Chapter 3

Bridgett

Fancy Gadgets and Shiny Objects

With my belly full of butterflies that refuse to settle, I open the door to the hall bathroom. I heard Noah walk past the door about five minutes ago while I was doing my makeup, so I know the coast is clear.

I scoot down to my room, close the door, and then head for the closet to find something to wear. I settle on a pair of jeans and a cream sweater with ankle boots that match, then tie a scarf around my neck and grab my jacket before leaving the room. When I reach the end of the hall, I find Noah sitting on the couch, dressed casually in a pair of jeans, a hooded sweatshirt, and sneakers, with a baseball cap on his head. Where he even buys clothes to fit his large frame is a mystery to me.

“Ready?” he asks, and I realize I’m staring at him like some kind of idiot.

“Yeah, sorry. I just need to grab my phone.” I quickly go to the kitchen to unplug it and turn it on. As soon as the cell comes to life, a message from my ex appears on the screen, probably from last night.

Conner: The car belongs to me. It’s in my name. I don’t give a fuck what your lawyer has to say about it.

I grit my teeth and open our chat to write him back.

Me: YOUR car was totaled last night after I was carjacked. You can call the police station and figure out where to pick it up.

“Everything okay?” I jump at the question and turn to face Noah, realizing that in my frustration, I forgot he was here.

“Yep, just texting Conner about the car situation since I didn’t get a chance to do it last night.” I tuck my phone into my bag and look up, finding Noah studying me closely. Really, the guy must be the best interrogator among the people he works with because just one look from him would have me spilling my whole life story in seconds. Like that kid in The Goonies who told the puking story when he was picked up by the bad guys after his friends. “I’m ready if you are.”

He steps to the side, and I walk to the door as he grabs his bag from the floor next to the couch. When we get outside, I lock up. But instead of heading for the parking lot, he stands behind me like some kind of oversized sentinel, making me feel awkward. When I’m done, we walk down the sidewalk. Having seen his truck before I’m not surprised by its size. If he were a different man, I would assume he was attempting to make up for some physical attributes he lacks, but the lifted black-on-black 4x4 fits him perfectly. And, really, he would look odd getting into a smaller vehicle.

Instead of going right to the driver’s side, he walks me to the passenger door and opens it for me to get in. It takes a couple of tries to get my ass up into the seat, but when I finally do, he closes the door before heading around the truck bed. As I put on my seat belt, I look around the interior. There’s not an upgrade in sight, and something about that causes me to relax. He’s a normal guy—just a nice, normal guy—not one impressed by fancy gadgets and shiny objects.

“Where do you want to eat?” I ask as soon as he opens the door, before he even has a chance to get behind the wheel.

“Have you been to Maple Biscuits?” he asks, and I shake my head. He flashes a grin that causes those pesky butterflies to speed up. “You’re in for a treat.”

He starts the engine and backs out of the parking spot before putting on his seat belt. As he drives, I pull up the menu for the restaurant on my phone, wanting to make sure I have enough money to cover his meal and mine, then inwardly groan when Conner Calling appears on the screen.

“You gonna answer that?” he questions, and I want to say no, but given what happened last night, I know I don’t have a choice.

“Unfortunately,” I mumble, then click the green phone symbol and put it to my ear. “Conner.”

“You were carjacked?” he shouts in greeting, and I pull the phone slightly away before answering.

“Yes. ”

“This wouldn’t have happened if you’d just fucking come home already, Bridgett.”

“It could have happened anywhere. And, as I told you before, I’m not going back.”

“What do you want from me?” he yells. I can picture his handsome face—red with anger—and his hair a mess because he always rips his fingers through it when he’s mad or not getting his way. “Do you want me to write my name in blood and say I’ll never cheat again? That I’m okay with not having a kid? If that’s what you want, I’ll do it.”

“All I want is for you to sign the divorce papers.” I keep my tone even, knowing he’s already on edge.

“Fuck you! You think I can’t have better than you? That I can’t do better than you?” he rages in my ear. “You’re the worst lay I’ve ever had, and you wonder why I cheated every fucking chance I go—”

His words end when Noah snatches the phone out of my hand. I jerk my head to the side to watch in horror as he puts my cell to his ear and growls, “Do not call her number again. If you need to get information to her, have your lawyer talk to hers.” And with that, he disconnects and dumps my phone in the cupholder between us, then turns to look at me. “You are not talking to him.”

“You just—”

“Never again, Bridgett,” he cuts me off. “That guy…” His jaw clenches.“Never again.”

With my throat tight and my face feeling like it’s on fire, I nod. Obviously, he heard what Conner said. If that isn’t humiliating, I don’t know what is. It’s not the first time Conner has blamed his infidelity on me, but knowing that someone else heard him? That Noah heard him say I’m so bad in bed he had to go elsewhere, it’s…well, I don’t even know what it is.

I stare out the window for the rest of the drive, refusing to give in to the urge to cry like I want to. Unluckily for me, we reach the small plaza where the restaurant is, and far too quickly. With my insides twisted into a knot, Noah parks his truck. As soon as he comes to a stop, I hop out, needing a second of fresh air to pull myself together a little more. Especially before I have to sit across from him in a restaurant with no choice but to face him.

“Yo!” he bites out. I spin around and find him storming in my direction. “Next time you get out of my truck before I’ve even put it in park, we’re gonna have a problem. ”

“Wh…? What?” I back up a step as he closes in on me.

“I get you’re upset about what that douchebag you married said, but you will not put yourself in danger. Do you understand?”

“I wasn’t in danger,” I say quietly. He makes a deep growling sound in the back of his throat that causes the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end as his eyes narrow scarily. “I mean, okay,” I quickly amend.

“Okay,” he grumbles, not looking any less angry. I shift on my feet as his eyes bore into mine.

“Should we go eat?” I blurt, wanting to end the awkward stare-down between us.

“Yes.” He grabs my wrist, startling me. My skin burns from his touch—not in a bad way, but in a way that makes me very aware of his proximity—and I oddly miss it when we reach the restaurant, and he lets me go to open the door.

When we get inside, I see people standing near the entrance, waiting to be seated, and the entire dining area is packed. We get in line, and I look around, noticing that many of the patrons have their eyes on Noah. Not just women but also men. I wonder if he always draws so much attention everywhere he goes.

“Is it just you two?” A young woman who’s probably still in high school greets us with a smile when we finally reach the podium.

“Yep,” he tells her, and she drops her gaze to the paper in front of her, then looks between Noah and me.

“It’s going to be about ten minutes. Is that okay?”

“That works for us.” He lifts his chin, then gives her his name. She writes it down on the list.

As we move to stand in the alcove near the front door with everyone else, a handsome man with gorgeous dark skin, dressed in jeans and a thermal shirt with a vest over it, approaches us with a blinding-white smile. There’s a woman on his arm that I swear must be a model. If she’s not, she should be. Like the man’s, her skin is flawless, and her tall, thin frame would make most designers cry with happiness. I mean, honestly, even in the jeans she has on with a turtleneck and trench coat that matches her pointy boots, she looks like she should be on a runway.

“Noah.” The man gives Noah a fist bump. “I was just talking about you this morning.”

“Oh, yeah?’ Noah asks while the woman leans in to give Noah a one-armed hug with a smile to match her guy’s. I stand slightly away, feeling awkward and out of place.

“Heard you tossed your hat into the ring for detective.”

“I did,” Noah tells him, and I tip my head back to look at him, in awe of the news because I’m sure it’s a big deal.

“If they don’t give it to you, I’ve got a desk in Nashville with your name on it.”

“I appreciate that, man,” Noah says quietly.

“Just speaking the truth. They’d be stupid not to give you what you want, especially when you’ve been helping them solve cases without the title,” he says, and Noah places his hand against my lower back, sliding it around my waist to pull me closer to his side.

“Babe, this is Sergeant Devon Marshall and his wife, Nova. This is my best friend’s sister, Bridgett.”

“Nice to meet you both.” I fiddle with the handle of my bag in front of me as Nova looks between Noah and me.

“Your best friend’s sister?” Nova raises a brow, her eyes landing on Noah. “That sounds complicated.”

“We’re just friends,” he tells her, and I chew the inside of my cheek. That’s a stretch , I think. We’ve only been around each other a handful of times over the last couple of months and have barely spoken.

“Hmm.” She meets my gaze. “I love your scarf and bag.”

“Thank you.” I touch the Burberry scarf around my neck, one I have plans to sell and probably shouldn’t be wearing. “I love your whole outfit.”

“Thanks.” She smiles at me, then leans into her husband. “We should go before your mother kidnaps our children.”

“I wish she would,” Devon tells her, and she smacks his chest, making him laugh. “All right, all right. It was nice meeting you, Bridgett. And, Noah, I expect a phone call if things don’t work out.”

“You’ll hear from me,” he replies. Nova gives us a wave while Devon lifts his chin. When they leave, I look up at Noah and start to open my mouth to ask about him wanting to be a detective, but a woman approaches carrying two menus.

“If you’ll follow me.” She smiles, then turns. We walk behind her, wending through tables to the back of the room and a corner booth just big enough for two.

I remove my jacket and start to take the seat facing the restaurant but stop when Noah carefully moves me to the bench on the opposite side of the table. He waits until I’m seated before sliding into the booth across from me.

Well, okay then.

“I’m Holly and will be your waitress this morning. Would either of you like coffee or a mimosa while you look this over?” She hands each of us a menu.

“I would love a cup of coffee, please.” I smile at her. She smiles back, then looks at Noah, who asks for the same.

“I’ll be right back.” She takes off, and I tuck my bag and coat into the space next to me, lifting my eyes to Noah and finding him scanning the room.

“So, you want to be a detective?”

At my question, his gaze moves to me, and he relaxes in his seat. “Yeah.” He takes off his hat. “I’ve been working toward it for a while now, but my station is small, so there’s not much turnaround.”

“But something opened up?” I guess, and he nods.

“A week ago, a detective retired, and a spot became available. A few of us applied for the position, so now we have to wait and see who gets chosen.”

“You’ll get it,” I tell him, then lean back when Holly stops at the end of the table to drop off our coffees.

“Do you two need a few more minutes?” she asks.

“Yes, please,” I tell her. She nods before taking off once more. With her gone, I take the tiny pot of creamer she set down, dump some into my cup, then pass it to Noah. “And it sounded like if you don’t get it, you can get that position somewhere else.”

“Except I don’t want to go anywhere else,” he tells me while pushing a container of sugar packets toward me.

“Why not?”

“I love my town, the people here, and the men and women I work with. Not saying there’s anything wrong with Nashville, but I’ve never had a desire to work in the city.”

“I can understand that.”

“Do you miss living near the city?” he asks, and my nose scrunches.

“No. I mean, I miss Starbucks being just a two-minute drive from my house and not having to go so far to get to the grocery store, but I don’t miss the city and its traffic.” I pick up my coffee and take a sip, then grab the menu from where I placed it and start looking it over, figuring I should find something to eat before Holly comes back. “So, what’s good here? ”

“Everything,” he says, and I smile at him.

“That’s not helpful.”

“But it’s true,” he replies. I settle on a biscuit breakfast sandwich with ham, egg, and cheese.

And he’s not wrong. It’s delicious. But what is even better is enjoying it while sitting across from him. Because even if the morning started off strange, by the end of breakfast, my nerves have settled, and all the awkwardness from earlier is long gone.