Page 67 of Detectives in Love
Xavier stares at me, face turning red. I blink, wincing a little. The silence that follows feels way too loud.
“That’s not what I meant,” he says, voice low, a little defensive.
Then, just as the waitress shows up, he adds, “I meant you look like someone people want to fuck first, then cuddle. But maybe that’s just me.”
I nearly spill my coffee again, cheeks flaming as the waitress—who definitely heard that—sets our plates down as fast as she can before retreating to the counter.
My brain short-circuits for a good five seconds. Did Xavier really just say that?
I’m still red, still trying to form a sentence, when he speaks again. “Sorry.”
That snaps me out of it. Of course—he said it just to mess with the waitress.
“You’re such an ass,” I mutter, stabbing my bacon harder than necessary, heart pounding, body fully betrayed. “Did you have to say that in front of her?”
“Why?” Xavier asks, cool now. “Were you planning to chat her up?”
“No,” I scoff. “I just don’t like being the punchline in public.”
“I wasn’t joking,” he says, holding my gaze.
I glance up, caught off guard. He’s looking right at me, unreadable.
But before I can say anything, the café door swings open with a jingle, and a young man in a black jacket steps inside.
“Morning, Stacy. The usual, please,” he calls from the doorway.
“Morning, Bernard!” the waitress beams back at him.
I glance up—and it takes me a second to place him. Bernard Nimoy. Fred’s coworker fromThe Chronicle.
His gaze lands on me, and after a short pause, his face lights up.
“Mr. Doherty!” He strides toward our table, shaking his head in disbelief. “And Mr. Ormond! What a surprise. What brings you to my neighborhood?”
“Just breakfast,” I say, shaking his hand.
Xavier does the same, though his expression cools noticeably.
“Me too. I have breakfast here every morning,” Bernard says, nodding toward the booth. “Mind if I join?”
“Not at all,” I say, scooting closer to the window.
He slides in beside me without hesitation. Across from us, Xavier lifts his coffee and takes a long, slow sip, eyes locked on me with a perfectly blank expression.
I know that look.
I ignore it.
“You live around here then?” I ask as Bernard settles in, tucking his leather briefcase under the table.
“Just down the street,” he says with a grin. “Lucky me—it’s the only place nearby where a bachelor like me can get a proper breakfast without burning down the kitchen.”
I chuckle, then quickly steer the conversation to work before Xavier can roll his eyes into another dimension and hit him with something snarky.
“Anything interesting today?”
“Got a big scoop,” Bernard says, grinning. “Front-page material.”
