Page 27 of Seducing the Sheriff
It was the way the sunlight hit his face through the diner window, how he squinted at the menu like it held the secrets of the universe. The way his lip curled slightly when he was deciding. Focused, thoughtful, and so easy to be around.
And then it hit me. Right there, next to the specials board and the laminated placemats, I realized there were butterflies in my damn belly.
Butterflies.
I’m a big, gruff sheriff. In the past six months, I’ve stared down drunks with shotguns, wrangled more than one farmyard animal, and carried injured men through flash floods without blinking. My stomach’s handled a lot over the years—bad gas station coffee, nerves before raids, the aftermath of a case that left my heart, and all the other first responders, crushed in its brutality, but not this.
Never just this.
Not the quiet thrill of being around him. Not the heat in my chest every time he looked at me with that easy grin, as if I was someone worth knowing. It was so easy being around Greg. I felt more relaxed than I had in weeks, even with the butterflies.
This was not normal.
Not for me.
But there they were, fluttering traitors in my gut, every time he laughed, every time his knee brushed mine under the table like it was nothing.
And suddenly, lunch didn’t feel so casual anymore.
“What about the blue corn enchiladas?” Greg said.
I blinked, realizing he’d spoken to me. “Huh?”
“Blue corn enchiladas. Chicken?”
“Oh, yeah, sounds good.”
I’d intended to have soup or sandwiches, or both, however enchiladas sounded perfect. It would save me cooking later. I put the menu down, relaxed in the booth, and looked at him. “So now we have a lead to find our body’s identity.”
Greg leaned back as he sighed, and I felt his calf against mine for a second as he relaxed. He took a long swallow of coffee before he said, “Who would have thought the former fire chief was a closet historian. Do you know Jim Brannigan?”
“I do. He was Meyer’s boss and he’s his stepdad, almost. Jim is courting Lindy Jones.”
“Is that why Meyer got the chief’s job?”
I shook my head. “Meyer applied for the assistant chief’s job when he heard his mom was ill. He lived in Chicago. Jim wanted to retire so Meyer’s application was like an answer to his prayers. Meyer didn’t know Jim and Lindy were stepping out.”
Greg chuckled. “Courting and stepping out. Old-fashioned words.”
I shrugged. ‘I’m an old-fashioned kinda guy.”
Maybe I shouldn’t have admitted that. No one wants an old stick-in-the-mud for a boy…friend. Friend, that’s what I meant.
The pang in my gut was unexpected. I wanted Greg to be my friend, but I couldn’t deny I wanted more than that.
I glanced up and caught him watching me. His cheeks pinked as he realized he’d been caught staring. Then our gazes locked in some kind of crazy staring competition. Thank goodness one of the wait staff came along to take our order, and Greg turned to her, looking almost relieved.
I chewed on my bottom lip, hoping I hadn’t made him feel uncomfortable.
Greg leaned forward when she left and grinned at me. “The last time I did a stare-off like that, a bottle of Jack was at stake.”
“The last time I stared so hard, I was facing off old Buttercup.”
Greg wrinkled his nose. “Buttercup?”
“You remember, the runaway cow on the highway.”
“Ah.” He smirked.
