Page 60 of Clumsy in Love

Cole couldn’t keep up with Steph when he was in top form. Handling her in his half-baked state was too much. “I’m un-caffeinated and under-rested. You’re gonna have to slow down.”

“Is. She. Pretty? Do. You. Like. Her?”

“Oh, you’re hilarious. What makes you say any of that? How do you know she’s not sixty and married?”

“I talk to Mark sometimes,” she said nonchalantly.

“Mark, my partner?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Sometimes.” This time it was more defensive.

“Mark’s married.”

“It’s not like that.” She passed him a plate of bacon and eggs.

He sipped his coffee, still a little slow on the uptake. “Wait. Are you checking up on me?”

She ignored the question. “I texted Mom that you’re home. She wants to know when you’re coming over?”

“I’ve got a lot—”

“Tonight? Great. In fact, why don’t you clean up, get dressed, and come back with me now?”

She smiled sweetly, and he shook his head. Arguing with her would be fruitless. Plus, ithadbeen a while. He was past due for a visit. “Fine. But I’m finishing my coffee and eating bacon first.”

An hour later, he and Steph caught the R train and rode it to Brooklyn. At the Bay Ridge station, they split up. Steph wanted to stop by her place first and promised she’d be over soon. Cole took a cab to his childhood home.

“Honey,” his mom greeted, wrapping her arms around his waist, too short for any other kind of hug. “It’s been too long. Come on in and get some lemonade. It’s gonna be a hot one.”

His dad came out from the den. “Son.”

“Hey, Dad.” Cole and his father had a complicated relationship. Growing up, they’d been the best of friends, his dad always loving and supportive. But Megan’s murder had affected him greatly. Turned him cynical and gruff. Ten-year-old Colehad been so confused by the change. Twenty-nine-year-old Cole understood his father had never really gotten over the death of his oldest daughter and cut him slack because of it.

His mom was another story. Always happy and optimistic, sincere and affectionate. Kind of like Holly when he thought about it.

“Tell us about New Hampshire,” his mom said, handing him a glass of lemonade and leading the way to the back porch.

“I only went to the one city. But pictureThe Andy Griffith Show. Real small-town, down-home vibe. Streets done up for the Fourth of July. Everyone knows everyone. You would love it, Mom.”

“Sounds very picturesque,” she said. “And the girl?”

“She’s a witness to a murder. The guy came after her while I was there. Almost shot her in the middle of a parade.”

His mom gasped. “What happened?”

“I chased him off, and he left town. We have him in custody now.”

His sisters arrived within the hour. Steph and his other sister, Tracy, were roommates and lived within a stone’s throw. Per usual, he took the verbal abuse from them all afternoon. The conversation turned to Holly on more than one occasion.

“Why do you keep asking about Holly?” he finally asked. “She’s just an assignment for work.”

“Uh-huh,” Tracy said. “You get this little twinkle in your eye when you talk about her. We’re just trying to gauge how serious this is.”

“How serious what is?”

“Your feelings for this girl,” Steph said. “Infatuation? Lust? Love…?”

“What? I don’t have any feelings for her. Other than I’m grateful she’s willing to testify against Cruz. I want that bastard to rot in prison, and she’s our best—well, only—hope of putting him there.”

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