Page 44 of Cop-Off

“Deal.” Her friend quickly agreed. “So, what can a girl get to eat around here?”

That felt too easy. Suspiciously easy.

***

Having Libby beside her had made everything easier. She was being annoyingly helpful. Every time Cat’s phone rang, Libby was prying it out of her hands, talking to the funeral director, the caterer and the owner of the hall where they were having the wake. You name it, she was taking care of it. Even Jack’s calls had been screened.

And when it came to her mum, Libby was there lending a hand, too. Going with her to check on her. Helping to unload groceries and cook meals. She had even found her hugging her mum one evening when she’d returned to the living room after loading up the washer. She was like the best friend version of a superhero.

So today, as a thank you, she was treating Wonder Woman to lunch at her favorite fish and chips shack on the beach.

“The trick is to cover the chips with your hand when you’re not eating them. It makes the seagulls less likely to steal them.” She wasn’t kidding either. Three times she’d had her chips stolen, on this very beach.

“Oh, great.” Libby huffed. “See, when you promised me lunch, you really should’ve added that part of the deal included fending off local wildlife if I want to actually eat it.”

Cat grinned as she snuck another chip before covering it with her hand again. “But it tastes so much better knowing you worked for it.”

They were sitting on a picnic table. It was one of many lined up outside the food shack that was sitting right at the top of Brighton’s pebbled beach.

The only time Cat felt like herself was when she was with Libby. She’d only worked that out today. Before her friend had arrived, she had been going through the motions. A sad zombie ticking off to do lists and waiting until she was alone before she finally let herself break down.

But Libby’s presence had changed that. Her being at her side at all times meant she had a front row seat to her breakdowns. Which inevitably led to her being comforted. It was new and weird. And even though Cat really wanted to hate it, she was slightly concerned that she didn’t. Because what happened when Libby left? Where would that leave her?

I’ll go back to being a broken shell.

“You ready yet?” Libby asked.

“Nope.”

Libby had asked her if she was ‘ready’ every day since she’d arrived. What she meant was, was she ready to talk about Cody? Everyday her answer was the same. It certainly wasn’t going to change a day before her dad’s funeral, either. She was taking one day at a time. And in order to keep doing that and not crumble into a sobbing mess, she had to not talk or think about Cody McBride.

Who are you kidding?

Okay, so her thoughts weren’t exactly being policed. But she had tried to limit them to once a day. Mostly at night, when she lay awake, wishing he was beside her, using those strong arms of his to pull her into his chest, those big hands stroking the small of her back until her eyes fluttered shut.

No. She definitely wasn’t ready to think about him in the daylight. Shards of her heart were already trying to stab her to death—the last thing she was going to do was let them.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

England was not what Cody had been expecting. The King was nowhere to be seen, he hadn’t met anyone who spoke like they were fromDownton Abbey, and ‘sorry’ doubled as an apology and a passive aggressive order to move.

He also didn’t really expect a beach to be located quite so close to London, yet here he was standing on the pebbled beach in Brighton, looking out at the sea.

“Shit, you actually came,” a voice called out behind him.

He turned to see Jack, impeccably dressed as always in yet another suit.

“I told you I didn’t plan on letting her go. I wasn’t lying.”

“I see that.” Jack gave him a once over, likely noticing the huge bags under his eyes, unruly hair and a chequered shirt that had been creased to hell. A week without Cat and a whole day and night of traveling wasn’t doing his appearance any favors. “Come on, pub’s this way.”

Cody followed him across the road and down a quaint cobbled side street, dodging a number of cars as they went. Apparently jaywalking wasn’t a thing here. You could just walk right into the road. No crossing necessary.

So much for safety.

Tutting to himself, he tried to silence his inner cop, which came in handy as they approached the pub and he learned that outside drinking on the street corners was a thing here, too.

Weaving through the rowdy crowd, trying not to get a pint of beer spilt over him, Jack led him straight inside and to the bar, which was just as crowded. Evidently, Friday nights in Brighton were the place to be.

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