"You two heading out?" she asked.
"It's late." Jack strolled across the room. He slapped his son's back, kissed Dove's cheek, and patted her belly. "See you all later."
"Bye, Pops," Trent said. "Drive safe."
"You do the same." Jack turned and followed Silas out the front door. As did a few other locals.
This had become Juniper's town. Her people. She wasn't quite sure when it happened, but this was home, and she didn't know what to do with that.
Sterling reached for her, tugging her closer, looping his arm around her waist, and she leaned into him. She wanted it to feelall wrong. To feel unnatural, like she didn't fit—or belong—with him.
But all she felt was warm and comfortable.
She rested her head on his shoulder, noting the only table left was occupied by Royce, his son, Graham, and Tamera. Wonderful. Just what she needed. She lifted her gaze. "I'm going to let the dishwasher go home as well as my last waitstaff. No reason to keep anyone with just one table left."
"I'll stick around until they leave."
"I'm counting on that," she said. She'd come to depend on Sterling for a lot of things and not in the context of what Bea and the rest of the FBI wanted. It wasn't a ruse. The pretense of possibly needing help with customers that could be a potential problem.
She genuinely wanted him around.
Sterling kissed her temple before she ducked into the small alcove that served as a communal area for the staff. "Hey guys. You can clock out. I've got it from here."
"Are you sure," the dishwasher asked. "I don't mind staying. Even off the clock."
"No. Go ahead. Sterling will stay if you're worried about me being alone."
Her staff were out the door in a flash. She couldn't blame them. Turning, she went back to the bar where she walked right into the middle of a discussion between Sterling and Dove.
"Enjoy it while it lasts," Dove said. "You've got ‘til morning and then it's all over for you. Baby's gonna get put in a corner."
"What on earth are you talking about?" Juniper rested her hand on Sterling's back as he was hunched over the bar, running her fingers up and down his spine.
"Buddy's home." Dove held up her cell. "Landed an hour ago. He'll be at the office by eight tomorrow morning, and Sterling here gets to go back to being the man who files things."
"Buddy's the guy who files," Cullen said. "After he breaks out that damn label maker of his. I swear, he gets off using it."
"Oh look, Buddy says he's bringing donuts." Sterling waved his index finger over Dove's phone. "That's nice."
"He's buying us off. Three days he left us with you and your color-coded charts." Cullen tipped his bottle at him. "And you, my friend, are done. No more whiteboard. No more standing up there going,let's do it the slow way."
"It's a good method." Sterling smiled.
"It's a war crime," Cullen said.
"You know, if you're picking on someone or something this hard, it means you like it." Eight months ago, these people had been a case file and a set of faces to learn. Now, Dove's due date sat in Juniper's head next to the liquor order.
"Like the name, Scutelet. You all secretly love the name and want us to choose it for the baby." Trent had one big hand spread flat on the curve of Dove's belly, where it had been most of the night.
"No. Not like that at all," Sterling said. "Talk about war crimes."
"Bloody hell." Trent snatched his hand back like Dove had burned him. He stared at his palm. "Okay, that was afoot.That was a whole entire foot. Do that again." He poked her belly.
"It's not a jukebox, Mallor. It doesn't take requests."
"That’s not a tadpole, either. It's got real freaking feet." He placed his hand on her belly. "Nor is it a Scutelet. It's aGrogu.We're growing a Grogu."
"A what now?" Juniper asked.
