The clinking of glasses and low hum of conversation fills the air of The Magnolia Grill. We’d entered the restaurant, breathless, pushing each other out of the way in the door. As Tuck swipes at me and tries to pull me back, I manage to slip from his grasp and slam my hand on the hostess stand, thus scaring the living tar out of the sweet teenage girl who is working her shift.
“I win!” Arms in the air, I turn around triumphantly to find Tuck taking gulps of air and trying not to laugh. I spin around, back to the hostess, holding up two fingers and catching my own breath. “Two. Dinner. Please?”
The hostess is quick to lead us down the steps into the dining room and to our table near the window, giving us a menu each before taking our drink orders and quickly walking away.
“So, how’s the new job so far?” Tuck asks, his breathing returning to normal as he peruses the menu.
“Busy.” The hostess is back at our tableside, placing our drinks in front of us before disappearing again. I want to tell her I’m sorry we were so boisterous. I really need to be more adult since I live in this town now and I’m policing it. But it’s hard to be an adult when my brother is in the vicinity. “My sergeant dropped a huge project into my lap today.”
Tuck cocks his head to one side. “What is it?”
“He wants to start a Canine Comfort Therapy team.”
“Like a K-9 unit?”
I shake my head. “It's a unit for mental health. In the past, counselors have advised a therapy dog would be good in callouts where the case is sensitive or the person who we’re responding to is in a vulnerable state.”
Tuck raises one eyebrow. “That’s a big project alright. What do you need to do?”
“Start by attacking the paperwork and getting to know the project, then I’ll look into applying for a grant. Sergeant Lane wants enough money to set up an actual facility for training these kinds of units for the whole state.”
“Oh, that would be so cool,” Tuck says with a nod as he sips his cocktail. “Right up your alley. Did you tell them you used to be a dog trainer?”
“It’s on my resume, so it’s one of the reasons he asked me. It would be cool to be the person who has a hand in bringing an initiative like this to town, but I’m not going to lie. It feels daunting.”
We’re interrupted when our server appears, jotting down our order before she walks away. As she does, Tuck inclines his head in her direction.
“Dude...she totally looks like Laney. Right?”
Squinting my eyes, I try to catch another glimpse of her face as she walks through the dimly lit restaurant. “I can’t tell.”
“Keep watching. She’s on the move again.” Tuck inclines his head toward the other side of the restaurant near the hostess stand. “She’s headed to greet someone at the door.”
I’m so busy watching her thread her way to the front of the house that I don’t even notice the person who she’s about to greet. Not until my eyes lock with theirs.
Etta can’t mask the irritation that flits across her face when she recognizes me. She bends closer to speak to the hostess, turning her back to me and to the rest of the restaurant, before she marches over to a couch in the lobby and sits down.
“Tuck, I’ll be right back,” I manage as I push my chair out and stand up.
I can feel his eyes boring a hole through my back as I work my way over to the lobby where Etta sits staring at me, boring a hole in my front. I’m going to be a tunnel by the time these two are done with me.
I take the four steps leading into the lobby quickly. So quick, that I forget the last step is even there. The toe of my shoe catches, snagging on something coming out of the floor and I can’t seem to pull my foot away.
Etta must have seen the look of shock appear on my face because I’m treated to her features turning from tranquil ambivalence into actual full-fledged fear as I’m launched into the air and am now weightless and falling forward.
I’ll never understand why she thought she could help me, but in the confusion of it all, Etta stands—at the same time my face plants itself in her lap. I’m like a human flesh rocket or some kind of perverted heat-seeking missile.
By the time we land, I’ve somehow managed to end up on my back while embracing Etta and clutching onto her arms. I can smell the rage building inside of her as she pushes herself off of me only to cry out in pain and swat at the side of her head.
“Your watch is tangled in my hair,” she hisses.
“Oh, sorry. I was trying to snag it in your sweater.” Her face tells me she’s not ready to laugh about this yet, and that’s fine. I carefully pull a few stray strands of hair out of my watch band. “You should be free now.”
As we finally climb to our feet, Etta shoots me a look that could kill. I’m pretty sure she’s gearing up to rip me a new one when the hostess appears and hands Etta a brown bag with food to go.
Turning to face me, Etta puts one hand on her hip. “You are a hot mess.”
I can’t argue with her, but I’m allowed to think about how gorgeous she is when she’s mad, right? “Etta, lucky for you, I’m a positive person.”
