Page 102 of Flint’s Strike

Parker

My bank account doesn’t want me going to Alabaster’s this morning. Medical debt is a bitch. I finally paid off what I owed for my mom’s care, but the version of me who bought coffee without doing the math first is probably gone forever.

The line at the drive-through moves quickly, so I don’t have time to overthink my irrational need to lay eyes on Eliot this morning. He asked for the night, and the logical part of my brain knows he’s a grown-ass man who can take care of himself. The part of my brain that’s falling for him though…that’s the part in control at the moment.

“Two hemp milk lattes and a large iced coffee,” I call to the tiny speaker.

“Any cream for the iced?” The voice is tinny, but clear.

“No—actually, hold up. Can you add a splash of hemp milk?”

“Sure thing, hon. That’ll be fourteen sixty-five at the window.”

The attendant at the window passes me the drink carrier with a practiced smile, and I swipe my phone over the card reader.

Once I’m back on the road, I take a cautious sip of my drink. Huh. It’s still coffee—same strength, same kick—but the hemp milk evens out the bitterness threatening to strip the enamel from my teeth. I’ll be damned.

The fire marshal’s office lot is only half full when I pull in. Eliot’s truck isn’t here yet. Serves me right for always being early.

I’m debating whether to leave the coffee on his desk or text him, when another SFMO truck eases into a parking spot across from me.

Eliot’s coworker—the one with the broken arm—gets out, moving carefully as he hitches his work bag over his right shoulder. “Hey. It’s…Parker, right?”

“Got it in one, Kurt. You doin’ okay this mornin’?”

He glances around the parking lot, and his entire body tenses.

I follow his gaze to the street where a dark gray sedan rolls past the lot entrance. The driver’s wearing a Stetson and sunglasses, and he only spares us a quick glance before he accelerates all the way to the corner.

Turning back to Kurt, I study him for a beat. Dark circles swell under his brown eyes. His cast isn’t pure white anymore, the gray smudges more obvious closer to the plaster wrapping around his hand.

“You okay?” I ask.

He jerks, then blows out a breath. “Yeah. That guy almost hit me on the freeway. I flipped him off, and he was on my ass the rest of the way here.” Something about Kurt’s voice doesn’t sit right with me. But he’s calmer now. “I should’ve known better.”

“Maybe. This is Texas, after all.”

Before Kurt can reply, Eliot’s truck rolls to a stop next to my Toyota.

“Nice to see you again, Captain,” Kurt says, and hustles for the office’s double doors.

I lean against my front bumper, Eliot’s hemp milk latte in one hand, my hat in the other. He sidles up to me, cups the back of my neck, and pulls me against him for a kiss I feel all the way down to my toes.

“Careful there,” I say against his lips. “You might give folks the impression we’re datin’ or somethin’.”

“Well, we are, so…” The second kiss goes on long enough, I’m breathless when he finally pulls away. “What did I do to deserve a coffee delivery?”

“You don’t have to earn coffee.” I shrug, pass him the latte, and hold his gaze. “Maybe I just wanted to start my morning by kissin’ you.”

“Well, I ain’t about to argue with that logic.” He runs his free hand through his hair, small lines tightening around his eyes. “I’ll have the preliminary report on yesterday’s fire this afternoon. But I could smell the naphthalene the second I got inside.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised.” I settle the Stetson back on my head and pull my keys from my pocket. “I better get to the station while there’s still ice in Nate’s latte.”

“I’ll let you know when I’m on my way over.” Eliot takes a long sip of the latte, and a smile curves his lips. “Parker?” he asks before I can shut my door.

“Yeah?”

The smile drops away, leaving exhaustion in its wake. “Last night wasn’t me leavin’ the room. Or…it wasn’t supposed to be.”