Eli shrugged, smiled at her, and pulled out her chair. Bethany slid into it, gazing back at him like he was Sir Walter Raleigh and he’d just flung his cloak over a puddle for Queen Elizabeth.
Glory wanted to pinch her hard, which seemed unreasonable. Or blurt, “Sure, he has nice manners, but have you seen him throw someone to the ground and cuff them?”
And a pointed little silence ensued. Glory ought to be taking everyone’s drink orders, but she kind of wanted to see what would happen next first.
Eli and Francone looked about as happy as the Roadrunner and Wile E. Coyote sitting together.
Bethany cleared her throat. “When I met Eli, he was wearing his uniform.” Bethany madeuniformsound likecrown. “I know it’s cliché, but there’s something about a man in uniform, wouldn’t you say, Glory?”
“There’s something, all right.”
Eli and Franco didn’t appear to hear this exchange. They were as silent as two boxers in opposite corners of the ring.
“Eli has a very nice, big, comfortable truck,” Bethany said into the silence stoutly, perhaps worried Eli might feel less than manly because he didn’t have a Porsche. “It’s very powerful. Took those hills and curves like they were nothing at all.” This last sentence was delivered with a sly little smile and a sidelong look at Eli.
Well. Glory’s own flirting chops were highly honed, and she always took a sort of professional interest in witnessing someone else’s technique. This Bethany might be a little loose.
Judging from the glimmer in his eyes and the sideways glance, Eli appreciated the innuendo.
Then again, it was possible he’d already explored Bethany’s hills and curves.
The very idea made Glory tense everywhere, which oddly made her braid pull tighter, which just made her feel irrationally as testy as a pit bull staked to the ground on a short chain.
“Mr.Francone,” Bethany said politely, “we just spent an hour in it driving around and looking at the sights of the town and listening to music, and it’s such a charming location for a show likeThe Rush. I thought it was adorable when that John Cougar Mellencamp song about small towns came on. Eli, what’s that song called?”
“‘Small Town,’” Glory and Eli said simultaneously. Without looking at each other.
Glory was awfully tempted to add, “Duh.”
They both hated that song, as it so happened.
“It was like Kismet,” Bethany expounded.
“You believe in Kismet, huh?” Glory said neutrally.
She knew Eli was wildly suspicious of words likeKismetandScorpioandauraand the like. He liked things to be defined, not theoretical. That tendency had gotten even more pronounced after his dad was killed. And Glory knew it was one of the reasons he found refuge in the law.
Crap. An ache started up, for all the things she knew about Eli. For all the ways he was strong and for all the ways he was vulnerable.
“Sure, Kismet’s a lovely concept, don’t you think?” Bethany persisted. “I never thought I’d run into a handsome, charming cop in the middle of my grandmother’s retirement community. Or have breakfast withtheFranco Francone. Let alone work on his TV show. Today is absolutely my lucky day.”
She was skillfully distributing flattery equally between Eli and Franco in the manner of sycophants and underlings everywhere.TheFranco Francone gave a subtle, courtly nod, as if Bethany had just handed him the salt. Gushing was probably his version of small talk.
Eli was the one Bethany wanted todo, Glory thought. If she had to pick one or the other. She knew that with a woman’s instinct.
Franco idly picked up the little salt shaker. “I picked up a local station in my Porsche right after the deputy here pulled me over.” He madePorscheandthe deputysound italicized. “They were playing some girly song from the nineties... ‘You Suck’?”
He said this directly to Eli.
Eli’s head went up slowly and he fixed Franco with an interested stare.
“It’s by the Murmurs. I like the Murmurs,” Glory said hurriedly. “Discovered them on YouTube. Don’t hear them too often these days.”
“What’s your favorite song, Francone? ‘I Can’t Drive 55’?” Eli’s tone was jocular. Eli’s eyes weren’t.
“Funny,” Franco said, not sounding amused. “But no. I’m actually kind of partial to an old Ian Hunter song... ‘Bastard.’”
Eli unwrapped his silverware from his paper napkin as carefully as if he was cleaning his gun.