14. Reid
Chapter 14
Reid
I F YOU’D TOLD me a month ago that I’d be living in a tiny beach town in Alabama, pining over a diner cook, I would have said you were crazy. And yet, here we are.
The worst part? Willa is avoiding me.
We had what I would have definitely defined as a “moment,” and the woman is avoiding me. I’m over here straight-up yearning like an angsty teenager, trying to get her attention whenever I go to the diner. And sure, she looks up and smiles at me, and we’re still trading Midnight duty, but she has put me on ice.
Now is probably when I should remind myself that I was only at her house a day and a half ago. But still.
I send a silent apology to the handful of women I’ve sent packing in the past.
Fine: ghosted. I’ve ghosted a few. Is this my punishment? If so, consider the message received. I’m tempted to find those women on social media and apologize, because if this is how I am after being treated as though I didn’t have my head between her legs, then shit. I know it wasn’t that the experience was bad for her. That much was obvious. But hell if I can figure out what’s going on .
This morning was no different from the others: Willa showed up, handed over Midnight, and absolutely refused to make eye contact or say more than a few words to me. I’m so out of my element that all I can do is cuddle the kitten and wish she were Willa. Midnight, on the other hand, purrs like a maniac the second she gets into my hands. I’m trying to let that be my comfort, but a purring Midnight is a far cry from a Willa writhing in ecstasy.
After my requisite inspection of the property and review of the night’s video—nothing out of the ordinary—I bundle up the black ball of floof, and we head to the station. Chief gives a quick rundown of the day’s brief, then Ox and I head out.
It’s a beautiful late summer day, and we walk toward the beach. It’s a small little thing, nothing like the miles of shore we have in Miami, but it’s beautiful, with deep swells of powdery-white sand leading to the teal-blue warmth of the Gulf. We don’t go onto the beach itself, but stroll along the area just before it. The place is, of course, crawling with people. A few older couples here and there, but mostly this is all for families with young kids. Little toddlers, sticky with popsicles and summer sweat, and their parents, loaded down with far more beach gear than they ever thought possible. But underneath the harried expressions, it’s easy to see smiles of love and appreciation. For the most part, anyway. There are definitely some folks who are downright irritated.
“Ah, family vacations,” Ox intones, reading my mind as we step to the side for one such family, the dad loaded down with bags and the mom with a baby on one hip, a toddler on another, and yelling at two more to slow down as they race toward the beach.
I huff a laugh. “A far different beach scene than Miami.”
“I believe it,” Ox says. “You miss it?”
“Miami? I don’t know. I grew up there. Well, Fort Lauderdale. It’s kind of all I’ve ever known. ”
Ox whistles. “I can’t imagine anything but small beach town life. But I was raised here, and love it.”
I do the calculations in my head. “You went to school with Willa?”
Ox shifts a knowing glance my way. “I did.”
He doesn’t offer anything else. On a sigh, I push for more. “And?”
“And what, Officer MacKinnon?” he asks shrewdly.
“Come on, man.”
He grins. “She’s good people, Reid. She always was, and she always will be. And she makes a killer cheeseburger.”
I laugh and drop it. I tried getting any amount of information out of Agatha yesterday, as well. While she seemed amenable to my pain, she was also quick to tell me that if I were really interested in Willa, I’d have to figure out a way to convince her to leave town with me.
Well. I may not know Willa as well as others around here, but after our conversations, I know she’s not leaving Lucky. Not even close.
What I’m beginning to realize, though, is that maybe I want to stay in Lucky, too.
Which, honestly, is ridiculous. Why would I trade Miami for, well, this ? I like the hustle of Miami. The lights, the glitz, even the seedy parts. Hell, it’s my job to like the seedy parts, and there’s not really much of that here, unless you count the teenager who was caught shoplifting the other day.
After my shift with Ox, I take Midnight to Matty for a check-up. I carry her in, cradled against me like she’s grown accustomed to, and the receptionist practically undresses me with her eyes. She’s cute, too, and definitely my standard type: blond, big breasts, lots of make-up, smells good, bubbly, probably amenable to whatever I want. And even though she tries her best to flirt with me before going back to get Matty, it falls flat. All I can see is Willa, a woman who is the exact opposite of what I’d normally go for.
Willa is…she might be perfect. No one but Willa would spend the day in pajamas and no make-up with me. No one but Willa has moved beneath me like that. No one but Willa has given herself over so completely, and lost herself to the pleasure without worrying what she looked like. I’m a goner.
And that’s a problem.
“Hey, Reid,” Matty says, coming into the exam room and giving Midnight a perfunctory scratch beneath her chin. She flicks her tail in response. “How’s she been?”
“Willa? Good, I guess?”
Matty quirks a knowing smile at me, already beginning his inspection of the fuzzball that’s growing on me. “I meant the kitten, officer.”
My neck heats in response. Busted. “Right. Midnight’s been good. Putting weight on the leg, all that jazz.”
“You’re letting her walk around a lot, right?” he asks with a nod at the sling I’m wearing.
“Yeah. But I still take her on rounds with me. It’s nice.” Another thing I definitely could not do in Miami: just roll up to one of the Bunnies’ strongholds with a kitten in tow. That would not go over well.
Matty takes off the cast, checks the leg, then wraps it in gauze and another bandage. “This one is a lot more forgiving. Her bones are healing up nicely, so this will give her a lot more range of motion. She’s doing great. You and Willa make a good team.”
I say nothing. I’ve already said too much.
“You like her, don’t you?” Matty asks, studying me.
I stiffen. “Midnight’s a great little partner.”
Matty scoffs. “Come on, Reid. I’m her best friend. You think I don’t know what’s going on?”
“Nothing’s going on.” Not that I wouldn’t like it to be .
“She’s special, Reid.” Matty’s voice is tight, holding a warning in it. His worry for her is touching, but it’s also a little insulting.
I pin him with my best glare, but Matty is wholly unaffected. “I know she is. Believe me.”
Matty finishes with his inspection of Midnight and gives her a final scratch. “She’s not seen a lot of the world, Reid. And in some ways, that’s beautiful. But she’s skittish. Never really understood why. She’s got a lot to offer someone.”
My throat tightens. I hear everything he’s saying, and more importantly, I hear everything he isn’t. “I know,” I repeat. “I’m well aware of everything she has to offer, Matty.”
“God knows I’ve tried to get her to leave this town. She could be so much bigger than she is here. But she doesn’t want to leave.” He stares at me, making sure I understand what he’s saying.
I hold his gaze, exhaling softly. “Yeah, I know.” They’re the only damn words that I can manage to get out right now.
He nods. “Okay. I love her, man.”
My blood heats at his words, confusion and a ridiculous sense of irrational jealousy flooding my veins. “Wait a minute. You two?—”
“No way,” he says, again looking at me and seeing far more than I’d prefer. “It’s never been like that. Never will be. She really is my best friend. No more, no less.”
The way my shoulders sag in relief should be concerning, not going to lie. Instead, I attempt some deep breaths to calm down.
“But if you break her heart…” He makes a slashing motion across this throat with his finger.
I laugh. “I’m standing here with a loaded gun in my holster, and you’re threatening me ?”
He shrugs. “I said what I said.”
Midnight meows on the table between us, and I’m pretty sure she agrees with Matty .
On the way home, with Midnight curled up in the sling on the passenger seat of my truck, Dad calls.
“Hey,” I answer through my truck speakers.
“Long time,” Dad says.
“Been busy,” I give him. “But you’re right. I should have called.”
“Busy? How is Lucky, Alabama, busy? I know from visiting there with your mom that it’s as sleepy of a beach town as it can get, minus the tourists, I guess.”
“Yeah…” I start.
“Oh, shit.” It’s a declaration.
Here’s the thing. My old man has always been able to read me like a damn book, whether in person or over the phone. Judging by his immediate response to my one-word reply, he’s figured me out. “Go on,” I sigh. “Say it.”
“You’re hung up on someone, aren’t you?”
I turn on my blinker and head east. “A woman.”
Dad hoots. “Big-city man falling for a small-town girl? I think I’ve seen that movie.”
“Shut up.”
“Not on your life,” he chuckles. “Wait till I tell your mother—hell, wait till I tell Samantha. Between the two of them, they’ll have wedding invitation designs waiting in your inbox by next week.”
“I’m not that bad,” I protest weakly. But I probably am that bad. Last time I brought a girl home was high-school prom, so this is breaking news as far as Mom and my stepmother are concerned. And Dad will absolutely, 100 percent, be hanging up with me and telling them immediately.
“Come on.” His voice is warm. “Tell me all about her.”
Even knowing that he’ll blab everything, I don’t hesitate. I need someone to lay it all out to, and he’s always been my sounding board. “Her name is Willa. She’s incredible, Dad. Like no one else I’ve ever met. ”
“Apparently so. Your voice sounds like you’ve got stars in your eyes.”
I chuckle. “She’s a cook at her family’s diner, but her cooking—she might give Samantha a run for her money.”
Dad sucks in a breath. “Son, watch your tone. My wife is the best cook, period.” His teasing is like a warm bath, and it makes my chest ache. I miss shooting the shit with him in the backyard.
“I don’t know why she’s got me so tied in knots. I barely know her.”
Dad’s observant laugh is the balm I didn’t know I needed. “Sounds like you know enough. What’s her favorite drink?”
“Ice-cold Cherry Coke after her shifts at the diner,” I supply, the answer coming immediately. “I also know she has a standing pedicure appointment every two weeks, and that she always gets them done siren red.”
I hear Dad’s signature snap. If we were in person, he’d be pointing at me. “Then I think you know the answer, son.”
But that can’t be right. How in the hell have I been bewitched by a shy, small-town diner cook?