“Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
“Please, call me Millie. Are you a police officer too?”
I look at the two men I’m seated with, but they both have their noses in the menu.
“No, I’m in finance.”
“Ah, a numbers man.”
“Not by choice, but…” I trail off.
“I think that you’ll find just the right thing for you very soon.” What the hell? Is she some kind of fortune teller? “Now I’m going back to the kitchen, but I’ll get you some cookies before you go.”
“Thanks, Millie,” Bailey and Jordan both say.
“So, what’s good?”
“Everything,” Bailey answers. “I’m going for the steak and eggs over hash browns.”
“I’m ordering the pancakes?—”
“And you were giving us shit!” I gasp, and Bailey seconds my outrage.
“You didn’t let me finish.” Jordan pauses, and we wait.
“Well?” Bailey asks.
“I’m finished.”
Bailey swats his arm with a menu. “You brat.”
“Fine, I’ll get some bacon too. What about you Whit?”
“I’m thinking pasta.”
“Yum,” Jordan says, but Bailey rubs his arm. He almost looks shy.
“Could it not be the shrimp pasta? I’m allergic.” He holds his breath like I’m going to be a dick about it.
“Of course! I’d never want to risk you having a reaction.”
The sigh he lets out is pure relief.
“He’s more worried about the reaction his man will have if he has a reaction,” Jordan teases.
“He worries, and I’d rather not have him come with me and threaten the chef every time I go out to eat.”
“Sounds serious,” I add.
“It can be.”
Our server comes over, and I order the spicy chicken pasta with extra chicken and a glass of milk.
“So I heard you say you were in finance,” Jordan starts.
“Yeah, my dad was a banker, and his dad, and his dad. Blah, blah, blah. It’s good money, but I hate it.”
“I get that. My family is all military for life, but I only stayed in for four years and then I became a cop.”
