Page 26 of Love Resurrected
“Coffee sounds great, Bradley. Thank you.”
I want to tell her it’s just Brad, but I kind of like the way she calls me Bradley. I head into the adjoining alcove where we keep the coffee and water dispenser. “How do you take it?”
“Oh, black is fine. Thank you.”
I bring her a cup of coffee and take a seat back behind the desk again. “Have you done one of these recruitment fairs before?” I ask.
“Yes, quite a few times. I do a lot of this type of work for the police department.”
“So, you’re the PD rep?” I ask and she nods.
I had assumed she was the city program rep. “That’s got to be interesting. How’d you get roped into that?”
“I volunteered.” She takes a sip of her coffee and grimaces. “Oh my, this coffee is terrible.”
“I’m sorry, I should have warned you. We like it strong here at the station.”
“That’s not just strong, Bradley. That’s downright awful. Let me make a fresh pot.” She heads to the kitchenette in the alcove and dumps the pot before I object. She hums to herself as she works. If I’m not mistaken, it’s “My Favorite Things.”
She stops humming as soon as she steps back into the lobby. “Did you volunteer, Bradley?”
“No.” I laugh, but it’s forced. “I definitely did not volunteer. They assigned me this task. Just this morning, in fact.”
“Desk duty?” she asks with a smile as she returns to her chair.
I duck my head, suddenly embarrassed by my so-called punishment. “Yep.”
“What did you do?”
“It’s more a question of what didn’t I do.”
“You don’t strike me as the rebel-rouser type, Bradley.”
“My fiancée died about three years ago. I took a long leave of absence afterward, but I still wasn’t handling it well when I returned to duty. I put myself and fellow firefighters in danger. Just being stupid.” I surprise myself by admitting that so freely to her. I’ve never done that before.
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” she says, and in such a way I’m not sure if she’s sorry about Kat’s passing or that I was stupid.
A few minutes later, the coffee maker beeps that it’s finished. I get up before she has a chance to and get us each a fresh cup, then hand her one.
“My William passed over eight years ago. We were married for thirty-one years. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of him. I wish I could tell you it gets easier, but I doubt it ever does.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I tell her.
She waves a hand in the air. “I’m used to it now, but it took me a while to get there. I’m even seeing someone. Mostly for the sex, but I enjoy his company.”
I choke on my coffee and when I look up, she winks at me. Not in a flirtatious way, more in a, “Ha ha, I shocked you,” kind of way.
“I should have waited until you swallowed your coffee before I said that,” she says.
Or not said it at all.
“One benefit of getting older, you no longer have to filter anything you say.” She smiles. “So, tell me, how are you handling it now? Any better?”
“Handling what?”
“Your fiancée’s death.”
I was afraid that’s what she meant. “I’m not sure that I’m handling it any better. At least not emotionally. I’ve stopped putting myself in dangerous situations. But my friends are really pushing me to date again, I’m just not sure I’m ready.”
