No. Not costume, Rae. His official uniform.
I had no time for the sardonic voice in my head, I was too busy looking my fill and storing this sight of Deputy Dreamy all decked out in his law enforcement regalia . . . for reasons.
He shut the door, muffling the sound of the heavy rain, and turned toward me. His mouth was open like words were on the tip of his tongue, like he had a statement prepared. But once his eyes met mine, they seemed to soften, widen, and warm—just like they’d done at the station, and just like they’d done at the restaurant.
I’d reflected often over the last week that the way he looked at me was completely and utterly intoxicating. Partly because his eyes rarely seemed to stray from my face. Partly because it was him, my dreamy deputy.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” I said. A tremor of nervous excitement—that I immediately felt guilty about—pulsed through my body. And it was the guilt that had me lowering my eyes from his handsome face and clearing my throat.
You are a mess, Rae. But you’re not a terrible person. You’re a good person. And you don’t make moony eyes at someone else’s boyfriend.
“What’s—why are you here?” I studied the stick shift. Reeeeaaaally looked at it.
I heard him expel a loud breath. “I’m here for you.”
My head snapped up. “What? You are?”
“Yes.” His eyes moved between mine. “You see—”
“I want to apologize,” I said, the words bursting out of me.
He flinched, rearing just an inch back, and frowned. “Apologize? For what?”
“For coming to the station last week and bringing you that pie. I’d promised you—if you recall, but totally fine if you don’t remember—that I wouldn’t bother you after that night, that night we, uh, the night we were together. I said no strings.”
He stared at me, and his chest rose and fell a few times before he replied on a rasp, “I remember.”
The cadence of his two-word answer paired with how he was presently looking at me made goose bumps prickle along my neck and chest. No. Bad body. Bad involuntary reaction!
“Anyway.” I crossed my arms, hating and therefore ignoring the way my stomach twisted and coiled, because now I really felt shitty about myself. “I said I’d leave you alone, and that’s what I should’ve done. It was inconsiderate to show up at your place of work, and I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to be sorry.”
“Regardless, I am.”
His expression seemed to soften further, and I felt myself melting beneath his gaze. “I wish you wouldn’t—”
“You have a girlfriend!” I tore my eyes from his, angry with myself and with him. Why was he here?
“Uh, I—”
“Having a former one-night stand show up at your work must’ve been awful. I’m sorry if I made things difficult for you or caused a scene.” My words were clipped and edged with anger. I held on to my indignation with both hands, wanting to make it a wall between us.
“You . . .”
I waited for him to finish the thought. When he didn’t, I peeked at him. He stared at me for a long moment, his gaze inscrutable, and then he shook his head. “You’re not making things difficult for me.”
“I had no idea you have a girlfriend. I would never, ever have talked to you at all if I’d known.”
“Raquel.” He lifted his hands. “It’s okay. Please. Don’t worry about it.”
“It’s really not.” How could he not see that? Then again, he didn’t know I’d gone there to proposition him. But still. “I just show up at your job and bring you pie and—who does that? Who—”
“Charlotte and I split up,” he blurted, lifting his voice to speak over my deluge of guilt mongering and shame peddling.
Now I flinched. And I blinked. And my mind blanked.
“Please.” He pulled off his hat, running his long fingers through the thick tuft of hair on top of his head. “Don’t trouble yourself. You did nothing wrong.”
“You broke up with Charlotte?” I liked Charlotte.
“Last week. And I didn’t break up with her. She was the one to call it off.” A small, dry smile tugged at one corner of his mouth, like his thoughts were occupied by something both funny and not funny.
“I’m—I’m sorry.” I was . . . actually . . . a little sorry.
I hadn’t talked to Charlotte for very long, but she seemed awesome and funny and vivacious. Seeing Jackson with her, and that he’d chosen someone so great, made me feel like I’d been right about him all along. His legend status had been more firmly cemented.
But on the other hand, how awesome could Charlotte possibly be if she’d let Deputy Dreamy go? Was she insane?
“It’s fine, I’m fine.” He waved away my concern. “It wasn’t meant to be. I wish her well.”
I couldn’t tell if he was telling the truth about being fine and wishing her well, or if he simply had exceptionally good manners and control over his emotions. After some internal debate, I assumed it was the latter.
He must’ve read the doubt on my face because his earlier smile spread, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “You don’t believe me.”
“Sienna said you’d been together for months.”
“We had.” He nodded, his eyes dropping to his hat. “But we’ve been friends since we were kids. I saw more of Charlotte when we were just friends than when we were . . .” Deputy D—I mean, Jackson—breathed out an audible sigh, and when he glanced up his eyes were clear, free of post-breakup pain. “Anyway. Like I said, it wasn’t meant to be, and it was never going to work. We want two different things.”
“What do you want?” The thoughtless, invasive query burst from my mouth like a projectile.
He stared at me like my question had caught him completely off guard, like he felt caught, or put on the spot.
I rushed to correct my thoughtlessness. “You don’t have to answer—”
“No, it’s fine.” He cleared his throat before saying softly, “I want to settle down, for good. I want someone who is ready to put the effort into a relationship in order to make it work in the long term. I want someone who is dedicated to seeing things through, no matter how difficult.”
Effort. Work. Dedicated. Difficult.
My nose wrinkled. “Why do you—” I paused to consider what question I wanted to ask first, and opted for, “Why does it have to be difficult?”
His eyebrows lifted. “Pardon?”
“You make it sound like long-term relationships are akin to climbing Mount Everest.”
“Aren’t they?”
I honestly didn’t know. I’d never settled down because I’d never been in love, not how people described it or portrayed it in books or the movies. But I wanted to think, with the right person, it wouldn’t be all effort, work, dedication, and difficulty.
“Yes, there will be some work involved. But shouldn’t it also be—” I moved my hands in front of me as I searched for the right word “—fun?”
“Fun?”
“Yes. Fun. I think being in love should be fun. And then wouldn’t dedication also be easy? With the right person.”