“Laundry.” I shoot her a look. “Maybe clean my car.”
Her mouth curves. “Wow. Somebody stop him before he gets arrested forfun overload.”
“Some of us prefer peace and quiet.”
“Oh, c’mon, Grumpy.” She twists in her seat to face me. “Live a little. It’s Saturday. No badge, no paperwork,andno bedtime routine.”
“I live plenty,” I say, though I don’t even sound convinced.
“Hah! You’ve never lived until you’ve tried running gates whilst feeding the goats. Boots are optional, bravery is required.”
My brow furrows. “Running gates?”
She grins wider. “You sprint from one gate to the next to feed the animals, before Kevin catches you.”
“Kevin,” I repeat flatly. “Who’s Kevin?”
“A goat.”
“You name your goats?”
She grins over her shoulder. “Only the assholes.”
“Right, and you want me to”—I gesture vaguely—“run through paddocks with you?”
“Yep.” She pops the ‘p’ and faces forward like it’s already settled. “I need to feed the goats and could use some backup, Sergeant.”
“First off, I’m no sergeant,” I say, the correction slipping out automatically. “It’s Superintendent.” The title sits funny between us, like something too rigid for the space we’re in that smells faintly of her perfume and sun-warmed dust.
She hums, exaggerated and unimpressed, like she’s weighing it up and finding it lacking.
I should shut this down. I know I should. Every rational part of me is screaming not to entertain whatever this is. But she’s already rolling the window down, letting the wind catch her hair, and damn it, when was the last time something felt that light in my chest?
Her voice lilts with mock innocence. “Right, and secondly?”
I sigh, dragging a hand over my jaw. “I better not regret this, Trouble.”
That grin of hers turns wicked, all teeth and triumph. “Oh, you won’t. Promise.”
God help me, I steer the car in the direction she’s pointing, toward whatever chaos she’s got planned, and further away from the version of myself that’s always been safe. Always been predictable. Always been alone.
19
Sebastian
Dreams - Fleetwood Mac
“Alright, Superintendent,” she says, tossing me a mock salute. “Lesson one of running gates: speed is key. Hesitate, and Kevin will ruin your life.”
As if conjured by his name alone, a hulking brown goat with murder in his eyes and a stance like he’s ready to throw hands appears at the gate. Kevin.
“Right,” I murmur, eyeing him off. “Seems friendly.”
“Oh, he’s not.” Olivia jerks her chin toward the paddock like it’s nothing. “One time, he chased my brotherontothe hay bales and then climbed up after him like some deranged mountain goat. Mum had to bribe Kevin with a bucket of pellets just to get him down.”
Kevin’s pacing the fence line, snorting like a prize bull seconds before a rodeo. I blink. “You’re kidding.”
“Not one bit. Scared, Officer Daniels?”
