He shoots me a “don’t ask” look as he unceremoniously drops the bags on the table. Three apples tumble out, but he rounds them up with his quick reflexes before they roll to the ground and bruise.
“I didn’t think it was that bad when I drove in.”
I take in Misty’s heavy eye makeup and the favorite black blouse she’s wearing. Even her blonde curls are smooth and springy today, care of a long morning routine that she doesn’t bother with too often. I’m guessing she was hoping to be caught on camera.
Keith’s smirk says he’s guessing the same. “Surprised you’re not warming the chair that Madden sat in.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I spent some time there.” She waggles her eyebrows suggestively, making Keith grin and me groan. She’s always flirting with him and he’s always lapping it up, though everyone knows she thinks he’s too boyish and he thinks she’s too flighty.
He nods toward the TV. “You’re actually watching the game. I’m impressed.”
“Too bad they’re losing.” Tonight will be the second loss. Two more and the Flyers are done for the season. I feel terrible for Brett.
Keith frowns, looking around. “Where is she?”
“In her room, coloring. Brenna!” I holler. “Keith is here!”
Her bed creaks as she slides off and comes running out. But instead of focusing on Keith, her eyes land on the box of cupcakes.
“As if you haven’t already had one.” Keith lifts it out of her reach.
“I haven’t!”
“Really?” He swipes a finger over the streak of chocolate icing marring her cheek. Evidence.
She giggles as she jumps and waves her hands, trying to reach the box even though it’s impossibly high.
“Man . . . these look good.” He peers in at the three that are left. “Which one will I have . . .”
“Not the double chocolate!”
“This one looks amazing.” He lifts the double chocolate one out and opens his mouth wide, pretending to take a bite.
Brenna stops jumping and her bottom lip puffs out.
“Keith, you’re so mean!” Misty hollers.
He grins, putting it back. “Fine. Red velvet it is.”
“No! I’m saving that one for Vince.” Brenna darts to the blinds, prying them apart with her little fingers. “Is he back yet?”
“Not until tomorrow morning. Vince does days and Hawk does nights.”
“Can Vince drive me to school tomorrow?”
I smile, hearing the hopefulness in her voice. She’s been obsessed with the stony-faced security guy since he snuck in to use our bathroom earlier today. I don’t know how much experience Vince, who looks to be in his late twenties, has had with small children, but he didn’t seem to know how to deal with Brenna’s verbal assault as she trailed behind him to the door, firing off question after question. “I don’t know if you’re going to school tomorrow yet. We may have to wait until things calm down a bit.”
“What about Hawk? Don’t you think he might want one of these?” Keith asks, finally settling on a vanilla.
“Mommy won’t let me go outside, so I’m waiting until he has to pee.” She observes the night shift guard who took over for Vince at six P.M. and will be relieved by him at six A.M. I can’t imagine standing outside someone’s house for twelve hours through the night.
“Who do you think is cuter? Vince or Hawk?” Keith teases, wiping the cake crumbs from the corner of his mouth.
Brenna spears him with a glare, her nose wrinkling up in disgust, making us all laugh.
“Okay. Enough spying. Say your good nights and get ready for bed.”
Brenna does a lap around the room, doling out hugs that she reserves for family and close friends, and then trots toward her room.
Misty smiles after her. “So when do you think you’re going to come back to work?”
“Not anytime soon,” Keith answers at the same time that I say, “a few more days.”
He glares at me.
“What? I can’t just sit in here forever. I need to make money!”
Misty heaves herself off the La-Z-Boy and collects her purse. “Well, you’ll definitely make enough of that. The place is crawling with people. Lou is running ragged, trying to cover.”
Guilt hits me, that the older woman is having to wait tables on account of me. Lou is as loyal as they come, yet I can’t help but wonder what her breaking point might be, if she’s finally going to decide that enough is enough and replace me. This is business, after all.
Then what will I do for a job?
“I’ll definitely be back in a few days,” I reiterate.
“Good. I miss you being there.” Misty pauses at the door. “Hey, I noticed Hawk isn’t wearing a wedding ring. Do you think he’s dating anyone?”
Leave it to Misty to notice something like a wedding ring in the thirty seconds it took to confirm her identity and allow her up my stairs. Granted, Hawk is decent looking. “Don’t know. He’s not exactly big on conversation.”
“Why don’t you bring him one of these and find out.” Keith holds the box out for her.
She grins, snatching one up. “Good idea, Officer Singer. I’m sure he could use one, for the long night ahead.”
I shake my head, taking a silent bet with myself that, if he is single, she’ll be leaving here with his phone number. It doesn’t matter how many failed relationships she’s had, she’ll charge full steam ahead into a new one.
I wish I was fearless like her.
The sound of cards shuffling breaks my thoughts. “I picked up my cribbage board on the way. Have you ever played?” Keith asks.
I stifle my groan.
Chapter 12
“Why couldn’t Vince drive me to school?” Brenna whines from the backseat of Keith’s Ford F-150.
“Because I’m driving you.” Keith’s eyes scan for the newspeople as we coast down my driveway.
“But I wanted Vince to drive me.”
“What am I, chopped liver?”
“Why would you be chopped liver?”
Keith heaves a sigh. “Never mind. Vince is waiting at your house for when I drive your mom back, which will be very soon.” To me, he says, “For the record, you’re an idiot and this is a bad idea.”
“If I don’t work, I won’t be able to pay bills next month. Plus, I can’t sit in that house playing cards anymore. I’ll go crazy!” It’s been five days since my name was released. The more reputable, bigger news stations have moved on. They can’t sit there forever. It’s now the smaller state stations and the freelance guys—the ones with long spy lenses, who sleep in their cars and who don’t get paid unless they deliver a candid photo—who linger. And there are enough of them to make my stomach tighten.
“And you really think you’re going to be able to work?”
“I have to try.”
“Why are they pointing cameras at us?” Brenna asks as we turn onto the street.