He’s what I’d describe asbutch,the kind of build that makes his uniform look like it was made for him. He’s strong and big and…
I swallow and fan myself with one hand. “Damn hormones.”
Patrick
The drive to O’Reilly’s passes in a blur, mostly thanks to Kowalski’s nonstop chatter from the back seat.
We never should’ve agreed to give him a ride.
He’s going on about some case he’s working, a missing phone, a trail that somehow led him to the bottom of an elevator shaft. Riveting stuff.
“I just had a sense, you know?” he says for the fourth time, waving his hands like that somehow makes it sound smarter.
From the passenger seat, Lorelie’s head tilts just slightly, and I canfeelher eye roll without even looking. I glance over anyway. She catches my expression and smirks, the corner of her mouth twitching like she knows exactly what I’m thinking.
