Page 27 of Saving Her Heart
Her eyes widen slightly, but she doesn't let go of my hand. We stand there in the flooded lobby, water damage all around us, threats mounting, and somehow it feels like the most honest moment we've had in years.
Then her phone rings, breaking the spell. Another crisis at another property. She squeezes my hand once before letting go.
"Back to work," she says.
"I'll drive," I tell her.
As we head to the truck, I catch movement in a window across the street. Someone's watching us, but they duck away before I can see who.
The stakes are rising. The threats are escalating. And I've got a restraining order that limits my ability to investigate the prime suspect.
But I'm not giving up. Not on this case, and definitely not on Kendall.
Not again.
Chapter 7
Kendall
Ihaven't slept. Not really. Every time I closed my eyes last night, I saw red paint dripping down walls, water flooding through doorways, and Brad's smug face. So, when Jax knocks on my door at six-thirty AM with coffee and pastries from The Bean and Bagel, I'm already dressed and on my third cup of terrible instant coffee.
"You look exhausted," he says, studying my face with those annoyingly observant cop eyes.
"Thanks. Just what every woman wants to hear."
"I mean it. When's the last time you actually slept?"
"What year is it?"
He doesn't laugh. Instead, he sets the coffee and bagels on my counter and crosses his arms. "Get your purse."
"Excuse me?"
"We're going to breakfast. Real breakfast, not whatever sugar-loaded pastry I was planning to call a meal."
"I have work and you just brought pastries?—"
"It's early. Nothing's on fire. Yet." He pauses. "Unless Brad's been busy overnight."
"Don't even joke about that." I grab my phone, checking for disaster alerts. Nothing. It’s a miracle.
"Come on. The Greenhouse Café has that French toast you used to love."
The casual reference to our past makes my chest tight. "That was a long time ago."
"The French toast or us?"
"Both."
He's quiet for a moment, then heads for the door. "The offer stands. You need real food and maybe... we should talk."
I should say no. I should maintain my boundaries, keep my distance, stick to my rules. But I'm tired, hungry, and honestly curious about what he thinks we need to talk about.
"Fine. But I'm not sharing my bacon."
"You never did." He smirks at me as he holds the door open.
The Greenhouse Café is mostly empty this early, just a few dedicated morning people and what looks like a construction crew grabbing coffee before work. The hostess seats us at a corner booth with a view of the marina, and I try not to think about how this used to be our spot.
