Kitabı oku: «Truly, Madly, Briefly», sayfa 2
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The Drifter: Catalog Item 421. A machine-washable cotton-spandex brief for the man on the move who wants to keep things in place. Available in Stop Sign Red, Alert Amber and Go-get-’em Green. Comes with complimentary Boxers or Briefs travel toothbrush.
“THE TWANGO,” Aidan said under his breath.
Heaven help him.
So that he wouldn’t have the urge to demolish his phone the way Bobbie had her pager, he turned off the ringer. Besides, he needed a moment of quiet so he could think straight. He was almost positive this was one of those situations where he needed a clear head.
“Comfort, looks and illusion,” she repeated as if that would help.
Well, it wasn’t exactly what he’d hoped Bobbie Fay Callahan would offer. Aidan had thought maybe she could put an end to this lottery business by canceling it. He’d further hoped that she would tell the ladies of Liffey to stop calling him about everything from faucet drips to flat tires. He just couldn’t understand why the female population had taken such an interest in him.
Or why they had such a distorted view of the duties of a law-enforcement officer.
However, at this point, he was open to suggestions—any suggestions—that would make his life easier and quieter. He hadn’t had more than fifteen minutes of peace since he’d arrived a week earlier in what was supposed to be a sleepy little town where peace and quiet were plentiful.
“It’s not often a man finds himself compared to an item of underwear,” he commented.
A lobster-red blush covered her cheeks. It matched the color of her skirt and silky top. “You think I’m a candidate for the loony bin, don’t you?”
Absolutely. Her, her uncles and, seemingly, three-quarters of the town.
While Aidan was trying to figure out how to put that observation into kinder, gentler terms, Bobbie just kept right on talking. “Okay. So using the Twango probably wasn’t the best comparison, but stay with me here, and I think I can explain this better.”
Good. She had a hundred-percent chance of doing that, because so far she hadn’t made an eyelash of sense.
Bobbie turned off her phone before she continued. “I want the illusion that my love life is good. Very good. That way, it won’t give anyone, including my uncles and Jasper Kershaw, the right to feel they can monkey with it. And maybe, just maybe, the same could happen for you.”
Aidan certainly hoped this sounded better when he said it aloud, but he wasn’t counting on it. “What exactly would we have to do to stop people from…monkeying with us?”
She shrugged as if the answer were obvious. “We’d have to pretend to go through with the lottery, of course. We’d do the Twango, so to speak. And remember, the Twango is a garment of illusion. I’ve seen before and after pictures. Trust me, it flattens even the worst beer guts, and I mean the worst. It’s even better than the Drifter, and the Drifter’s twice the price.”
“The Twango and the Drifter,” he managed. Heaven knows why he repeated the names of the comparative items, but Aidan had no idea what else to say.
Bobbie stuck out her hands like balancing scales. “The Drifter is for men who don’t want a lot of wiggling around when they’re on the go. Like you. You don’t want people pulling and tugging at you.” She slightly lifted her right hand. “Now, couple that with the Twango, and you’ll see what I’m getting at here.”
Part of him—the part controlled by logic and sound reason—wanted to issue Bobbie a polite good-bye and send her on her delusional way. But he heard a little voice in his head. That little voice, along with the vivid memories of what the past seven days had entailed, made him want to learn more about what she was proposing.
And it had nothing, absolutely nothing, to do with the fact that she was reasonably attractive.
No way.
He absolutely, emphatically, would not allow himself to be set up in a relationship, and that lottery business smacked of a set-up in its purest form. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought it originated with members of his own family.
Still, Aidan clung to the notion of peace and quiet. His notion of paradise had been lowered significantly. He’d settle for simply getting through a shower or a meal without the phone ringing.
“What would I have to do for this Twango-Drifter Plan?” he asked.
She hesitated. Tipped her amber-brown eyes to the ceiling. Fidgeted. And started to nibble on her glossy bottom lip. So, this had likely been an impromptu idea on her part, or else he’d have to do something so thoroughly ridiculous that she could hardly get out the words.
“Well…” And Bobbie hesitated again. She twirled a strand of her shoulder-length, ginger-colored hair around her finger. “To make it believable, I suppose we’d have to spend time together.”
“I don’t have a lot of time as it is.”
He wasn’t counting on that to change much either after the sheriff returned to work. Of all the calls Aidan received since Sheriff Cooper had gotten sick, not one of them had actually been for the sheriff. And no calls had come in to the night deputy, Sam Teton. That likely had something to do with the fact that Sam was seventy-one, had only three strands of hair and could, and did, spit watermelon seeds through the gap in his front teeth.
Her eyebrows flexed. “Hey, I got it. Maybe you could just come to my house after work and watch TV for a couple of hours. Actually, you wouldn’t have to do much of anything other than let people think something’s going on between us. I could even turn off the phone if you’d like.”
It sounded like, well, paradise. Or maybe it sounded like something too good to be true.
“What about your uncles? They live with you.” And that would likely mean he’d have to spend time with them as well. If his first impression of them was correct, having them around wouldn’t give him much of a reprieve from the lunacy. Instead, it would put him shoulder-deep in it.
“It’s a big house with two wings and separate entrances. I live on one side, and they live on the other. You wouldn’t necessarily run into them.”
Aidan looked for flaws in her proposal and soon found one the size of the Himalayas. After all, Bobbie was the winner of the lottery. A lottery he’d sworn to ignore. Maybe this was just her way of making sure as the winner that she got her shot at him after all.
He shook his head. “As good as the offer sounds, I’d better pass. Thanks anyway.”
“Oh.”
But it wasn’t a plain, ordinary oh. Nor was it a question to ask why he’d come to that decision. It was a hurt, embarrassed oh.
Heck.
One look into her eyes and he confirmed that. He’d lived with his six sisters, a mother and a grandmother long enough to know when he’d stepped in something he should have stepped around.
“It’s not that,” Aidan assured her.
But it was hard to put into words exactly what that was. He couldn’t very well tell her that he was tired of women, could he? No. That’d make him sound like a wuss.
Which he wasn’t.
He just wanted a little vacation from the fairer sex and the constant matchmaking of seemingly every woman in the entire city of Boston. Just because he was thirty-three, why did everyone think he was ready to settle down?
He. Wasn’t.
And he wouldn’t let others dictate that for him. Monkeying indeed. If anyone monkeyed with anything, he’d do it himself, and he damn sure wouldn’t use the word monkeying when he did it.
“This arrangement wouldn’t be, uh, right,” Aidan continued. He could almost taste his own foot in his mouth, and it wasn’t very appetizing. “I mean, I like my privacy.”
“I see. Of course. I hadn’t thought of it that way.” She moistened her lips in a nervous gesture that made him want to find a large rock and hit himself on the head. He hadn’t intended to hurt her feelings.
“It’s not you,” he reiterated. He resisted the urge to reach out and touch her. For comfort naturally. It had nothing to do with her warm brown eyes and sensuous mouth. Nope. Absolutely nothing. Even if he had a thing for warm brown eyes just like hers.
And he really had a thing for sensuous mouths.
She nodded and tipped her head to the missing merchandise report. “You’ll look into that, please?”
“Of course.” He might even frame a copy of it when he was done. It was the first true job-related assignment he’d had since his arrival in Liffey.
“I just want to make sure I don’t have an employee with sticky fingers,” she added. “The floor manager, Rudy Tate, will answer any questions you might have. I’ve listed his number there at the bottom of the form.”
And with that, she turned to leave. Aidan had a three-second debate with himself. Stop her. Don’t stop her. Tell her why her plan made me squirm. Don’t tell her. Apologize for hurting her feelings. Don’t apologize. Touch her. Don’t touch her.
Especially don’t touch her!
He was still adding more issues to that mental debate when he saw Maxine Varadore making her way across Main Street. She was headed straight for the office, probably to press him again to come and rescue her kitty.
Among other things.
“Have a nice day, Deputy O’Shea,” Bobbie said over her shoulder. “And don’t worry about this lottery stuff. I have no intention of pursuing it.” She would have made it out the door if Aidan hadn’t stopped her.
“It isn’t you,” Aidan let her know—again. He swore under his breath and shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his khakis. “It’s just—I have these six older sisters, and they’re always…monkeying with my life.”
Heaven’s bells, why couldn’t he stop using that frickin’ word?
He regrouped and tried again. “It’s a knee-jerk reaction for me to back off when someone suggests anything to do with romance.”
Slowly, Bobbie turned back around to face him. “I understand. Believe me.”
She probably did. After all, he’d met her uncles. God knows what kind of torments they’d put her through, all under the guise of insuring her lifelong happiness.
She eked out a smile. “It’s all right, really.”
The mental debate started again in earnest. And Aidan was losing big-time. The losing went up a considerable notch when Maxine stepped inside.
She glanced at Bobbie and huffed noisily. “Are you still here?”
Maxine didn’t wait for Bobbie to confirm the blatantly obvious. She whipped her attention to Aidan. “Can you pretty-please come and rescue my poor little Sue-Sue now? She’s been up in that tree a long, long time. I’m sure she’s getting awfully hungry.”
Gone was the snippy tone that she’d used to address Bobbie. In its place was a silky purr that had scalding steam rising from it. It was enough to make Aidan take a step back and inform her that he didn’t wear size triple-X underwear either.
“I can’t leave the office unless there’s a crime in progress,” Aidan insisted.
It was a line he’d found himself repeating often, and he was glad he could use it as an excuse right now. However, Sheriff Cooper was due back in a couple of days, and Aidan’s excuse wouldn’t be worth the sudsy scum left inside an empty beer mug.
What then?
There were four weeks, six days and a couple of hours left on this particular exchange tour. Four weeks, six days and a couple of hours that would no doubt make it seem as if he’d lived in monastic seclusion in Boston.
He hadn’t.
But it seemed the women of Liffey could outdo even his own family when it came to forcing romance on a man, and his family had had thirty-three years of practice. Just how proficient would these Texas women be after another week or two of lottery-like shenanigans?
And when the heck had he started using words like shenanigans?
“My little bitty kitty?” Maxine coaxed. She crooked her finger. Smiled. And winked, revealing an eyelid caked with about a kilo of turquoise eye shadow. “Come on. I’ll even make you a big tall glass of iced tea. Or something.”
That wasn’t all she was offering. No way. Aidan recognized that lustful gleam in her eye. A year or two ago, he’d have done his level best to fan that gleam into a scorching blaze. But not now. Like Bobbie, his fanning activities were on hiatus.
“Uh…” And that was all he managed to get out. He didn’t want to hurt Maxine’s feelings, but then he didn’t think he could survive another kitty rescue.
Aidan looked at Maxine. Then at Bobbie. This was probably a case of the lesser of two evils. Still, if Bobbie could pull off a Twango-Drifter relationship, then she would have his undying gratitude.
“Well?” Maxine again. She gave her finger one more seductive crook.
“I need to rest up for tomorrow,” Aidan heard himself say. “For the start of the lottery. I’ll be spending every waking hour of the next week with Bobbie.”
Maxine snapped her shoulders so straight that he heard joints crack. “You’re actually going through with that stupid nonsense?”
Aidan nodded. He glanced at Bobbie again. Her mouth had dropped open, but beneath all that dumbfoundedness, he saw a glimmer in her eyes as well. Not lust. No. Not this. This was something more akin to hope.
“You bet,” he answered.
“But, but, but—” It took Maxine a couple of seconds of sputtering to remember how to say more than just that one objection. She fluttered her fingers in Bobbie’s direction. “But she already has a boyfriend.”
“No, I don’t,” Bobbie insisted.
Maxine turned her still-hopeful and somewhat pathetic gaze to Aidan.
“She doesn’t,” he piped in, hoping it’d give Maxine motive to leave. “Besides, a deal is a deal. Bobbie won the lottery, and therefore she has my undivided personal attention for an entire week.”
He thought he saw flames dance across Maxine’s mud-brown eyes. “Then you’re in for a very dull week. Ask Jasper Kershaw if you don’t believe me. He’s jilted her twice.”
And with that totally irrelevant comment, she turned on her heels and headed out the door.
Aidan figured Bobbie would lose her composure over such a tacky confrontation. But she didn’t. She didn’t even spare Maxine a parting glance.
“Hope her little bitty kitty will come down from the hackberry before the week is up,” Bobbie commented, a touch of humor in her voice. She checked her watch. “Oh, I gotta go. I’m meeting a client over in Dalton City. Listen, why don’t you drop by my house after work so we can iron out the details of our plan?”
Heaven help him. Now it was called our plan. Just like the term blind date, it made him itch.
“I’ll put out the word that you’re officially off limits to the women of Liffey,” she assured him. “It’ll go faster if you do the same.”
Aidan managed a nod before Bobbie all but sprinted out of the office. It took him a second before he realized what he’d done.
Well, heaven’s bells!
Hadn’t this been exactly what he’d tried to avoid? He’d actually been talked into monkeying with his own life.
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GREAT. Now, there were three dogs, two cats and an ornery raccoon following her. As if she hadn’t already had an eventful day, now she had to put up with this.
While Bobbie turned down the narrow road that led to her house, she continued to fan herself with the latest copy of Travel-or-Bust Monthly. Maybe, just maybe, the icky scent of the massage oil would fade before Aidan came over to discuss the details of the Twango-Drifter Plan. A plan that had plagued, tormented and needled her the entire afternoon.
Geez Louise, what the devil had she been thinking when she suggested that brilliant idea?
It was one of the worst ideas she’d ever had. Well, not counting the time she’d let her best friend, Crystal, talk her into getting her navel pierced. But this was definitely the second worst.
“Yes, I’m sure,” she repeated to Mr. Eidelson, the client she’d met with only an hour earlier. “I believe I made that clear before I left. I’m sorry, but Boxers or Briefs will not be marketing your Sensuous Musk Massage Oil.”
She rolled her eyes when the man had the nerve to ask why. Bobbie gave her phone headset an adjustment so he’d clearly hear her every word. “Well, for one thing, your product stains like crazy. And I’m not just talking about the big splotch it left on my skirt either. My thighs, palms and kneecaps are purple as well. I stopped at the gas station and tried to scrub it off, but it seems to have embedded into my skin.”
“I’m sorry about that,” Mr. Eidelson said. “The bottle slipped right out of my hand.”
Yes, and that slip had sent a pint of the industrial-strength massage oil right into her lap. In addition to the goop causing her an uncomfortable drive home, it now appeared the musky scent was attracting critters.
And speaking of critters, she saw Jasper’s devil-red sports car when she turned into the driveway. Even in the already dusky light, it didn’t take her long to spot him. There he was, leaning against her mailbox as if he had every right to be there.
She issued a mumbled goodbye to Mr. Eidelson and tossed the headset phone onto the passenger seat.
“Bobbie,” Jasper greeted when she stepped from her car. “I’m glad you’re finally home. I’ve been waiting for you.” He lifted his nose in the air and sniffed. “Say, what’s that smell? A new perfume, huh? Guess the animals like it. It’s a little strong, but I could get used to it.”
She ignored his idiotic observation and turned to see if the other critters were still there. They were, and they were gaining now that she’d stopped. Bobbie rolled up the travel magazine in case she had to ward them off. Not that she planned to hit them, but waving the glossy pages around and shouting might work.
Jasper walked down the flagstone steps to join her. “Say, that really is a great perfume. You oughta wear that more often.” He sniffed her again. “By the way, something must be wrong with your phone. I’ve been trying to call you for a couple of hours.”
“I had your number blocked.” Bobbie kept her attention on the animals. One of the cats and the raccoon didn’t look especially pleased when they realized she wasn’t a potential girlfriend.
“I know you’re angry about what happened,” Jasper said as if his latest jilting were only a mild inconvenience instead of the life-altering, humiliating experience that it had been. “But I can explain everything.”
“I don’t want an explanation.”
She grabbed her purse and headed for the house, taking the steps two at a time. The critters didn’t come any closer, but Bobbie didn’t plan to take any chances. Besides, she wanted to get away from Jasper more than she did the animals.
Unfortunately, Jasper followed her. Bobbie barely managed to get inside the house and slam the glass storm door between them.
“I got scared,” Jasper prattled on. He pressed his face right against the glass, making himself look a little like a severely mashed Mr. Potato Head. “I guess I wasn’t ready to settle down.”
“Too bad you didn’t let me in on that little revelation before I showed up at the church.”
He shrugged. “Hey, what can I say—I’m human. I make mistakes.”
She wanted to throttle him. Eight months earlier, the man had left her high and dry to face 179 guests, a food-laden reception and an unpaid limo driver. Worse, Bobbie had learned later that he’d actually gone on their honeymoon trip to London—a place she desperately wanted to visit. Then, rather than return to Liffey and try to grovel his way back into her good graces, Jasper had been working in his father’s travel agency in San Antonio.
“You’re leaving,” she insisted. “And I don’t want you to come back. Our relationship is over, and we’ll never get back together again, understand?”
Jasper nodded but then reached inside the pocket of his perfectly tailored jacket and brought out a thick envelope. “It’s an itinerary,” he announced. “For our trip to Paris. I’ve already paid for everything, including a stay at a five-star hotel. Dad says I can have as much time off from the agency as I need so we can leave as early as next week. All you have to do is say yes.”
He flashed that dimple-enhanced smile that had once done a fairly decent job of melting her toenail polish. Today, her nail polish frosted over.
Bobbie was on the verge of telling Jasper exactly what he could do with that blasted travel itinerary when she heard the voices. Male voices.
She peered over Jasper’s shoulder and saw something that sent her stomach plummeting to her purple kneecaps. Her uncles and Aidan were leaving the other side of the house, the uncles’ side, and they were headed for hers. Fortunately, they had their attention focused on the four-legged critters, so it gave Bobbie a couple of seconds to try to compose herself.
“Good-bye, Jasper,” she snarled.
His moronic grin slipped a considerable notch. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do mean it.” To prove her point, she aimed her index finger at Aidan. “That’s my boyfriend, and he’s here to pick me up for a…uh…date.”
The grin vanished. Jasper propped his hands on his hips. “Is this about that dumb lottery?”
“No.” And it was the truth. This was about the preservation of what was left of her sanity.
In the nick of time, Uncle Winston saved her from having to add some lies to that truth. “Hey, what’s that weasel doing here?” Winston called out.
“He’s leaving,” Bobbie announced. “He thought he could show up here and talk me into going to Paris with him. I’d rather have my tonsils removed by a toddler with a rusty spoon.”
“No, Winston meant the other weasel,” Uncle Quincy corrected.
“Huh?” Another glance over Jasper’s shoulder, and Bobbie saw that her uncle was right. There were two weasels. Jasper and a furry one that had joined the other critters. Bobbie thought the furry one might actually be Henrietta Beekins’ missing ferret, Sugarfoot.
As if they’d rehearsed it, her uncles walked forward, each of them latching onto one of Jasper’s arms. Winston and Quincy were in their late sixties, but both men were still in remarkable shape. Together, they lifted the wirily-built Jasper right off the flagstones.
“You’re not welcome here,” Winston informed Jasper. “We don’t take kindly to you breaking Bobbie’s heart. Leave now, or Quincy here just might put an uncomfortable knot in that Gigolo underwear that you’re so fond of.”
Quincy agreed with a gravelly, snarling growl. He was by far the smaller of the two, but since he’d been the state mud-wrestling champion in his prime, and since he had hands the size of SUV hubcaps, few people cared to argue with Quincy Callahan.
In no time flat, and with seemingly no exertion, the uncles had her former fiancé and reigning cow-dung champion headed toward his car.
“This isn’t over,” Jasper called out. “I’ll win you back, Bobbie. You’ll see.”
Ferrets would fly first.
When Jasper finally drove away, Bobbie stepped out on the porch again. From the doomsday look on Aidan’s face, he wasn’t so sure of this lottery stuff either. He’d probably come over to call the whole thing off.
“I’ll take a stab at what happened to you,” Winston said coming back up the steps. He towered a good twelve inches over his fraternal twin, Quincy, and even had a few inches on Aidan. Her uncle gave his ornate feather-banded Stetson an adjustment. “That purple blotch on your skirt is from Eidelson’s Sensuous Musk Massage Oil, right?”
Flabbergasted, Bobbie just stared at him a moment. “How’d you know that?”
Winston cast an uneasy glance down at Quincy. Both shook their heads. Both mumbled. Quincy finally motioned for his brother to continue. “We had a meeting with Mr. Eidelson a couple of years ago, before you took over the business.”
“And you didn’t warn me?”
They shrugged in unison. “We figured he’d have a new product by now,” Quincy offered. He didn’t wait for her to verify that there was no product other than the staining, stinky oil. He hitched a thumb in Aidan’s direction. “The deputy was looking for you.”
Since the cheerless look was still on his face, Aidan had probably been with her uncles longer than he wanted. Of course, there were times when five seconds was too long to spend with Quincy and Winston.
Bobbie caught onto Aidan’s arm and pulled him inside. “Thank you for bringing him over,” she let her uncles know. She glanced around the yard. It was dark, but she figured it wasn’t so dark that she’d missed his vehicle. “Aidan, where’d you park?”
“By the pond. I took the back way.”
So that he wouldn’t be seen. Oh, yeah. He was definitely ready to put an end to this.
Bobbie gave a farewell wave to her uncles, but they just stood there grinning at her. When a second wave didn’t get them moving, she issued a good-bye and shut the door. Later, she’d have to inform them that this visit from the deputy wasn’t the start of the glorious romance that they obviously thought it was.
The full impact of the Twango-Drifter Plan hit Bobbie the moment she turned around to face Aidan.
Oh, my. Oh, my, my, my.
He was certainly an eyeful in those snuggy jeans and crisp white shirt. And here he was. Right in the middle of her entryway—the last place an attractive man should be, since she’d sworn off men for all of eternity.
“I’ll save you some time here,” she started. “My second thoughts are having second thoughts. I figure you’re feeling pretty much the same.”
“I am.” The corner of his mouth lifted. Not a toenail-dissolving grin like Jasper’s. This one made her smile and feel warm and tingly inside.
“It sure seemed like a good idea at the time,” Bobbie continued. “Well, maybe it did. But I caught us both at a weak moment. Now that the phones aren’t ringing and people aren’t pestering us, well, the Twango-Drifter Plan doesn’t seem, um, necessary, does it?”
Aidan no doubt would have agreed, but before he could even get out a word, one of the cats scurried across the windowsill. It clawed its way up the screen and onto the eaves.
Bobbie shook her head. “Just for the record—I don’t expect you to do a kitty rescue.”
He smiled again. And just stood there. Bobbie tried not to look at him. She really tried. But her eyes seemed to have a whole different notion.
She took in everything about him that she didn’t want to notice. The way his dark hair languished against his tanned neck. The little flecks of blue and gray in his luscious green eyes. She probably would have started drooling if the rattling sound hadn’t pulled her out of her Aidan-induced trance.
She glanced behind her. A second cat was making his way up the screen.
Aidan motioned toward the plate-size stain on her skirt. “You might want to take care of that before you attract a bear or something.”
“Of course.” Strange, but she’d almost forgotten about the massage oil. “I’ll just grab a quick shower and change. I won’t be long. Then, we can talk about…well, about our situations.”
Naturally, that would mean coming up with a different plan, or maybe no plan at all. Aidan was a grown man, incredibly grown, and he certainly didn’t need her to fix his problems. Besides, she absolutely, emphatically, positively didn’t want another relationship.
Really.
Once she was safely in the bathroom and had the door closed, she placed her fingertips over the pulse on her neck to verify what she already knew. It was racing. And not just racing either. It was in a full gallop.
So, she did what any other female who had sworn off men would do. Bobbie blamed it on Eidelson’s Sensuous Musk Massage Oil.
AIDAN BLAMED his visit on basic stupidity. And, of course, politeness.
The bane of his existence.
Why he hadn’t ended this fiasco with just a phone call, he didn’t know. But he did know that he had to put this Twango-Drifter Plan to bed in such a way that it didn’t hurt Bobbie’s feelings. Of course, after her comment just moments earlier, it was clear she wasn’t very comfortable with things either. After all, her second thoughts were having second thoughts. You couldn’t get any more unsure than that.
While he waited for Bobbie to finish her shower, he ambled around the living room, glancing at the cheery yellow and lilac décor. There were posters of Big Ben, Mount Rushmore, Limerick Castle and the Grand Canyon. A huge stack of travel magazines lay on the coffee table. Apparently, Bobbie had a bad case of wanderlust.
“It’s an obsession,” he heard her say.
Aidan turned to see her in the doorway. She was barefooted and wore jeans with a cropped T-shirt. There was nothing especially attractive about the outfit, but it seemed to garner his attention. He cleared his throat and forced his attention to garner something else.
“What’s an obsession?” he asked.
“Traveling.” She walked closer, and he caught the scent of her soap. She’d washed her hair as well, and it fell in damp strands against her neck. Like the outfit, it wasn’t especially attractive, but for some reason it was appealing. Appealing in a make-me-squirm sort of way.
He cleared his throat again. “You travel often?”
“No.” She gave a heavy sigh. “I rarely go anywhere because I work six days a week. That’s why it’s an obsession—I only get to dream about it. I guess you’ve been a lot of places, huh?”
“Some. I joined the law-enforcement exchange two years ago. The first place they sent me was London to work at Scotland Yard.”
A wistful, longing look glazed her eyes. “Ohh. London. I suppose you’ve been to Hawaii, too?”
He nodded. And nodded again when she asked about Italy and France.
“You are so lucky,” she concluded. “The closest I get to places like that are my travel magazines. A pitiful substitute, I can tell you.”
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