The morning after her and Vincent’s gorge on nachos and burgers and beer, Jill dropped into the passenger seat of the car with a grumpy huff.
“Caffeine,” she said. “I need all the caffeine.”
She jumped a little in surprise when a travel mug appeared in front of her face. She started to push his wrist aside. “No, not your coffee. You know I don’t like it all thick and tarlike.”
It was one of their many differences. Vin preferred his coffee blacker than his wardrobe. Jill preferred cream. And sugar. Preferably mass amounts of both.
“You know, all this time together, and I never realized how you drink your coffee,” Vincent said in a sarcastic voice.
Jill turned to look at him.
He looked… the same.
Same aviator glasses, same simply styled black hair. Same dark shirt, same leather jacket, same dark pants.
But something was different today.
She narrowed her eyes as he extended the mug to her once more with his right hand. And this time she registered that he had a second mug in his left hand.
One for him…
And one for her?
“Don’t worry,” he said, giving it a little shake. “I dumped in all sorts of cavity-causing goodness for you.”
“Thanks?” Jill said. She accepted the mug, taking a tentative sip. It was good. Really good. Not just a packet of sugar and a splash of milk good, but like…
“Is this vanilla flavored?” she asked, staring down at the mug.
Vincent still hadn’t pulled away from the curb outside of her apartment. “French vanilla if you want to get fancy.”
She shifted in her seat to stare at him. “This is your backup travel cup, which tells me you brought this from home, not a coffee shop. Which begs the question… why does a man who thinks anything other than black coffee is a sin have French vanilla coffee creamer at his apartment?”
He looked at her over the rim of his own mug. Took a sip without a response.
She sat up straighter. “Did you meet a woman while I was gone? A sweet-flavored-coffee-loving woman?”
Vincent merely held her gaze, and Jill kept her smile in place, but she also wanted to shake him. To demand that he answer.
“I already told you I’m not seeing anyone,” he said.
Jill felt her shoulders relax a little; told herself that it wasn’t because she didn’t want Vincent to have met someone. Of course she wanted her partner to meet a nice woman. To settle down and—
She pushed the thought aside. Lifted her mug. “Explain.”
He shrugged before putting his mug in the cup holder and turning the ignition. “I stopped at the store last night for eggs and paper towels. Then I saw the foofy coffee creamer stuff, knew that you rarely get your ass out of bed in time to make your own coffee…”
Vincent broke off with a shrug as he began to drive, and Jill could only stare at him in puzzlement.
“Six years we’ve been doing this,” she said, “and you’ve never made me coffee. Brought me coffee, yes. Picked up a cup for both of us while we’re working OT, sure. But this…”
She held up her mug and stared at it.
Vincent made an irritable sound like he wanted to rip the mug away from her, but then he surprised her—again—by changing the conversation once more.
“How’d you sleep?”
Jill sighed and took a sip of coffee—a big one. “Didn’t. Not much anyway.”
“Me either.”
She tapped her nails against the cup, stared out the window. “I’d forgotten about this part. Forgot that it’s always like this on the first night of a new case. Especially one that doesn’t have so much as a hint of a clue.”
“Same.”
Jill pivoted her head to look at him. “I think we should start with the scene. There’s got to be something we missed. Maybe run through a couple scenarios…”
“I was thinking we start with questioning the sister,” he said. “Her prints are all over the place.”
“Yeah, because it’s her sister,” Jill said. “The housekeeper said Dorothy was at Lenora’s all the time.”
“Still want to question her,” he said.
If Vincent bringing her coffee had shocked the hell out of Jill, it was nothing compared to the jolt his next sentence had on her:
“If you’re okay with that,” he said slowly, flicking his eyes to her.
Her mouth dropped open. “Okay, who are you and what have you done with my partner?”
He said nothing, and she punched his arm. “No, seriously. I don’t even recognize this thoughtful guy who brings me caffeine and asks my permission before interviewing someone.”
“We’re partners,” he said roughly. “Of course I need your permission.”
Jill laughed. “Since when? Since when have you done anything other than bark out directives and expect me to go along?”
He sighed as he rubbed a hand over his hair. “That makes it sound like I don’t respect you.”
“Yeah it does, doesn’t it?” she teased.
But then her smile slipped, because he looked troubled.
She hadn’t meant it that way. It was true that Vin could be an ass, but he was never chauvinistic. Had never made her feel like less than an equal despite his penchant for taking charge when he had a hunch.
“For the record,” she said, “whenever you do utter your grumpy directives… I trust you.”