Page 63 of The Pocket Pair

When I park in front of Chevy’s house, he’s just pulling his cruiser into the driveway, grinning as he hops out. The sight of him in his uniform, looking so happy and so handsome starts a fresh round of tears. I lean my head on the steering wheel and sob, refusing to look up when there’s a soft knock on the window.

“Tiny,” Chevy says in a soft, crooning voice. He tries the handle but it’s still locked. “Open up.”

“No,” I say through a hiccupping sob.

“Don’t make me get out my slim jim.”

“I love Slim Jims.”

He chuckles. “I don’t mean the food. I mean the tool to open locked car doors.”

“Oh.” I laugh a little and click the button to unlock the doors. Even so, I let out a squeak of surprise when Chevy leans in, his Kraken scent filling my nose as he unlocks my seatbelt and hauls me out of the car, crushing me into a hug.

We stand like that for a few minutes, my body limp like an unstuffed rag doll, my toes barely dragging along the ground. Chevy just holds me, his body so warm and strong as his breath tickles my cheek. Eventually, I find the ability to move and wrap my arms around his neck.

“You know I’m here,” he says, his voice a soft murmur.

“I know.”

“I hate to see you sad, Tiny,”

“I’m not sad.”

He pulls me tighter, and when he makes a humming sound, the vibration moves from his chest to mine. “Are you telling me these are happy tears?”

“Mostly. I am happy.” I’m also desperately sad.

Chevy doesn’t say anything for a few beats, he just holds me. And I try—a very valiant and totally unsuccessful effort—not to wish for something more than just friendly comfort. Finally, Chevy tips his head back, still keeping me tight against him but now searching my face, which I’m sure is a red, puffy, tear-streaked mess.

Chevy yanks me back against his chest with a groan. “You’re killing me, Tiny.”

As I settle in, squeezing him tight as I breathe in his Kraken scent, I think, You have no idea.

CHAPTER 19

Chevy

The smile on Mari’s face is the kind that gave birth to the phrase sly as a fox. I’m instantly on alert.

“So, how’s it going with your new roomie?” She leans on the broom handle, standing in the middle of her empty living room and looking at me like she knows exactly how it’s going.

I cross my arms and raise my brows. “Fine. Normal. Roommate-y.”

Val and I are here to pack up her art studio, but I stopped in Mari’s house first to see if she needs any help. Or, really, just to see Mari. She leaves tomorrow, and it still hasn’t sunk in. The house is nearly empty—no help needed here—and she’s doing some last-minute cleaning, a bandana tied around her white hair and broom in hand. The whole house smells like lemon cleaner.

“Is that so?” she asks.

“It is.”

“Interesting.” With a hum and another sly smile, she goes back to sweeping.

I should head out to the studio to help Val load the truck. I shouldn’t respond to what seems like bait, dangling in front of my nose. “What’s so interesting about it?”

Mari doesn’t look up, continuing to sweep what already looks like a clean floor. “Oh, I just thought maybe living with her would finally wake you up to how you feel.”

“How I feel about having a roommate?” I ask, hoping I can keep playing dumb. No such luck.

Mari stops sweeping. She also stops smiling. “You’re a good man, Chevy. And you’re your own man. You. I hope you know that.”

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