Page 50 of Hold Your Breath
He took a bite, chewed, swallowed, and took a sip of coffee before speaking. “Ran away?”
Going back to relocating the pastries, mainly so she’d have something to focus on besides Callum, she shrugged. “My parents were a little controlling, and I was a lot passive. They picked where I went to school, what courses I took, who I dated, which law school I attended…”
He choked a little on a bite of scone, so she leaned over the counter and smacked him on his back. Clearing his throat, he repeated, “Law school?”
“Yes.” Lou made a face. “It was so boring. I don’t know how I made it through, much less passed the bar exam.”
“Bar exam?”
She cocked her head to the side and studied him. “You okay? You’re repeating everything I say. It’s not like you.”
“I’m just surprised. I didn’t expect… You are not very lawyer-like.”
“I’m not. I hated it—law school, the firms where I interviewed, everything about it. But I’d just floated along, doing what my parents said, until I was twenty-six.” Making a face, she studied a crumb that had fallen onto the counter. “Pathetic, huh?”
“No.” At his answer, she looked up and caught his gaze. He didn’t look judgmental—more…thoughtful. “A lot of people do what others expect of them, even if they hate it. At least you realized you wanted out and made it happen. Why move here, though?”
She laughed, feeling lighter at his easy acceptance. “I knew they would never follow me here, or even visit for too long. It was Simpson or Alaska, and I didn’t think I could stand the twenty-three hour nights, so here I am.”
“You’re rather remarkable.”
A blush worked its way up her neck. “Thanks, but I’m really not.”
“You are. Staying alone in your cabin, working here, joining the dive team… You’re surviving and helping others in a place most people can’t imagine living.”
Clearing her throat, Lou glanced at the couple who had given up all pretense of not listening. “Hey, guys, we’re closing in a couple of minutes. Can I get you anything else for the road?”
“No, thanks,” the woman said, tossing her long dreadlocks over her shoulder. “And way to find your own soul’s path.”
“Yeah,” the guy agreed, standing up and gathering their empty cups. He had matching dreadlocks, although his were slightly shorter. “That’s awesome.”
“Thanks.” Slightly bemused, she watched them leave, the sleigh bells bouncing merrily against the door as it closed behind them.
“So my house, then?” Callum’s words brought her attention back to him.
“Yeah. Maybe we could alternate—one night at your house and then one at mine?” He nodded, and she gathered the pan of dirty dishes and carried it into the back. “It’s a plan, then. I’m going to stop by my place tonight and then first thing tomorrow to feed the woodstove.” As she returned to the front, she grinned at Callum. “There is one good thing about this.”
“What’s that?”
“I get another crack at that whiteboard of yours.”
* * *
Dressed in flannel pajamas—this pair light blue with lavender fish printed on them—and thick, fuzzy socks that did not match each other in any way, Lou stood in front of the whiteboard, brown marker in hand. After leaving the coffee shop, she and Callum had stopped by Lou’s cabin to feed the woodstove and pick up her overnight bag before heading to his house. He’d made dinner—a very tasty stew. Who knew that Callum was a genius with the Crock-Pot?
“How do we want to do this?” she asked. “Should I give the MC their own section?” She touched the tip of the marker to the board but then hesitated, looking at Callum over her shoulder. “What’s their name—the MC, I mean?”
“Liverton Riders,” he said.
As she scribbled it on the board, she made a face. “The groups around here really need a course in creative naming,” she muttered. She underlined the club’s name and then added the new information. Underneath that, she scribbled Ian Walsh’s name and stepped back to read over what she’d written.
“Lawrence mentioned that the evidence was found on the weight,” she said thoughtfully. “Did you or Wilt notice it when you pulled it out of the water?”
Stepping up next to her, Callum frowned. “No, which is strange. Not that we’re infallible, especially in that murky reservoir where visibility is shit, but we’re pretty thorough. Wilt’s a perfectionist, so he’s going to hate that we didn’t catch it.”
“Wilt’s a perfectionist?” she murmured, grinning when he shot her a look before returning his attention to the board.
“I’d like to know exactly what that piece of evidence is,” he said.
