“I’m not hungry.”
“Indulge me.”
She doesn’t argue and watches silently as I plate a stack of golden pancakes, a few strips of bacon, and a bowl of mixed berries. I skip the caffeine and pour her some orange juice instead and add a small plain yogurt, before sliding it all over to her. She stares at the meal for a moment, silence stretching between us before she picks up a strawberry and takes a bite.
“Will you indulge me?” she asks when she polishes off the bite.
“How?”
When those stunning blue eyes lift to mine, it’s like getting punched in the fucking gut. Christ, she’s such a beautiful woman, it takes me by surprise every time I look at her. And it takes everything in me not to go around the counter again and touch her.
Hell, now that I know how velvet smooth her skin feels and the sounds she makes when I touch her, it’s tempting to do it again.
“Why were you out here drinking alone last night?”
I consider brushing off her question or making up something that’ll throw her off, but I hesitate. She’s been nothing but open and vulnerable around me, and while I’m not the type to bare my soul, I imagine it wouldn’t hurt to let her know she’s not the only one haunted by demons.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I tell her, taking another sip of my now cold coffee. “Yesterday would have marked ten years since my former partner and I were assigned to work together.”
“I didn’t know cops stayed partnered that long,” she comments, cutting into her pancakes and taking a big bite, humming at the taste. Maybe her appetite is finally coming back.
“They don’t, not always.”
“You must’ve worked well together.” I watch her drizzle syrup over the pancakes and dig in. “Kristin and I have only known each other for two years, but it feels like we’ve known each other our entire lives. I hope we’re just as close after ten years.” She takes a sip of the juice to wash down the pancakes before turning back to me. “Why couldn’t you sleep? Do you miss being a cop and working with your partner?”
“He’s dead.”
Perhaps there would have been a softer way to say it but there is nothing soft about death. Definitely not in the way it found Eric, yanking him away from his wife and their little boy.
“Beau…”
“About a year ago, we responded to a robbery call that went bad fast. Eric and I split up when we shouldn’t have. We thought we could cover more ground and keep the suspects contained until backup arrived.” I drink more coffee, grimacing at the taste now that it’s cold, but it helps with the dryness in my throat. “Instead, we walked right into an ambush. By the time I got back to him, he’d been shot. His vest seemed to have caught one round, but another hit where it shouldn’t have.”
Rosalie’s fingers tighten around mine, her thumb brushing across my knuckles.
“He collapsed,” I continue. “I tried to put pressure on the wound while I called for an ambulance, but it was too late. He was gone before any help could arrive.”
“Beau, I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “Is that why you quit being a cop?”
“Would you move back into your house if your friend never came back?” The question lands like a slap, and regret hits me instantly. I tighten my hold before she can pull away. “I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry for that. It was uncalled for.”
“She’s coming back.”
“I know, baby. I’m sorry.”
She lets out a shuddering breath before nodding. “I couldn’t go back,” she admits. “I guess I would do the same as you, if I had the money for it. Buy a house in the middle of nowhere and live a solitary life. If something ever happened to Kristin, I wouldn’t know how to go back, rejoin society, and trust strangers again.”
“I understand loss, Rosalie.” Despite my better judgment, I circle the counter and stop next to her. “I lost my parents when I was only a boy, so I thought I understood loss. I’ve been on the receiving end of it, so I know how it feels, but watching it destroy someone else was a whole different monster. He had a wife and a son, and his death devastated them.”
This time, she reaches up to cup my jaw, her fingers stroking my beard. “It devastated you too.”
“It did,” I say, allowing myself to lean into the touch of a woman I have no right to want. “I never want to go through that again or put someone I care about through that.”
“Caring sucks,” she says. “I think about Kristin when I open my eyes, and I worry endlessly about her. Is she safe? God, she must be terrified and sick. She’s allergic to fish. What if they feed her something with fish in it and—”
I kiss her.
Perhaps it’s not the right response to someone hurting, but she leans into it, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and meeting my lips with need. I taste the tears on her lips,reminding me of my own grief. That ache that lies beneath my ribs flares when memories of the day Eric died surface, and I push them away, refocusing on the woman in my arms.