Chapter 4
Sandra drove away from Finn's Pub with her heart still racing from the dinner she'd spent with Terry.
The way he'd seamlessly shifted from discussing drug busts to patiently talking to Emma had done something to her insides that she was still trying to process.
She'd dated successful men before but had never witnessed that combination of strength and tenderness in one person.
And God, the man was beautiful in a way that made her forget how to breathe properly.
During their conversation, she'd found herself cataloging details she had no business noticing during what was technically a professional celebration.
The way his forearms looked when he rolled up his sleeves, all corded muscle and scattered scars that spoke of a life lived outside conference rooms. How his dark hair fell across his forehead when he leaned forward, making her want to brush it back with her fingers.
The small silver earring that caught the light when he turned his head, adding an edge of rebelliousness that shouldn't have been as attractive as it was.
But it was his mouth that had her completely distracted.
When Terry smiled… not the polite professional expression but the genuine one that reached his eyes, Sandra found herself wondering what it would feel like to kiss him.
Would he be gentle? Demanding? Some combination of both that would leave her breathless and wanting more?
Get it together, O'Neill, she chided herself as she pulled into her driveway. You're a grown woman, not a teenager with a crush.
Except she felt giddy and nervous and completely out of her depth with wanting someone she was still getting to know.
Three days later, Sandra found herself reaching for her phone during lunch break, Terry's number already highlighted on her screen.
They'd been texting sporadically since their celebration dinner.
Nothing too forward but enough to keep the connection alive.
Professional updates that somehow always included personal details, and questions about cases that led to conversations about everything else.
She hit call before she could talk herself out of it.
"Hey, Sandra," Terry answered, and she could hear the smile in his voice when he recognized her number.
"I was wondering if you wanted to grab lunch today? I know it's short notice—"
"I'd love to." Terry interrupted. "Bess’s?"
Sandra glanced at her watch, then let out a deep breath.
"Actually, I need to run home first to grab some files I forgot. Would you mind meeting me there instead? It’s only about fifteen minutes from the sheriff’s station.
I can make ham and turkey sandwiches, and it'll be quieter than the coffee shop. "
There was a pause, and Sandra winced, immediately second-guessing herself. Inviting him to her house felt like a bigger step than neutral territory, somehow more intimate.
"Are you sure?" Terry's voice was careful. "I don't want to impose—"
"You're not imposing. I'm the one asking." Sandra gave him her address, then added, "Fair warning… my house is small. Like really small. And I only have chips and apple slices for sides. Um, and only water or tea to drink."
"Sounds perfect." The warmth in Terry’s voice made her stomach flutter. "Text me your address.”
Sandra spent the drive home mentally cataloging the state of her house.
Thankfully clean, but definitely lived-in.
Books stacked on every surface, a coffee mug she'd forgotten to wash that morning, the throw blanket on her couch that she'd been wrapped in while reading the night before.
It was thoroughly her space in a way that felt suddenly vulnerable.
Her house was a small bungalow on a road that backed to an inlet.
She had a front porch just big enough for two chairs and a view of water through the neighbor's trees.
She'd fallen in love with it the moment she'd seen it.
The hardwood floors creaked in all the right places, the kitchen window looked out on her small but neat yard, and the built-in bookshelves that flanked the fireplace had convinced her this was meant to be her home.
Now, as she quickly straightened cushions and moved a stack of legal briefs off the dining room table, Sandra glanced outside to see Terry's SUV pull into her driveway.
She hustled to pull ingredients from the refrigerator.
Through the window, she watched him climb out and take in her house, noting the way his eyes lingered on the wind chimes she'd hung from the porch ceiling and the small garden where she grew herbs she rarely remembered to use.
"This is perfect," Terry said when she opened the door, and Sandra felt relief wash through her at the genuine appreciation in his voice. "Exactly what I pictured."
"What did you picture?" She was curious as she led him into the kitchen.
"Something warm. Lived in. Real." His gaze swept over her living room, taking in the overflowing bookshelves and the reading nook she'd created by the front window. "Not some sterile showplace that looks like no one actually lives there."
She felt heat bloom in her chest at the casual compliment. "Well, you definitely can't accuse this place of being sterile. Tea?"
"Sounds good."
As she moved around her kitchen, pulling together their lunch with the kind of easy efficiency that came from years of living alone, she was hyperaware of Terry watching her.
Not in a way that made her uncomfortable, but with the focused attention he seemed to bring to everything that interested him.
"So this is where the brilliant legal mind does her plotting." He leaned against her counter with his glass of iced tea in his hands.
"Plotting?" Sandra laughed, handing him a plate with his sandwich. "I prefer 'strategic planning for justice.'"
He chuckled. "Sounds much more professional."
They settled at her two-seater dining room table, and she studied him in the afternoon light that streamed through her windows.
He looked different here in her space, less like the intimidating police captain and more like just a man she was getting to know.
The formal edges were softer as his posture relaxed.
"Can I ask you something?" Terry set down his sandwich and met her eyes directly.
"Shoot."
"Do you see yourself staying here? On the Shore, I mean." The question carried weight, and Sandra realized he was asking for reasons that went beyond casual curiosity.
"Why do you ask?"
His expression grew thoughtful. "I've seen a lot of people come through here over the years.
Young professionals who treat the Shore like a stepping stone to something bigger.
They stay long enough to get some experience, then head back to Richmond or DC or wherever they think the real opportunities are. "
She studied his face, understanding now why the question mattered. "And you're wondering if I'm one of them."
"Are you?"
She considered her answer carefully, recognizing that her response would shape whatever was developing between them. "When I first moved here, I thought this might be temporary. A way to get some experience in public interest law before moving on to something more... prestigious, I guess."
Terry's expression didn't change, but Sandra caught the slight tension that crept into his shoulders.
"But that was before I understood what I'd found here," she continued.
"I love my work, Terry. I love that I can make a real difference in people's lives instead of just shuffling papers for corporate clients.
I love my house, my garden, and the fact that I can walk to the bay whenever I need to clear my head. "
"And?" he prompted gently.
Heat rose in her cheeks, but she pushed forward. "And I love that I've met people who make me want to put down roots here. I don’t have one foot out the door."
The words hung between them, more honest than she had intended but true in a way that surprised her. His eyes darkened, and something shifted in the air between them. There was an electric charge that made her pulse race.
"Sandra," Terry said quietly, pushing back from the table and standing. "I need to tell you something."
Her heart stuttered as she nodded. "Okay."
He stood and moved around the table until he knelt beside her chair, close enough that she could smell his cologne and see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. "I've been thinking about kissing you since the moment we met."
The admission hit Sandra like a caress, desire flooding through her system with an intensity that left her breathless. "Oh."
"And if I don't do it soon, I'm going to lose my mind."
Sandra leaned closer, bringing them face-to-face in her small dining room with afternoon sunlight streaming around them. "Then maybe you should stop thinking and start doing."
Terry's hands came up to cup her face, his thumbs brushing across her cheekbones with a gentleness that made her knees weak. "You sure about this?"
Instead of answering, Sandra closed the distance between them, pressing her lips to his in a kiss that started soft and sweet before quickly becoming something deeper and more urgent.
Terry kissed like he did everything else…
with complete focus and devastating competence.
His mouth was warm and sure against hers, his hands threading through her hair as he angled her head for better access.
When his tongue swept across her lower lip, Sandra made a small sound of pleasure that seemed to snap something loose in both of them.
The kiss turned hungry and desperate—two people who'd been circling each other for weeks finally giving in to the attraction that had been building between them. Sandra's hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer as heat raced through her system like wildfire.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Sandra felt like the world had shifted on its axis. His hair was mussed from her fingers, his eyes dark with desire, and she had to resist the urge to pull him back down for another kiss.
"Well," she managed, her voice slightly hoarse. "That was..."
"Yeah." His forehead rested against hers. "It was."
They stood there for a moment, wrapped in each other's arms in her sunny home, both of them trying to process what had just happened. Sandra felt giddy and nervous and completely overwhelmed by how right it felt to be in Terry's arms.
"I should probably get back to work," he said reluctantly, though he made no move to step away from her.
"Probably." Aloud, she agreed but was equally reluctant to end the moment.
When Terry finally kissed her goodbye, it was a softer, sweeter kiss that somehow felt more intimate than the passionate one they'd just shared.
She leaned against her closed front door with her fingers pressed to her lips, wondering how she was supposed to concentrate on legal briefs when all she could think about was when she'd get to kiss him again.
Over the next two weeks, Sandra got her answer. Terry found excuses to meet her for coffee, for lunch, for brief conversations in the courthouse hallway that always ended with stolen kisses in an empty conference room or behind the building where no one could see them.
Each encounter left her wanting more time, more conversation, more of those kisses that made her forget her own name. They were like teenagers, grabbing moments wherever they could find them, limited by their professional schedules and the complexity of his life as a single father.
"This is insane," Sandra whispered one afternoon as Terry pressed her against the wall in an empty courthouse corridor, his mouth moving along her neck in a way that made her pulse race. "Anyone could see us."
"Let them," Terry murmured against her throat, his hands spanning her waist. "I'm tired of pretending I don't want you."
Sandra was also tired of stolen moments and rushed conversations, and tired of wanting more time with him than their careful scheduling allowed.
But she was also aware that they were moving toward something bigger, something that would involve his children and change both their lives in ways they were still figuring out.
"Terry," she said softly, her hands coming up to frame his face. "We need to talk about what this is becoming."
"I know." His eyes were serious as he studied her face. "Are you ready for that conversation?"
Sandra thought about his children, whom she'd heard about but never met, about the complications of dating a single father, about the way her careful, orderly life was about to become beautifully chaotic.
"I'm ready," she said, meaning it completely.