"Patricia isn’t a bad person, just not cut out for the daily grind of parenting. The kids see her one weekend a month, and it works."
"That must have been an adjustment."
"Best thing that ever happened to me," Terry said honestly. "Emma and Toby are my world. Everything else is just details."
Sandra's expression grew thoughtful, and Terry found himself holding his breath, waiting for her reaction to the reality of his life.
"You light up when you talk about them. It's beautiful to see. My parents were always kind, but I’m not sure they lit up when someone asked about me.”
Terry felt something loosen in his chest, a tension he hadn't realized he'd been carrying. "My kids are pretty incredible."
The conversation continued as Terry found himself reluctant to end their time together. When the server brought his to-go bag of chicken strips and fries along with the check, he felt genuine disappointment. He looked across the table at the woman who'd just made an ordinary day feel extraordinary. "Sandra?"
"Yeah?"
"I had a really good time today."
Her smile was radiant. "Me too."
As they walked to their cars in the early evening, Terry felt hope blooming in his chest. The Johnson case had brought them together professionally, but what was developing between them was personal and entirely worth pursuing.
For the first time since his divorce, Terry allowed himself to believe that maybe he could have it all… a career he loved, the children who were his world, and a woman who might just understand that loving him meant accepting the beautiful chaos that came with his life.
4
Sandra drove away from Finn's Pub with her heart still racing from the dinner she'd spent with Terry. The way he'd seamlessly shifted from discussing drug busts to patiently talking to Emma had done something to her insides that she was still trying to process. She'd dated successful men before but had never witnessed that combination of strength and tenderness in one person.
And God, the man was beautiful in a way that made her forget how to breathe properly.
During their conversation, she'd found herself cataloging details she had no business noticing during what was technically a professional celebration. The way his forearms looked when he rolled up his sleeves, all corded muscle and scattered scars that spoke of a life lived outside conference rooms. How his dark hair fell across his forehead when he leaned forward, making her want to brush it back with her fingers. The small silver earring that caught the light when he turned his head, adding an edge of rebelliousness that shouldn't have been as attractive as it was.
But it was his mouth that had her completely distracted. When Terry smiled… not the polite professional expression but the genuine one that reached his eyes, Sandra found herselfwondering what it would feel like to kiss him. Would he be gentle? Demanding? Some combination of both that would leave her breathless and wanting more?
Get it together, O'Neill, she chided herself as she pulled into her driveway. You're a grown woman, not a teenager with a crush.
Except she felt giddy and nervous and completely out of her depth with wanting someone she was still getting to know.
Three days later, Sandra found herself reaching for her phone during lunch break, Terry's number already highlighted on her screen. They'd been texting sporadically since their celebration dinner. Nothing too forward but enough to keep the connection alive. Professional updates that somehow always included personal details, and questions about cases that led to conversations about everything else.
She hit call before she could talk herself out of it.
"Hey, Sandra," Terry answered, and she could hear the smile in his voice when he recognized her number.
"I was wondering if you wanted to grab lunch today? I know it's short notice?—"
"I'd love to." Terry interrupted. "Bess’s?"
Sandra glanced at her watch, then let out a deep breath. "Actually, I need to run home first to grab some files I forgot. Would you mind meeting me there instead? It’s only about fifteen minutes from the sheriff’s station. I can make ham and turkey sandwiches, and it'll be quieter than the coffee shop."
There was a pause, and Sandra winced, immediately second-guessing herself. Inviting him to her house felt like a bigger step than neutral territory, somehow more intimate.
"Are you sure?" Terry's voice was careful. "I don't want to impose?—"
"You're not imposing. I'm the one asking." Sandra gave him her address, then added, "Fair warning… my house is small. Likereally small. And I only have chips and apple slices for sides. Um, and only water or tea to drink."
"Sounds perfect." The warmth in Terry’s voice made her stomach flutter. "Text me your address.”
Sandra spent the drive home mentally cataloging the state of her house. Thankfully clean, but definitely lived-in. Books stacked on every surface, a coffee mug she'd forgotten to wash that morning, the throw blanket on her couch that she'd been wrapped in while reading the night before. It was thoroughly her space in a way that felt suddenly vulnerable.
