12. Dakota
“Then what?” Hope asked, walking me to work the next day. She had the day off, but I knew no matter how much I wished I could call out again to run around town looking for pirate treasure, it wasn’t the right thing to do.
“Then, we just ate our food,” I replied.
I shoved my hands into the pockets of my coat to fight off the crisp autumn air. Fall was my favorite season. It wasn’t too cold, but for someone who learned to crochet at nine years old with her meemaw’s help, a season made for sweaters, mittens, and scarves crafted from the lightest and most supple yarn was the best of all.
And to put an exclamation mark on my basic sweater-weather-loving soul, I also loved pumpkin spice and several other basic fall things.
“He didn’t bring it up or say anythin’ about it again after that?” Hope asked, her tone full of quiet surprise.
“Nope. Maybe I imagined that almost-kiss in your basement,” I said, biting my lip. Of course I’d told her about it—and the reason we were in her basement in the first place—before we even got to the fun part about what I’d thought was a budding romance between myself and the swoony PI.
“I doubt that,” she replied. When she caught my dubious expression, she giggled softly. “Kota, it sounds like y’all had some serious chemistry, and you’re not one to invent stuff like that. Aren’t you the one who told me not to worry about whether or not Paul Samson was into me because when you don’t click with someone, it’s as clear as a bell?”
“Yeah, I said that.”
And I stood by that assessment. I didn’t understand why anyone would need help trying to figure out if they had chemistry with someone when it was so blatantly obvious when chemistry was absent.
For instance, there was that date with Billy Matthews. Sweet guy, but the whole night, I felt like I was trying to have a conversation with a wallpaper sample. It didn’t matter how many jokes I made or how many stories I told. Nothing clicked. No sparks, no excitement—just a polite smile and a distant look in his eyes that told me he’d rather be anywhere else.
And then there was the time I tried to force something with Greg Phillips. He was good on paper: funny, successful, handsome, all the things. But when we went out for coffee, I couldn’t shake the feeling we were playing a role in some awkward play neither of us wanted to be in. There wasn’t a single moment where my heart skipped a beat, and when he kissed me goodnight, I felt... nothing. No butterflies, no swooning—just a lukewarm, "that was nice" kind of vibe.
It was always so clear to me when the chemistry just wasn’t there. No amount of good looks or shared interests could create that kind of connection when it was missing. So when I felt it with Tucker—that undeniable spark—I knew it wasn’t in my head.
But, still, it was more than a little off-putting that the man hadn’t uttered a word about my flirty proclamations for the rest of the evening. In fact, even after he insisted on walking me back to Hope’s house, and I was sure there were enough sparks between us to start a forest fire as we said goodnight, he didn’t try to kiss me again, either.
Now, it could’ve been because I’d spied Gertie trotting along after us, likely making sure I got home safe while he was attempting to do the same thing. I was sure he’d spotted her too. Tucker Black was nothing if not very aware of his surroundings.
I told Hope that part, and she nodded sagely. “He wouldn’t be the first person to avoid a showdown with that tiny monster.”
“Gertie’s a gem,” I defended my furry family member. “But it is kinda strange… She doesn’t seem to be doin’ the matchmakin’ thing with us like she’s done for others.”
“Well… maybe that’s a sign it’s not meant to be. Your momma did insist that Gertie never gets it wrong.”
I chuckled. “Okay, yeah, but at the end of the day, she’s still a darn goat.”
“Is she, though?” Hope teased as we walked across the hospital’s parking lot.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out. “It’s an unknown caller.”
Hope shrugged. “Spammers.”
I sent them to voicemail and put my phone away, only to fish it back out again as a text message pinged.
It’s Tucker. Call me back.
I showed Hope the screen, and she lifted a brow. “How did he?—”
She stopped talking and nodded, likely coming up with the same answer I would’ve given: private detective.
I hit send on the call to Tucker, putting it on speakerphone when he picked up after the first ring. “Hey, you’re on speaker. I’m here with Hope.”
“Good. Did you tell her?”
He’d permitted me to fill her in before we’d parted ways last night, after much convincing on my part.
“Sure did,” I replied, giving Hope a wry smile. “I told her everythin’.”
Including details about the night that had nothing to do with the case of course. And if we spent more time discussing his swoony stare and that smile that had impressed not only me but Mrs. McClusky, too, who could blame us? What was a little pirate treasure when there was girl talk to be had?
“Did you find out if the key is real?” Hope asked, leaning toward the phone.
“It’s real. Have you seen it before?” he asked.
She shook her head, though of course he couldn’t see her. “Nope. And I didn’t know anythin’ about the loose floorboard.”
I searched my friend’s face as she and Tucker spoke for a moment. He asked her the same questions he’d told me to ask, and I wondered if it was part of his plan for me to ask her first and then for him to see if she’d mix up her lies while asked a second time. If that were the case, he’d be disappointed. She told him the same thing she told me—word for word.
“There is one more thing I just thought about,” Hope said, and I frowned, the phone poised in the air between us as Tucker and I both waited for her to go on. “There was this man who came over when I was visiting as a young girl—maybe ten years old? He gave me an old coin. Flipped it like a poker chip, and I caught it.”
“Did it look like pirate treasure or a quarter?” I asked.
She chuckled. “Well, I don’t remember details, but it was definitely gold. It didn’t even occur to me to wonder if it was real. I was just a kid.”
“So… where is it now?” I asked.
Tucker sighed on the other end of the line, and I could almost hear his voice in my mind, asking me to let him ask the questions.
“I think I still have it somewhere. I’ll have to check.”
“Do you remember the man’s name?” Tucker asked.
Hope thought about it, then frowned. “No, I’m sorry. But you know what?”
“What?” Tucker and I said at the same time.
“I think Shifty might know,” she said, a bright smile on her face. “He was friends with him. The guy didn’t live in town, but close enough, I think.”
“Your grandpa was friends with Shifty, too, right?” I asked gently, hoping she was okay with all of this talk about the man she’d loved so deeply and then lost not too long ago.
“Yeah, they played Bingo together, and whenever Shifty found an old safe at the junkyard or garage sale, he’d bring it to Grandpa to fix up and resell.” She wore a fond smile on her face, and I smiled back at her, using my free hand to squeeze her shoulder.
“Tucker, I’m about to go to work, but if you can wait about twelve hours or so, I’d love to go with you to visit ol’ Shifty.”
“Uh—”
“You can try to head over there without me, but just so you know, you’ll have better luck with a local on your arm.”
“On my arm?” he parroted.
I gave Hope a look of exasperation, muting the phone. “See what I mean? Immune to my flirting ever since that root strangulation conversation.”
Hope waved a hand for me to take it off mute, then leaned forward. “She’s right about havin’ a local with you. Shifty is… Well, Shifty’s a different sort. You’ll get further with Dakota than you will on your own.”
Tucker paused for a beat, then I could practically hear the hesitation dripping from his words as he said, “Fine. I’ll meet you outside the hospital after your shift?”
“Sounds good,” I replied, trying for casual but coming out a little high-pitched for my own liking.
We disconnected the call, and I stared up at the hospital before us. “This is gonna be a long shift.”
“Why? Because you’re so excited to see him again?”
I shook my head. “No, the opposite actually. I think maybe I should’ve kept all that stuff to myself at the diner. He probably would’ve just gone on pretending that almost-kiss wasn’t an almost-kiss, and I’d be savin’ myself from feelin’ rejected even though he hasn’t said two words along those lines.”
But deep down, I couldn’t help wondering if I’d misread the whole thing. Maybe those sparks were all one-sided. Or maybe I just wanted there to be something between us so badly that I was seeing things that weren’t really there. It wouldn’t be the first time I let my heart run away with itself, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.
“It’s more what he’s not sayin’, huh?” Hope guessed.
“Pretty much.”
“Well, I’m sorry you feel rejected, but maybe it’s for the best.”
I wrinkled my nose. “You’re probably right. He made himself clear about the nomad vibes, ya know? What was I really interested in explorin’ with him anyhow?”
She waved a hand. “Details, details. I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t get a little clumsy and tangled up around his friend the other day. What was his name?”
“Colton.”
“The two of them probably have countless women in small towns around the country feelin’ the way we do right now.”
“Like Dean and Sam from Supernatural?” I asked with a laugh.
“Exactly like that. They roll into town with their charm and mystery-solvin’ mojo… then breeze on out the way they came without so much as a kiss for the pretty girls they meet on the case.”
“Well, I s’pose the silver linin’ here is that I’m not alone in my crush. But here’s the big question: which one’s Dean and which one’s Sam?”
We laughed, both of us big enough fans of the show to know exactly which of our real-life crushes belonged to which of the fictional ones, and we parted ways without even saying it out loud.
It made sense, though. I’d always been a Dean girl.
Tucker was standing outside the hospital when my shift ended, just as he’d said he would. And man, if my heart didn’t skip a beat at just the sight of him, leaning against a bike rack with his strong arms crossed over his broad chest. His steady posture and the way he stood as if he had all the time in the world made it look like waiting for me was the most natural thing in the world for him.
He held a manila envelope in his hand, and my fingers itched to reach for it, curiosity gnawing at me like a kid waiting for Christmas morning.
Hopefully, whatever was in that folder would stop me from the dream world I’d slipped and fallen into the second I laid eyes on him outside my work. The image of him waiting for me after a long shift was more than I could handle. Looking like he was planning to walk me home, ask about my day, maybe even tell me about his.
It was a silly thing to think about, considering we hardly knew each other, and what we did know spoke of completely different lifestyles and future plans. But that hadn’t gotten in the way of me picturing a future where this would be real. A future that involved a house with a porch swing, one he’d be happy to return home to after solving his cases. A future where, instead of always looking at whatever town he was in as a temporary home, he’d finally have one to speak of.
Focus, Dakota. I needed to get my hands on that folder, STAT.
When I approached, he straightened from the rack, his eyes briefly meeting mine before flicking down to the envelope. I swiped it from his unsuspecting clutches before he could say a word, unable to stop myself from the need to see what was inside.
“Whatcha got here?” I asked, trying to sound casual, though I knew I was far from it.
His eyes sparked with amusement even as his lips pulled into a disapproving frown. “Manners, much?”
I grinned up at him, enjoying the banter. “Always. My momma raised me right.”
“Uh-huh,” he muttered, clearly unconvinced.
I paused, fingers hovering over the flap of the folder, giving him a chance to stop me. For all I knew, this folder contained personal stuff—his doctor’s notes after a follow-up from his butt wound or maybe something like tax paperwork. Okay, Dakota, you can’t just invade someone’s privacy like this. I hesitated, waiting for him to snatch it back. But since he didn’t, I opened the folder and scanned the pages.
“Wow, is this for real?” I asked, flipping through the contents. My heart picked up speed at the sight of detailed maps, historical records, and other official-looking documents that painted a picture of something way bigger than I’d imagined.
Tucker shrugged, his voice low as he responded. “It’s everything we have about the exact ship that went down with my client’s treasure on board.”
I squinted at the papers, flipping through the folder like I was searching for something. “Where’s the info about him recovering it?” I asked, glancing up at him. “I don’t see any news articles or photos of him with his diving crew.”
Tucker's brows drew together slightly as if he’d anticipated the question but didn’t have the answer ready. “He said he didn’t publicize the discovery,” he explained, though his tone almost made it sound like he was questioning it too.
I raised a brow, stopping mid-page. “What?”
“You’re…” He trailed off, his eyes narrowing as if he were trying to pin down the right words.
I winced, bracing myself for whatever blunt observation was coming next. Tucker wasn’t one for beating around the bush. But when nothing came, I lifted a brow. “Somethin’?”
“Yeah,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching as if holding back something else.
“So you’ve said,” I replied with a smirk, handing the folder back to him. “Don’t you find it a little weird he didn’t publicize it? Isn’t half the fun of treasure-hunting telling people about the treasure you found?”
He shrugged, his eyes flicking up to meet mine briefly. “I wouldn’t know.”
“Sure you would,” I said, leaning toward him as if daring him to be honest. “Don’t you get just a teeny bit of satisfaction when you solve a case?”
His lips quirked at the edges, but his response was careful, measured. “Of course I do.”
“And don’t you like tellin’ the client about it? Letting them know you’ve found what they’re looking for?”
He shrugged again. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean I’d want to make it known beyond that.”
“Maybe you’re a bad example,” I teased, giving him a playful nudge with my elbow. “I feel like there’s certain people who like the thrill of the chase but love the praise that comes after they succeed. Know what I mean?”
He turned his head toward me, giving me a sidelong glance that made my heart flip. “Which one are you?” he asked, the question soft but teasing.
I rolled my eyes, unsure if I even had an answer. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” I shot back, though the look on his face made me wonder if that even made sense. Judging by the way his lips twitched into a half-smile, he wasn’t going to call me out on it. I cleared my throat, moving on quickly before I embarrassed myself further. “Anyway,” I said, eyes dropping to the papers again, “we should probably head on over to Shifty’s place. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry in advance.”
Tucker’s brows lifted, his curiosity piqued. “For what?”
“Um… You’ll see.” I tried not to smile too wide, knowing exactly what Tucker was in for and feeling a little guilty about not warning him more.
But where’s the fun in that?