Page 12 of Out to Get Her
Samantha laughed. When was the last time she’d laughed this much? With anyone? Much less over something as small as a business card?
“Use it wisely,” she teased. Somehow, she managed to hold back the accompanying wink she was inclined to deliver with that line. “Well, I’d better head out.”
“Are you sure you have to?”
Was that disappointment in her voice? And in her eyes?
“Yeah. I’m sure you have a lot to do here, so I’m gonna get out of your way.”
“If you stay, I can pretend I don’t have to do anything a little longer.”
“I can’t be responsible for that.” She nodded at her card Erin had placed on a counter. “Let me know if you need anything while you’re here.”
“Will do,” Erin said. “Thanks for the sandwich.”
Samantha took a step backward toward the door. She pressed her lips together and gave a tight nod before she had a chance to say anything else.
Anything inappropriate.
Anything she shouldn’t say while she was in uniform.
Anything close to what she was actually thinking and feeling about Erin Sonnier right now.
ChapterFive
Erin stoodin line behind three octogenarians. This was probably what counted as “busy” for the town clerk’s office.
She was honestly surprised she had to wait at all on a Thursday afternoon. She would have been here first thing if she’d realized she needed so many extra copies of Grandpa’s death certificate. Erin had no idea why they couldn’t make a copy of the one she had or why they couldn’t just look at it and say, “Yep, all good.” Then everyone could move on with their lives.
Particularly, so she could get back to her real life in New Orleans.
Except New Orleans didn’t have a certain gorgeous sergeant who apparently made sandwich deliveries.
She really needed to get that woman out of her head. Nothing good could come from crushing on Samantha.
The old man in front of her shuffled forward several steps as an old lady with a cane finished at the window and hobbled out of the building. She gave a drunk-looking grin at Erin as she walked past. Probably a friend of Grandpa’s who recognized her.
A reminder that this place was too damn small. She missed the anonymity of New Orleans. Most people out there treated her like family, but they didn’t actually know her history.
Ten minutes later, with her feet aching from standing in one place, it was finally her turn at the counter.
“Next.”
To her surprise, the voice didn’t belong to a middle-aged white woman with a scowl and grudge from spending half her life at that window.
Erin didn’t recognize the young black man across the counter. He was probably a couple years younger than her, and since she didn’t recognize him from school, she assumed he moved here some time after she left town.
There was a hint of curiosity in his gaze, like he was looking at some weird exhibit. Extra weird since Etta didn’t have a single museum of any kind. Not exactly a beacon of culture.
“Nice hair.” His voice was deep, but sweet. It had a lightness that was super rare in this town. Everyone here was rundown, bored, or jaded.
Since she didn’t detect any sarcasm in his tone, she simply said, “Thanks.”
“What can I help you with?”
“I need copies of a death certificate.”
“Direct relative?”
