Page 44 of From Fling to Ring

Not that anyone at the Freekly would notice anyway.

I don’t find anything suitable in the first drawer, so I work my way down until I find a decent-looking Henley T-shirt that, while it will be huge on me, won’t look too stupid if I tie a little knot in the corner to give it a jaunty look.

Because I am such a jaunty kind of person.

My search for clothing quickly morphs into an opportunity to full-on snoop, and the first place I head to is Tyler’s office, which I’ve never really even been in. I prop my ass in the leather chair behind his massive glass desk, and marvel at how relatively tidy it is. I approve.

Everyone else I know, their desks are a disaster.

There’s a photo with his dad and him where Ruby’s wearing a cap and gown. She and her brother look pretty young, so I’m guessing it must be her high school graduation.

Next to that is a photo of a woman. It looks to be twenty-plus years old, so I figure this must be his mother. She’s got her sunglasses pushed up on her head, holding back her long dark hair, and is wearing a huge smile, like someone off camera is making her laugh.

The back of the photo is penciled with a child’s handwriting:

mommys last year

Sadness grips my chest and I turn back to study the woman whose death so devastated her husband and kids. She left behind a six-year-old and infant, which, while surely a loss for her children, was also a huge loss for her.

A woman’s worst nightmare—not being around to take care of her kids. I can’t imagine.

I put the photo back exactly as I found and look around the office, overwhelmed with sadness. I bolt out of there before I feel any worse and head to the kitchen to see if there’s anything good to eat.

And when I say good to eat, I mean PopTarts or something.

But all I find are some old granola bars. It dawns on me that Tyler doesn’t eat at home very much. Not surprisingly, the fridge has only a couple beers and some condiments. The freezer is another story.

Expecting to see some old frozen dinners and maybe a chilled bottle of vodka, I pull the door open to find it packed from top to bottom with plastic freezer bags. I ease one out and realize it’s full of what looks to be chocolate chip cookies. I take out another bag, and I’m pretty sure I’m holding oatmeal cookies. The next bag I remove is full of snickerdoodles.

What the hell? Who made him all these cookies? Is this what Ruby alluded to that time at dinner? And why are there so many of them? I take out one chocolate chip cookie and put the bags back where I found them.

I’m dying to know the story behind the cookies but if I ask, I’ve pretty much admitted to snooping. On the other hand, I suppose I could say I was looking for ice for my water.

Yes. That’s what I’ll do.

But for now, I need to get to get my ass to work.

“Daley,” Sarge says from across our joined desks. “Weekend?”

I think for a moment. “Actually, it was surprisingly good.”

He turns back to his newspaper. He pretty much reads all day, but also manages to turn in some of the best stories the paper runs. I have no idea how he does it and when I ask he just smiles.

“Limping?” he asks.

I give him a fake dirty look just as I realize Michaela’s arrived at my desk.

“Morning,” I chirp.

She taps me on the shoulder. “Will you come by my office?”

Huh. Usually, she just sends me an IM to ask me to swing by. As much as I adore her, I wonder what’s up when she doesn’t follow the usual pattern.

I take a seat where I always do, across from her desk, and fiddle with the pen and paper balanced on my knee, hoping she won’t ask about the oversized shirt I’m wearing. She can usually spot a walk of shame from a mile away.

“Michaela, is this about the budget cuts?”

Might as well rip off the bandaid.

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