In the grocery store, she’d given him a cool nod, looking through him rather than at him. She was treating him like a stranger. Like he was nothing to her. He made it all the way home before he realized he’d forgotten the damn beef broth for his damn stew and had to go back to the store.
They’d both shown up to watch that week’s street hockey game, and when she spotted him, she’d crossed the damn street to watch from the front porch of a fudge shop rather than spectate near him. He ended up catching a ball to the chest because he was too busy glowering at her to watch the game.
Despite her complete and total avoidance of him, there were signs of her in his own house. Like the clean coffee pot resting upside down in the drying rack next to the sink. Or the dozen oatmeal chocolate chip cookies on his kitchen counter with a sticky note that said simply “Rent.”
For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out how doing the right thing had landed him in this situation.
But it didn’t matter. Because he had something to discuss with her. Something she’d want to hear.
He arrived early at the grille, a restaurant that opened on the weekends in the winter for Mackinac’s stalwart residents. It was a few decades overdue for a renovation with its nautical decor, but the food was good, and the heating system worked well.
He took a booth toward the back with a view of the front door. It was cozier. And she’d either have to decide to sit on his side where their bodies would definitely end up touching or Kimber’s where she’d have to look at him.
He fiddled with the menus and his phone, looking up every time the bell on the door jangled.
It wasn’t until his jaw started to ache that he realized he was scowling.
He had an ace up his sleeve that meant she’d have to talk to him. Kimber arrived a few minutes later, looking pink-cheeked and frazzled.
She spotted him and slid into the booth across from him. “You look good. What’s the occasion?” she asked, snagging one of the menus.
He winced, self-conscious now that he’d overdone it on the whole appearance thing.
“No occasion. Ken dragged me into his chair for a hair cut.”
“He’s terrifying and talented,” she noted, perusing the specials. “Hear anything from Remi?”
His jaw clenched reflexively, and he cleared his throat. “No.”
“Me neither. She’s probably blowing us off. Ooh! They brought back the beer cheese soup!”
Brick pretended to stare down at his menu until the door jangled at the front again.
He nearly stood when he spotted her. Red hair confined to a long braid over one shoulder. A navy wool hat that made those wide eyes look even greener. She shrugged out of her coat and took his fucking breath away. The mustard yellow henley and dark jeans cuffed above waterproof ankle boots hugged her curves hypnotically. Once again, she’d massacred the sleeve of her shirt to fit over the cast.
She looked edible. Fuckable.
It took him a full breath before he realized she wasn’t alone.
The toothy, happy-go-lucky Corporal Carlos Turk was taking her coat and hanging it up like he was her goddamn date or something. Brick’s fist closed on the specials page and crumpled it.
“Hi, guys,” Remi said, looking at her sister and pointedly ignoring him. “I think we’re going to need a bigger table. I brought reinforcements.”
“Hi, Mom!” Ian poked his head out from behind Carlos and grinned.
“Did you kidnap my son from his grandparents?” Kimber asked.
“Tonight he’s not your son,” Remi said. “Everyone, meet our technology officer, Ian.”
They moved to a bigger table, and Brick cursed his luck when Remi managed to end up at the opposite end as far away from him as possible. The grinning Carlos at her elbow as they debated sharing an appetizer.
The top button of her thermal shirt was undone, like an invitation to appreciate the swell of her breasts. He should not be thinking about her breasts. Not in front of her sister and impressionable nephew.
Orders placed, Kimber interlaced her fingers on the table. “Who wants to explain why my son isn’t with Grandma and Grandpa finishing his homework?” she asked, a hint of brittleness in her tone.
“There’s a good reason for it,” Remi promised. “Why don’t we start with how far you two got on the volunteer front, and then we’ll get to Ian and Carlos?”
Kimber and Brick shared a glance. He shrugged at her. He was the one who called the meeting and assumed that was effort enough.
“I have it on my list to call Mira Rathbun and Mayor Early to talk to them about rounding up some volunteers,” Kimber said grudgingly. “And that’s as far as I got.”
Remi nodded enthusiastically. “Great.” She waited a beat, and when no one else added anything, she winked at Ian. “While Ian sets up his presentation, I’ll add that I spoke to Dad, who was able to get ten volunteers to officially commit. Then I reached out to Carlos here since he’s such a well-liked, friendly member of both the police department and the community.”
That was definitely a dig at him, Brick decided. And she’d delivered it without looking at him.
Remi leaned forward and continued. “Carlos was able to provide the complete list of the people the department checks in on during the winter. I reached out to half of them so far and divided them into two lists. Ones with low-technology acumen who preferred to commit to a day of the week for their visit. And ones who are willing to help test the Visit Request functionality you’re about to see.”
“Oh,” Kimber said, looking as surprised as Brick felt.
“All set, Aunt Remi—I mean Technology Coordinator Remington,” Ian announced from the head of the table. He spun the iPad around on its stand. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the Mackinac Visits end user interface.”
Twenty minutes later, food forgotten in front of him, Brick listened with rapt attention.
“So the volunteer list receives an email every time a new visit request is made. They can decide if they want to accept the request and add it to their own calendar, which will also include the birthdates and anniversaries of visitees and volunteers,” Remi explained as Ian’s chubby little hands flew over the wireless keyboard. “We’re also discussing additional capabilities like a forum for volunteers to share notes about their visits. And as my colleague Ian explained before, everyone’s private information remains secure behind the login and firewall. Any questions?”
“How did you do all this?” Kimber asked, still looking stunned.