Page 105 of Sergeant O'
Lainey agreed. “Probably before dinnertime.”
Adam’s expression told me he wasn’t as convinced. “You sure that’s the way you want to handle this?”
“She’s worked too hard to have her professionalism questioned because of me.”
“Yeah, but she didn’t seem to mind…”
“I think until this thing blows over, it’s the best course of action.”
As we finished eating, my breakfast felt like a lead ball in my stomach. Yeah, pretending what Jade and I had was all for show was going to protect her, but I hated even suggesting there hadn’t been something real between us.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Brian
I decided to see if my bullshit story flew outside Adam and Lainey’s kitchen, so after breakfast, I asked Lainey, “Can I borrow your car? I need to swing by and see my parents.”
“Of course.Mi coche es su coche.”
I chuckled at her attempt to twist the familiar Spanish saying,Mi casa es su casa.
I kissed her forehead and replied, “Gracias, mi amiga,” before pulling the sparkly keyring that I assumed wasn’t Adam’s from the hook and headed out the back door.
I opened the driver’s door, looked inside, then turned around.
Poking my head through the screen door, I called out, “Do you need Conor’s car seat?”
Adam came around the corner, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “No, I have one in the Bronco, too.”
I grinned at him. “They’ve only been here, what? A week? And you’ve already got this dad thing down.”
He was unapologetic when he replied, “Damn straight.” Then he leveled me with a look and added, “It’s amazing what can happen in a week.”
I decided not to pull on that thread and ask him what that was supposed to mean. Instead, I waved and said, “I’ll bring the Honda back as soon as I can.”
“Take your time. I’m off today, so she doesn’t need it.”
As I walked to the car, I wondered if maybe Adam was right; this wasn’t the way to handle things. A sliver of doubt started to creep in over what I was about to do.
~~~~
I was on my way to my parents’ when I spotted Dad’s department-issued Ford F150 angled into its usual spot in front of the diner.
Figures. If Angus O’Shaughnessy wasn’t at the station or at home, he was at Clay’s Diner with a cup of black coffee and a front-row seat to the Haven Springs rumor mill.
Perfect.
This was the place to be if I wanted to plant the story so it would take on a life of its own.
The bell over the door gave me away when I stepped inside, and the whole restaurant erupted in cheers at the sight of me.
“Brian! It’s good to see you!”
“Glad you’re feeling better!”
“Breakfast is on me!”
Hank Saxon, clad in overalls, a plaid shirt, and John Deere trucker’s hat exclaimed, “Looking good, boy!” and stood to clasp my shoulder as I walked by.
