Chapter 14
Saturday night was perfect in ways Terry hadn't dared to hope for.
He sat at his dining room table, unable to keep the smile from spreading across his face as he watched the remnants of their evening scattered around him.
There were empty pizza boxes, crumb-covered plates, and the lingering warmth of conversation that had flowed as easily as wine.
He'd always found Sandra to be accomplished and unflappable in her role as an attorney, never rattled by whatever legal curveball got thrown her way. But he'd grinned like a fool as she'd texted him three times throughout the day, each message revealing vulnerability.
The first text had arrived around noon. What should I wear?
Casual. Totally casual, he'd replied, picturing her standing in front of her closet with the same focused intensity she brought to helping her clients.
The second text came an hour later. What should I bring?
Just you, he'd responded, meaning every word.
In the third text, she'd sent a frowning emoji followed by, If you don't tell me anything different, I'm bringing brownies.
His response had been immediate: You'll be Toby's hero and Emma's savior. He likes anything sweet, and she swears chocolate puts her in a better mood.
At six o'clock sharp, his doorbell rang. Emma stood nearby, her eyes glowing with excitement. She looked back at Terry and grinned. “She’s here,” Emma whispered. Toby ran toward them, skidding on the floor in his sock feet, nearly sliding into his dad.
Terry ruffled Toby’s hair and squeezed Emma’s hand on his way to throwing the door open.
Sandra stood on his porch, and his heart raced.
She stood there holding a covered plate, wearing jeans that hugged her curves and a soft green sweater that made her eyes even brighter.
The sight of her hit him like a physical blow.
He'd reached out and taken her hand, drawing her forward to place a light kiss on her lips before closing the door behind her. The brief contact had been electric, a promise of what he hoped would come later when they finally had time to talk without interruption.
The kids greeted Sandra, and their smiles tightened Terry's throat with emotion he hadn't expected to feel so intensely.
Five minutes later, the doorbell rang again, this time announcing the arrival of pizza delivery.
Having shared numerous lunches with Sandra over the past months, he knew she'd eat almost anything on pizza except olives, and she was one of the few people he'd met who would actually defend ham and pineapple as a legitimate topping.
It was a pizza combination he swore would never pass his lips, but watching her enjoy it made him consider that maybe his standards were too rigid.
The kids had been spectacular, not at all surprised that he'd invited a woman to their house for dinner. Their easy acceptance had made him wonder whether they'd been hoping for exactly this kind of evening, when they could see him integrate someone else into their lives.
Their conversations jumped quickly from one topic to another with the kind of chaotic energy he was used to navigating, but Sandra had rolled with whatever Toby and Emma threw at her with the grace of someone genuinely interested in their thoughts and opinions.
Besides their shared love of yogurt, Sandra and Emma had discovered a mutual passion for reading, which led to an animated discussion about favorite authors and book recommendations.
She'd impressed Toby with her surprising knowledge of Olympic sports, engaging him in a detailed conversation that had his son practically glowing with excitement.
“Tug-of-war? No way!” Toby practically shouted, eyes wide.
“Yep,” Sandra said, nodding. “From about 1910 to about 1920.” She laughed. “It didn’t last long. I guess someone decided it wasn’t a great Olympic sport.”
By the time the pizza had been consumed and the brownies and ice cream devoured with enthusiasm, they'd settled in to watch a movie. Everyone piled comfortably in the living room. Terry felt the weight he'd been carrying around for the past week finally lift from his shoulders.
The movie was an animated adventure Emma had chosen, and Sandra had curled up at one end of the couch while the kids sprawled on the floor with pillows and blankets.
Terry had claimed a spot next to Sandra, close enough so that his thigh rested against hers.
His gaze drifted between the screen and her profile as she laughed at the same jokes that delighted his children.
It was after nine o’clock when he finally nudged his kids toward bedtime, knowing they'd pushed the boundaries of a Saturday night bedtime.
They both offered Sandra hugs without any prompting from him, and she returned them with a natural warmth that made his heart do complicated things in his chest. Watching Emma and Toby accept her so easily and seeing her respond to them with affection felt like pieces of his life clicking into place in ways he hadn't known were possible.
As Emma and Toby headed down the hall toward their bedrooms, Sandra started toward the kitchen, apparently intending to clean up.
Terry lifted an eyebrow and fixed her with his most intimidating glare, the one that usually made suspects reconsider their life choices. "You even think about saying you're going home, I'm going to tackle you and handcuff you to a chair."
She laughed, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep in her chest, and crossed her arms over her body in a gesture that was probably meant to look defiant but instead drew his attention to the curves hidden beneath her sweater.
He forced his eyes upward, reminding himself that patience was a virtue and that rushing things now would be the height of stupidity.
"This was a good night, and everybody enjoyed themselves," he continued, his voice carrying the weight of everything he couldn't quite put into words yet. "But we're not done. I want to talk more, make sure we're on the same page."
Her smile softened into something that looked like understanding mixed with relief. She stepped closer, placing her palm flat against his chest, right over his heart. The warmth of her touch seeped through his shirt and straight into his bloodstream.
"I've had a wonderful time tonight, Terry, and I have no plans of leaving right now," she said, her voice carrying a certainty that made his pulse quicken. "I know this was an important night. I know that you inviting me here to spend time with your kids wasn't just dinner, but was so much more."
"Damn straight it was," he agreed, relief flooding through him that she understood the significance of what had just happened.
"While you say good night to them, I'll open that other bottle of wine, and we can get comfortable.” Her eyes held promises that made his entire body tighten with anticipation.
He dropped his head back and looked up toward the ceiling, a sigh of pure relief rushing from his lungs. "Thank God!"
She giggled, a sound that was purely Sandra rather than the composed attorney, and leaned closer to place a light kiss on his lips. The contact was brief but loaded with intention, a preview of what he hoped was coming once they had the house to themselves.
Just then, his phone vibrated against his hip with the insistent buzz that meant work was about to intrude on his personal life in the worst possible way. His brows drew together as he pulled the device from his pocket, and the name of the sheriff on the screen made his stomach drop.
"What the fuck?" He jabbed his finger on the connect button and barked into the phone, "Colt, this had better be good."
Terry knew from experience that Colt didn't make social calls on Saturday nights. The drug task force covered the only two counties on Virginia's Eastern Shore, and while Colt wasn't his direct supervisor, their cases overlapped frequently enough that late-night calls usually meant bad news.
"Sorry as hell, Terry," Colt's voice came through the speaker, carrying the kind of weariness that meant he'd also rather be anywhere else.
"Jeremy and Pete are already on their way.
A party at a beach house rental, south of Baytown, was just busted after a noise ordinance call came in from a neighbor.
My deputies found a bunch of college kids, a lot of alcohol, and a room with a cache of drugs. "
Terry closed his eyes, already knowing where this was heading. Colt would never call him in for something that could be easily handled by the sheriff's department or even his best detectives. "And let me guess, way too many drugs for just one party."
"You got it," Colt confirmed.
Scrubbing his hand over his face, Terry felt the perfect evening crumbling around him like one of Toby’s beach sand castles. "All right. I'll head out as soon as I can sort something for my kids."
"I know you're not close to me, but you want to drop them off with Carrie?" Colt offered.
Carrie was Colt's wife, a real sweetheart, and the kind of woman who wouldn't mind taking in two extra preteens even on short notice.
She had their teenage son plus two younger ones, so Emma and Toby wouldn't be any trouble.
But the logistics made Terry's head hurt.
He hated to drag his kids out late at night, driving twenty minutes out of his way, then doubling back to the scene.
By the time he got there, Jeremy and Pete would have been working the case for over an hour.
"No, I'll figure something out," he said, his mind already racing through alternatives. "Thanks for the heads-up."
As he disconnected the call, he turned to find Sandra standing closer, her expression alert and focused in the way that meant she'd been listening and was already processing the situation.
"I know I've only just met them, but I'll stay to make sure they're okay," she said without hesitation.
Her words nearly brought him to his knees. The simple offer was delivered with matter-of-fact certainty that characterized everything she did. He reached up and cupped her face with both hands, marveling at the way her skin felt like silk beneath his palms.
"You don't have to do that—"
"Terry, shut up." She interrupted, rolling her eyes. "I want to. I can watch TV. I can read a book. I can even snooze on the sofa until you get home."
The image of coming home to find Sandra sleeping on his couch sent warmth spreading through his chest. "Babe, if it goes that long, you go to sleep in my bed."
She laughed and shook her head with the kind of smile that suggested she thought he was being ridiculous.
"I don't think on the first night that I had dinner with your kids that I would be comfortable sleeping in your bed, even alone.
I'm a big girl, so don't worry about me.
Go tell your kids what's happening, and let them know I'm here. "
The practical side of his brain knew she was right, but the part of him that had been imagining how this night would end wanted to argue. Instead, he nodded and headed toward the back of the house, knowing he had no choice but to trust that the universe wouldn't destroy what they'd built tonight.
He called both kids out of their rooms and explained what was happening, watching their faces carefully for any sign of concern or fear. Emma, ever the mature one, crossed her arms and gave him a look that was pure preteen attitude.
"Dad, I'm twelve, almost thirteen, and Toby is eleven. We're going to be fine, even if Sandra wasn't staying. But if she wants to, that's okay, too."
The confidence in her voice made him proud and slightly terrified at the same time.
When had his little girl become so self-assured?
He kissed Emma's forehead, then turned and hugged Toby, pressing a kiss to the top of his head and breathing in the scent of shampoo and childhood that always made his throat tight.
"I have the greatest kids," he said, meaning every word.
They smiled up at him with a trust that made him want to be better than he was, then headed back into their bedrooms with the easy acceptance of children who'd learned that their dad’s work could call him out at any time.
He headed back to his own bedroom, moving through the familiar routine of preparing for a callout.
The DTF body armor went on over his shirt, the weight of it settling across his shoulders like a comfort.
His badge clipped to his belt, and his service weapon settled into its holster with practiced ease.
Once he was properly armed and equipped, he walked back toward the front door, where Sandra was waiting. The sight of her standing in his entryway, looking perfectly at home in his space, made something fierce and possessive rise in his chest.
He didn't care if his kids happened to walk down the hall and see them. He pulled Sandra against him, angling his head to capture her mouth in a kiss that was hard and fast and loaded with everything he couldn't say.
He wanted to take it deeper, wanted to pour all his frustration, desire, and growing feelings into the contact between them.
He wanted to carry her back to his bedroom and remind them both exactly what they had together.
But right now wasn't the time, and he had enough self-control left to pull back before he did something that would make leaving impossible.
When he finally broke the kiss, her eyes were half-lidded and dreamy, her lips slightly swollen from the pressure of his mouth. The image burned itself into his memory with a clarity that would carry him through whatever was waiting for him at that beach house.
"I'll be back as soon as I can," he promised, his voice rougher than he'd intended.
"I'll be here," she replied simply, and those three words felt like the most beautiful thing anyone had ever said to him.