Project Produce(8)

He let it go, thank God. “No Mister in your life?” he asked, glancing at my bare ring finger.

Just because I didn’t have a ring on didn’t mean I wasn’t married. His assumption made me angry, even if it was true. “No. There is no Mister in my life, Detective.” And there probably never would be, after that awful video footage had been published on the Internet. It still stung that men only wanted me for one thing these days, and marriage wasn’t it. “I don’t see how that’s relevant to the investigation.” I slipped my right hand over my left.

He ran his thumb and forefinger over his goatee, but I saw his grin. I could tell he enjoyed making me squirm. “Not a problem at all, Ms. MacDonald with an ‘a.’ It’s simply a formality,” he paused, “for the record.”

“And we wouldn’t want to leave any holes in the record, now would we?”

“Not with my captain. He’s a stickler for details. How old are you?”

I blinked.

He grinned.

“Well, if you’re sure my age will help you catch the flasher, I wouldn’t dream of standing in the way of justice being served. I’m thirty.”

“Thirty?” His brows shot up.

“It’s the baby face. Everyone always thinks I’m younger. It used to drive me crazy, but now that I’m older, I’ll take it. Not that I’m old. I mean, thirty isn’t old. Is it? I can’t really tell anymore, because sometimes I feel ancient.” God, I hated it when I rambled. I tended to do that when I was flustered, and right about now I was ranking pretty high on the fluster scale.

“No, ma’am. Thirty’s not old.” His gaze ran over me with renewed interest, and I shivered as a tingle ran up my spine. The corner of his mouth twitched like he wanted to smile.

“Excuse me, the coffee’s ready.” I stood to my full height and strolled over to the pot, trying hard not to shake my butt. It probably looked like I had a pole stuck up my rear end, but I didn’t care. It was better than letting him see me jiggle. Poles didn’t jiggle. My fanny, on the other hand, did.

Big time.

I poured the coffee, thinking the ten pounds I’d put on since the scandal didn’t help, when the strangest sensation hit me. You know, that prickly feeling on the back of your neck you get when you can sense someone is staring at you? Well, that was it to a tee. The same feeling I’d had in tenth grade Biology every time I made the long walk from the back of the classroom to the chalkboard. Chuckie Turner would always say, Must be jelly cuz jam don’t shake like that.

I risked a peek over my shoulder. Dylan whipped his eyes up to mine with guilt shining bright. Guilt, and something more.

Darn it, I knew he was staring at my huge insecurity! Well, I sure as heck wasn’t in tenth grade anymore. If he made one smart-alec comment, I’d let him have it. He smiled at me kindly, looking like anything but a smart-alec. Not sure how I felt about that, I turned back around and finished making the coffee. When he cleared his throat, I frowned.

Note to self: Hot Britches likes jelly.

That made us even, because I couldn’t deny I liked big feet. Only big feet had brought me heartache. I couldn’t go through that again. Donning a neutral expression, I picked up the tray and returned, setting it on the table between us. “Cream or sugar?”

“Neither. Black as sin for me.”

“Hmmm,” was all I said.

He picked up his steaming mug and watched me over the rim. Taking a sip, he raised his cup in salute. “It’s good.”

“Thank you. Next question?”

“Thirty-five.”

“Excuse me?” I stared at him, my cup halting halfway to my lips.

“That’s my age. I thought it only fair you knew.”

“Wow, you look... your age.” Hello, Mouth. Meet Foot. He arched a brow, so I blurted, “But it’s a good look, really.”

“Thanks, I think.”

“You’re welcome.” You’re welcome? For what, you goof, insulting him? “It was a compliment, you know,” I added.

“Got it.” He looked at his notes. “All right, on with the investigation.”

Thank God.

He set his cup down, rubbed his hands together, and then picked up his notepad and pen again. “Tell me what happened from the beginning. And try to remember everything, even if you don’t think it’s important. You’d be surprised at how many minor details turn out to be the leads we need.”

I filled him in on everything that had happened from the moment I’d arrived at work. He remained passive, intent on listening and taking notes throughout my account. I knew he was just doing his job, but it felt really good having a man actually “listen” to what I was saying.