“Fine by me. Make yourself at home,” I say as I retrieve the pan I placed into the refrigerator. The weight of Sutton’s starefollows me across the room. My search for silverware is brief. I locate a fork in the third drawer I yank open. The pan clatters against the table, and I slide into one of the unoccupied chairs. “Want some?”
“No.”
I shrug and sink my fork into the middle, cutting the perimeter of a two-inch square. “So how can I help you, Officer?”
“It’s not Officer today.”
I peruse him slowly. The worn denim clings to his muscular thighs in all the right places, riding low on his trim hips. The navy cotton tee stretched across his wide chest looks soft.
“I can see that.” I pop a forkful of brownie into my mouth. My eyes widen, and an unhindered moan falls out. “Oh my god, you have to try this.”
“I’m not here for games, Ms. Thompson. I’m here to talk about your position.”
Back to Ms. Thompson? Sutton certainly spent time reinforcing those ironclad walls.
I lick a bead of chocolate frosting from the corner of my mouth. Sutton’s eyes flick surreptitiously, but not quick enough that I don’t catch the glance.
“If you’re here to fire me, just get on with it so I can find another position.”
“I’m not here to fire you.”
“Then what is it that you couldn’t say yesterday?”
“I like information. I need…” He scratches the side of his cheek and rolls his neck. “I just needmorefrom you than I got yesterday.”
Sitting straighter in the wooden chair, I lower my fork back into the pan and dust the crumbs from my fingertips over the table. “Okay, what do you need to know? You can ask me anything.”
He blows out a breath. “For one, that’s the most serious you’ve sounded since I met you.”
“I know I can be a giant goof, but I promise you, Sutton, when it comes to your daughter, I’m as serious and safe as someone can be.”
“Good. That’s good.” His shoulders relax a fraction.
“I didn’t get around to ityet,” I emphasize, “but I had a list of questions ready to ask you too. I’m taking this seriously.”
“Like what?”
“Like does your daughter have any allergies I should be aware of?”
“Nope. What do you do if you find one Iwasn’taware of?”
“That depends. Is she just rashy or anaphylactic?”
I swear his face blanches. “You call me, and you call 911.”
“You aren’t very good with hypotheticals.”
“Not when it’s about my daughter,” he replies curtly.
“You can leave me a list of all the important phone numbers.”
“I planned on it.”
“Does she take any medications I should know about?”
“No.”
“Does your dog?”