11. Reid
Chapter 11
Reid
U NCLE JACK CALLS me into his office on Saturday morning. I’ve been in town and on the job for three weeks now, and I’ve been expecting an update from Miami. He waves me to close the door and have a seat, which I do. Then he puts the phone on speaker. “Mu?oz? I’ve got him.”
“Hey, Chief.”
“MacKinnon,” comes Chief Mu?oz’s voice, booming and strong as always. “How’s Lucky treating you?”
“Good. Quiet,” I answer. “It’s a nice change of pace.”
He laughs. “I bet.”
“You got news?” May as well get to it.
“DA says we have enough evidence to charge your contacts in the Bunnies. We got one in custody still, and plan on grabbing the other two this week. DA thinks it’s enough to put them away. It’s a big step, MacKinnon. We wouldn’t be here without the work you did.”
I nod, meeting my uncle’s eyes. “Thanks, Chief.”
“How’s your recovery?”
“Good.”
“Doing your physical therapy?”
I chuckle. “Every morning before my run.”
“Excellent. We want you at 100 percent when you get back. You’re missed around here.”
I startle. I don’t know that the man has ever said anything so…emotional. “Sure thing.”
We hang up, and my uncle regards me, stroking his mustache and studying what feels like every inch of me. When I’m nearly ready to squirm, he finally speaks. “You know, you have a job here if you want it.”
I open my mouth to tell him no, but something stops me. Which is ridiculous. But what’s not ridiculous is the way images of Willa flit unbidden across my mind. A woman I am definitely interested in, and a woman who absolutely will not be heading back to Miami with me—no matter what her friends and family might want to happen. I may have only known her for a couple of weeks, but it’s clear to me she won’t leave this town. And I wouldn’t ask her to.
At the same time, what kind of life would I have here? It’s so...slow. After spending the last few years undercover, in a pretty constant state of anxiety, if I’m being honest, my body still doesn’t know how to take all of this…stillness. Despite the town’s hazing, which has been nothing short of charming in a way, my time here has almost felt like a vacation.
“Think about it,” Jack says, sensing that I don’t really have anything to say about it. “And take the day off.”
“It’s Saturday,” I protest. “Don’t I need to go write at least fifty licensing citations to the people on the pier?”
He laughs. “You know you don’t.”
“Yeah, that’s Thompson’s gig,” I smirk. The man gets far too much enjoyment out of issuing those things. He’s also the exact kind of asshole cop who tickets people for the ticky-tacky things they usually don’t even know about, like burned-out rear lights. I’m about to insist on doing the shift, but then he says, “ Willa’s off today.”
Dammit. My eyes fly to his, and they straight-up twinkle. I bet he’d make a great Santa if he let his beard grow.
He laughs and shoos me out the door. “Thought so. Go. Enjoy the day. I’m not always this generous.”
I leave before he changes his mind, swinging past the Piggly Wiggly to grab some wet food and a toy for Midnight as my excuse for the visit. Then I head home to change out of my uniform, putting my gun in the safe and making sure it’s locked before leaving through the back and closing the distance to Willa’s.
She answers the door, and I nearly swallow my tongue. She’s in a dark blue, silky pajama set. Her hair is tousled and she absolutely, with no question, is not wearing a bra. She holds Midnight against her chest, her lips bare, and she blinks up at me.
Lord, give me strength. I have never prayed for help in the face of unbound breasts, but I think now is a grand time to start. How, how , am I supposed to resist this woman?
“Reid!” Her voice comes out high-pitched and tinny, and she winces. She clears her throat, the pink I adore already blooming across her cheeks, and tries again. “H-hi,” she stammers. “What’s up? I mean, why are you here?”
I fall back on the dimpled smile that’s guaranteed to increase her blush. “I brought treats.” I hold up the plastic bag and hoping she doesn’t notice the way my pants have gotten just a little tighter around the crotch area. Midnight mewls pitifully, scrabbling to get out of Willa’s hands and into mine like some sort of baby who’s seen her favorite uncle.
Willa rolls her eyes at the kitten’s antics but hands her over and takes the bag out of my grip. With a shy smile, she says, “Come on in, then.”
It’s the first time I’ve been in here. The kitchen is small but clearly used, the counters stuffed with cooking implements and spices. She sets the bag down on the table, and I follow her to the living room. She gestures for me to have a seat on the couch, but I’m too busy looking at the incredible amounts of doilies scattered about.
“Willa. Are you a secret doily maker?” I ask, half afraid of the answer.
She crosses her arms. “No. They came with the place.”
I choke out a laugh. “And you’ve kept them on display? There’s…” I trail off to count. “At least ten in here.”
“I’m well aware.”
“Doilies for cups, doilies for the arms of the couch, doilies for ...”
She cuts me off. “I know. They’re not so bad.”
“Willa. They’re so bad.” I choke out a laugh.
Willa widens her eyes and gestures to Agatha’s house. “Well, what am I supposed to tell her? ‘Sorry, Agatha, I can’t keep these on display in my house because they’re a crime against the twenty-first century’?”
I laugh. “That is precisely what you should tell her.”
“Yeah, you try telling her that and see how far you get.”
“You’re right,” I say after a moment of consideration. “It’s a terrible idea.”
She laughs and points at me. “Exactly.”
Midnight mewls in my arms, and it’s only then that I realize I’ve been holding her this whole time. I nod to the bag she left in the kitchen. “I brought a toy and some treats. Wanna give them to her?”
She hums and turns away, and because I’m an asshole, I take the opportunity to watch her walk away from me. Christ. Those tiny shorts might be the death of me. She returns with the toys: A plush mouse with some catnip inside it and a little stick with feathers on it. I put the kitten down, and she immediately pounces on the mouse.
I laugh. “Guess she likes it.”
“She’s a cat. Pretty sure it’s in her DNA.” Then she pauses. “Do you…wanna stay for a while? Hang out? ”
“Yes.” I can’t say it fast enough, and I don’t care if it makes me seem like an eager schoolboy. I want to hang out with her. I want to know so much more about her. And if that means I sound over-eager, then so be it.
Smiling, she sits on one end of the couch and I take the other, trying hard not to ogle the way she curls her legs beneath her, and trying even harder not to wonder if she’s wearing panties under those shorts. It’s clear she had no intentions of a visitor today. What’s amazing is that she hasn’t bothered to change out of her pajamas or even brush her hair. Is this what she would be like if we woke up together? Only, of course, she’d be naked, those silk pajamas a distant memory as I ran my fingers over her sk?—
“Reid?”
I snap out of it. “Hmm?”
“I asked if I could get you something. Water? Coffee? It’s no Dash In Diner coffee, but it’ll do the trick.” She smiles again, and it’s radiant. Innocent.
I really am an asshole. But in my defense, I did stop myself from mauling her last night. “Um, coffee is great. Thank you.”
She gets up again, and I follow her back to the tiny but serviceable kitchen. “Do you cook in here?”
She grimaces. “Is it bad if I say barely?”
“No,” I laugh. “But there’s a lot in here.”
“I have dreams of owning a house big enough to have a huge kitchen. Like, I don’t need to have the latest gadgets or anything, but an electric stove?” She shivers in the direction of the offending appliance. “Ew.” Then she hands me the coffee. “You take it black, right?”
I lift the cup in a cheer. “Like my soul.”
“I don’t know. You seem pretty nice to me, Reid.” The compliment is like an arrow to my heart, and I shouldn’t feel the thrill that rises fast and hard at that small compliment.
“I thought I was scary,” I smirk .
She blushes, shyly admitting, “You’re both. You’re…” She trails off.
“Oh, no,” I tease. “You can’t stop there. I am positive that you were about to give me a ton of compliments, and I’m just shallow enough to want to hear them. Keep going.” I take a sip of coffee and gesture her to speak.
She turns away from me, stretching to open a cabinet and pulling out a cup, then filling it with water from the sink. Turning and leaning against the counter, she regards me. “I’m sure you’ve heard it all.”
I shake my head. “Nope. I’ve heard nothing. I insist you pile all the compliments on me.”
She laughs, and I want to make her do that again and again. “Fine. You seem very nice?—”
“I am very nice,” I correct her.
She giggles and rolls her eyes. “And smart and funny.”
“You forgot handsome.”
She blushes. “And handsome.”
I want to kiss her so badly. But I also want to keep talking to her, and I have a feeling that I can’t have both. If I kiss her now, she might kick me out.
My stomach picks this time to gurgle.
“And hungry. Handsome and hungry,” she laughs.
Shrugging a little sheepishly, I say, “I’m nearly always hungry. My mom had a hell of a time keeping enough food in the house when I was growing up.”
“Yeah?” It’s an invitation to tell her more.
“Yeah. Standard stuff. I was an active kid, grew like a weed, played baseball like I was going to be the next MLB player, the normal kid stuff.”
“That sounds nice.”
I take another sip of coffee. “It was.”
“Any brothers or sisters?”
“Only child. Parents divorced, but nothing traumatic, you know? Mom cleaned hotels and eventually worked up to a manager role, and she still does that now. Dad owns a cell-phone repair shop. He remarried pretty quickly—I don’t think he was made to be single,” I laugh. “He’s fairly helpless.”
“I can’t imagine my dad being helpless. That’s so far outside the realm of possibility that I can’t fathom it.”
“Your parents are good people.”
She nods and smiles softly. “Yeah. They are. So, you want lunch?”
I hesitate.
“I mean, I’ll make you something,” she clarifies. Then she grins. “Only, you can’t be a pain in the butt about it and try to piss me off.”
I chuckle. “Willa, you know I only do it to get a rise out of you.”
She blushes. “No, you don’t.”
“I absolutely do.”
She blinks rapidly, then clears her throat and opens the fridge, breaking eye contact. Behind the door, she says, “So. Lunch?”
“Definitely.”
She rustles in the refrigerator, then straightens. “You allergic to anything?”
“What if I say sesame seeds?”
She glares. “Reid.”
I laugh and hold up my hands. “I’m joking. No allergies. Can I help?”
“No, just stand there and look pretty.” She shoots the words out, then her cheeks blaze again as I guffaw.
“Did you just call me pretty?” I tease.
“Forget I said that and I’ll let you stay in here.”
“Already forgotten.” The way she’s wearing no bra, and how her shorts ride up every time she bends into the fridge, however? Definitely not forgetting that. Ever. The image of her, pure and sweet and making me lunch, will be burned into my memory forever.
I am the Big Bad Wolf, and she’s Red Riding Hood, all innocent and ready to ply me with food. Asshole that I am, I’m perfectly happy to be the wolf. Maybe she’ll even let me eat her later.
She moves with efficiency around the tiny kitchen, her movements sharp and practiced. In no time, she’s prepared us grilled cheese and tomato chutney sandwiches alongside an arugula salad with cranberries and sliced parmesan. It’s deceptively simple, and easily the best meal I’ve ever had. I groan as I try, and fail, not to shovel the sandwich in my mouth like a…well, wolf. “Willa. Seriously?”
She stops, her fork halfway to her mouth. “What? Is the arugula bad?”
“This is unreal. It’s delicious.”
She relaxes, her eyes shining and a shyly confident smile playing around her mouth. “I know. You’re welcome.”
I smirk. “So this is where you flex, huh?”
“What do you mean?” she asks, picking up her sandwich.
I remind myself to swallow before talking. I really was raised with manners, despite how I’m inhaling this food. “I mean, you act all sweet and nice, but then you get in the kitchen and watch out. You’re a beast. No wonder everyone wants you out of Lucky.” When she startles and looks away, her shoulders rising, I realize what a sore spot I’ve poked. “Shit. I’m sorry. I get it, Willa, you’re not going anywhere.”
“I know I’m sheltered?—”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Reid.”
I snap my mouth shut.
“Like I said, I know I’m sheltered, but…is that really a bad thing?” Her voice rises as she talks. “If sheltered means surrounded by the people you love in the place you call home, th en I’ll take it every day of the week.” She looks away. “Sorry. It’s just…Sorry,” she says again.
“Don’t ever apologize for standing up for yourself, Willa. Especially with me.”
She bites her lip, then nods wordlessly.
I continue. “I only meant that you’re…” Sexy. Funny. One of a kind. “Amazing. Your food is incredible. I mean, I can cook, but you can cook .”
“No. You can cook.” She glares at me. “You’re an asshole about it, actually.”
“Wait. What?” My jaw unhinges.
After wiping her mouth and setting the cloth napkin beside her plate, she continues, “Where do you get off being so good at it? It’s beyond irritating.”
I laugh. “My mom wasn’t about to let me not know how to cook. Besides, for a lot of years there, the only way either of us was going to get a good meal was if I cooked it. She worked hard and got home late more often than not. I had to learn.”
She nods appreciatively. “I get that. Only did you have to be that good?”
“You afraid of a little competition?” I joke.
She harrumphs. “No. Not even a little. But I’m still pissed about that pork you made.”
“Took me a year to perfect that dish, but once I did?” I kiss my fingers and preen.
“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbles.
I wink. “Maybe if you’re good, I’ll teach you.”
Her eyes flash and cheeks flush as the realization of what I said hits me. Fire crackles along the back of my neck.
I ball the cloth napkin in my hand and stand, the chair scraping against the floor.
“I’ll get that,” she says, grabbing for the plates.
“Absolutely not. You cooked, I clean. That’s the rule.”
“But— ”
“But nothing. You’ll stand there, and you’ll take it.” I growl the words, and immediately want to take them back. First I tell her I’m going to teach her if she’s good, and now I tell her she’ll stand there and take it?
Worried that I’ve crossed a line, I look over from where I’ve started the water at the sink. She’s staring at me, and maybe I’ve thrown her for a loop, but overall, I don’t think she’s glitching. I smirk. “You good?”
She clears her throat. “Right. Sure. So, ah, tell me about why you’re here. You got shot, right?”
I wince. “Wow, going straight for it, aren’t you?”
“Oh, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” she says, immediately backtracking.
I scrub the pan. “It’s okay.” I’m not about to tell her about the Bunnies. She really is sheltered, and she’s far too innocent and precious to get caught up in even the story of them. “Just a traffic stop gone wrong. I needed a break from Miami, and when my uncle Jack suggested I come here to fill in for Jessica, my chief was good with it, and it seemed like a great idea.” I glance over at her as I finish my lie, ignoring the twinge of guilt. I was undercover for years, so the lying shouldn’t make me feel as bad as it does, but there’s something about this woman that makes me want to go to my knees and confess everything. All my sins, all my desires…all of which are currently about her.
And all of which are very, very explicit.
I finish the dishes, and we head back to the couch. We end up throwing on the Great British Baking Show and watching it for hours, with Midnight alternating between curling between us or playing with her toys.
“I could listen to him talk me to sleep every night,” Willa sighs, stretching her legs and issuing the tiniest of squeals as she does it.
“The British dude talking right now?” I ask, tearing my gaze away from her luscious thighs. Then I throw on my best accent. “ Willa’s chosen to bake a three-tiered Chantilly cake with a cream and cherry compote.”
Willa laughs. “That’s a terrible impression of him.”
And finally, I can’t take it anymore. I’ve managed to control myself all day, and frankly, I deserve a damn medal for it. It’s been Olympic levels of restraint. I close the distance on the couch, the doilies on the back of the cushions framing us rather perfectly. “Willa.”
She hiccups.
I smile. Even that is so fucking adorable. “Can I kiss you?”
Her hesitation lasts a fraction of a second. “Yes,” she rasps.
“Thank fuck.” On a sigh, I pull her to me.