Chapter 5
This couldn’t be happening. Humiliation bubbled in Amy’s chest and she couldn’t wait to get away. What had she been thinking? She was acting like a school girl, allowing herself to feel giddy inside for him. And she thought…
She thought he was maybe a little interested in her, too. But obviously she was wrong. How incredibly, carelessly, over-the-top stupid could she have been?
A gust of damp, chilly air hit her face when she pushed the door open and stepped outside. It still wasn’t enough to cool her hot cheeks, but it was better than watching Peter and Brett banter back and forth about Peter’s sex life.
She leaned against the brick wall, watching the people watching her. It was a strange little town. Or maybe it was because she was standing outside a sex shop. She started down the sidewalk. Maybe standing against the next shop wall would be more appropriate.
“Amy!” Peter’s voice roared through the street.
“What?” She continued onward, not wanting to look him in the face. She was too embarrassed. She’d let him escort her to her car, then he could be free to take his new toy to his girlfriend or wife or fling or whoever she was.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“I was hot in there.” She turned toward him and tugged at the collar of her hoodie. “Needed to cool off. Doesn’t the breeze feel good?”
He looked at the sky, then back at her. “No. How am I supposed to protect you if you’re running away from me?”
She bit her lip, hooked her purse and shopping bag over her shoulder, shoved her hands in the front pocket of her hoodie, and marched down the street. He could follow or not. No one would hurt her in broad daylight.
In no time, his long stride caught up with her short steps. “Are you in a hurry?”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Me? No. I just…you know…looks like it might rain.”
“The New Haven Historical Society is hosting a culture and art fair at the city auditorium. You wanna go browse around?”
Art fair? Her heart fluttered. She loved art. “You think I’ll be safe?”
He cocked his head and grinned. Damn, why did he do that so frequently? It sent shivers down her spine every single time, and it had nothing to do with the chilly air. “I don’t think you could be any safer.”
“Well, I mean, you wanted to be with me when I came to town, so I should probably leave now that we’re parting ways, right? But if you think I’m safe to go by myself, then yes. Just point me in the right direction.”
Peter rubbed the back of his neck and scrunched his forehead. “Do what, now?”
“You have other things you’d much rather be doing than escorting me around town.”
“I do?”
She glanced at the rolled up bag under his arm.
“Oh, this! I forgot about it when I had to chase your ass down the sidewalk.” He reached into the bag and grinned. “This is for you.”
“You got me something from a sex shop?”
“Oh, shit. You think I’m a pervert, don’t you? Shit. I didn’t…” He pulled out the gift and shoved it toward her. “Here.”
She didn’t want to look. A cacophony of thoughts swarmed her mind. At least it wasn’t for another woman, but why would he get a sex toy for her? That was just weird. Even if she’d thought he might be a little bit into her, they didn’t even know each other yet. Was he a pervert? Had he been lying to her all along about the thief just to get her to be with him? He’d proven how vulnerable she was, and here he was the one using it against her.
She stepped backwards. “I can’t accept a gift from you, but thank you.”
“No, it’s nothing, really. Just a good luck charm.”
“Not a—”
“No. Hell, no.”
Slowly, she dropped her gaze to his hand. Handcuffs. Fuzzy handcuffs. Green fuzzy handcuffs.
He smiled. “Get it? A cop giving you cuffs? That’s all it is, I promise. I thought it was funny. You know, because you don’t really have the whole luck of the Irish thing going for you.”
She took them, gingerly running the pads of her fingers over the soft material that covered the steel underneath. “That’s so sweet of you. Thank you.”
When he didn’t reply, she glanced up in time to see him dart his eyes away from her fingers rubbing the fabric. He cleared his throat and pulled his jacket tight, then started down the walkway. “You’re welcome. We should get going.”
She slipped the handcuffs into her purse and fell in step beside him. There was something else in the bag, and she was dying to ask what it was. As soon as he had given her the cuffs, he glanced into the bag, turned crimson, wadded the bag up and shoved it in his jacket pocket. Was that for his girlfriend? She didn’t dare ask. It was none of her business. “So, uh…”
He glanced at her. “What?”
She grasped for something, anything, to say. “Are you Irish?”
“Sure, I have some Irish blood. Of course there’s been a lot of dilution in the town over the years.” He crunched the paper bag in his pocket. “Did you know Betty before you started to work for her?”
“She’s my grandmother’s friend.”
“Ah, okay. So, you’ve known her for a long time?”
“Yeah, I suppose. I’ve been around her plenty through the years. She knows all about me and my sister, but I never paid much attention to her.”
“Hmm, go figure.”
“What?”
“You not paying attention.”
“Shut up.”
“You shut up.”
Amy’s cheeks heated at Peter’s deep chuckle.
“You’re cute when you blush.”
Her cheeks burned at that. “I’m not sure how to take that. Are you saying I’m not cute when I don’t blush?”
Peter rolled his eyes and strode forward to open the door to the auditorium. “Women are so confusing.”
“Well, you said ‘when,’ as if there’s a condition to be met. Like, I’m cute when I’m red and blotchy, but butt-ugly when I look normal.”
“I didn’t say you were butt-ugly. I said you’re cute when you blush. And so far in the amount of time I’ve known you, you blushed for about half of it.”
“So I’ve been cute for half of the time you’ve known me.”
He cocked his head. “Have you noticed I’m holding the door open for you? Maybe you should walk in now.”
She hadn’t realized he was holding the door open. She hadn’t even realized they were at their destination. She was too wrapped up in the fact that Peter had called her cute. When she was red and blotchy, at that. Her skin was tingly with excitement knowing he had looked at her in that way.
“Amy.” Peter lifted a brow, waiting.
“Sorry.” She put one foot in front of the other and walked past him.
Papers on the bulletin boards just inside the doorway flapped in the breeze, and other stacks of paper went flying gently about.
Betty darted toward them from the crowd of people. “Dang it! The wind must be picking up. I need to find some paper weights.”
“Betty?” Amy said, thankful to see someone she knew. “What are you doing here?”
Shirley appeared behind Betty. In unison, the ladies developed sly grins as they gazed back and forth between Amy and Peter.
“Sweetheart,” Betty said, “we live here. We volunteer at all these types of things. The question is, why are you here?”
Amy lifted her shopping bag. “I had to get something from… Um…” She lowered the bag. “I had to run some errands and ran into Peter. He suggested I come check out the culture fair since I’m into art.”
Madeline joined the group of ladies, all three of them nodding knowingly, eyes twinkling. “Oh, so you’re getting to know each other?”
“What?” Amy looked from woman to woman.
Dorothy appeared from around the corner carrying a basket of ribbons and certificates. The foursome was now complete.
The la
dies huddled and giggled, then straightened and stared at Amy and Peter. “Are you just gonna stand there and block traffic, or are you gonna come in?” Betty asked.
Peter cleared his throat and leaned down to Amy’s ear. “How about you stick close to the ladies while I go talk to my partner.”
“Hank?”
“You remember his name? I’m impressed.”
“I’m not a complete imbecile.”
“Just a partial one?”
She wanted to be angry, but the playful smirk on his face melted her heart. She grinned up at him and nodded.
“Good to know. I want you to be on high alert while I’m away from you, okay? Watch all the faces. Pay attention if someone gives you a strange feeling.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You know everyone’s gonna give me a strange feeling now that I’m paranoid. You can’t tell me to judge people I don’t know.”
“You know what I mean. Just stick with the ladies. I’ll catch up to you in a few minutes.” Peter squeezed her elbow and walked away.
Amy stood dumbfounded, watching him as he strode away, electricity zinging up her arm and spreading into her chest and belly. From a simple touch. She was losing it, most definitely. Those narrow hips shifting lusciously in tight blue jeans as he walked away didn’t help her condition one bit.
“Dearie,” Betty called, “you’re making a spectacle of yourself. Put your tongue back in your mouth and come join us. If you’re going to stare at the man’s ass, you need to do it a little more discretely.”
“I…I wasn’t staring.”
Dorothy nodded. “Whatever you say, honey. But if you want to learn the true art of it, we’ll be happy to give you tips. We’re pros.”
Amy burst out laughing as she took the gray-haired ladies in. Shirley wore a sweatshirt embroidered with eight grandkids’ names, Dorothy had rings on every finger that her husband continued to buy for her each Christmas, Madeline was widowed, but happily dating her husband’s best friend, and Betty was about to celebrate her fiftieth anniversary. “But you all are happy in your relationships. Why would you look at men’s asses?”
Madeline rolled her eyes. “So young and naive, aren’t you? Honey, we might be old and happy, but that doesn’t mean we’re blind and unappreciative.”
Shirley took Amy’s hand and pulled her toward a metal sculpture. “Look at this. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? With all its curves and intricacies and details.”
The tarnished metal lured Amy’s fingers toward it. She couldn’t help herself. The Celtic design bloomed excitement within her soul. “It is beautiful!” she whispered. “So mysterious and almost dangerous. It’s captivating.”
Betty patted Amy’s shoulder. “So much to learn, honey. You were supposed to look past the sculpture at Ken over there. Shirley was showing you how to discretely stare at a man, but you got caught up in the art.”
“I like art.”
“You should like men. It would make your grandmother happy.”
“What’s my grandmother got to do with anything?”
“She worries about you?”
“Why?”
“Just look at Ken, dammit!”
Amy looked past the Celtic sculpture to find a man in his fifties, pot-bellied and half-bald. His t-shirt was too tight and his cowboy boots too…turquoise.
“Well? What do you think?” Madeline asked.
“About the sculpture?”
“About Ken!” the ladies said in unison.
Ken lifted his head and looked their way, as did many other people around them. The ladies smiled and waved, then broke into a fit of giggles.
“You’re such a cougar!” Betty said to Madeline. “Always looking at men twenty years younger than you.”
Madeline batted her eyes. “I can’t help it. He’s hot!”
Amy ducked her reddened face down into the collar of her hoodie. “You call yourselves pros?”
“Well, if you weren’t such a difficult student,” Betty said, pulling Amy’s hand and leading her to a painting of a quaint countryside. “Now, this is a beautiful picture of a cottage painted by our own Miss Lucy. It’s a watercolor of the very spot where her great-great-grandmother grew up until she emigrated here to the US. So peaceful, isn’t it?”
“Oh, and the colors!” Amy said. “Lucy is an amazing artist! I have no doubt she could sell her work.”
Shirley rubbed her temples. “Honey, that’s not the point. You’re supposed to look at the man on the other side of the easel.”
“You said to look at the beautiful picture. Why would I look past it?”
“We’re trying to teach you to be subtle.” Betty sighed and looked around, stopping abruptly. “Here we go. Let’s try again.”
“Can’t I just look at the art? That’s why I came.”
Shirley shrugged. “You were the one gawking at Peter’s ass in the wide open public. Fine by us if it’s okay with you.”
“I wasn’t gawking.”
The ladies in unison crossed their arms and gave her the stink eye.
“Fine, I was gawking. I’d never had the chance to see him from behind and it took me by surprise.”
“He does have a fine ass,” Madeline said. “We make sure we have some kind of building problem every Thursday during quilting so he can come fix it for us. Just one of our many subtle tactics we’re trying to teach you.”
Amy scrunched her forehead. “That’s kind of rude. What if he’s busy? Or on duty?”
“He doesn’t mind. We always have snacks.” Shirley patted Dorothy’s hand. “She makes the best cinnamon rolls in the county. He’d come for those even if we didn’t ask him to stop by.”
Amy shifted and peered through the throngs of people and artwork until she caught a glimpse of Peter, deep in conversation with a tall, beefed up man whom she assumed was Hank. Two petite ladies stood with them. The one woman almost looked half Hank’s size. Amy stepped forward to get a better look. “Who’s Peter talking to?”
Shirley tugged Amy’s arm. “Honey, are you even trying to be subtle? Look at you bobbing all over the place.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You should.”
“Why?”
The ladies blinked, and finally Madeline answered. “Because it’s not lady-like to stare.”
“But it is lady-like to be sneaky?”
“If you don’t get caught, no one knows.”
Amy shook her head, then looked through the crowd back at Peter. He lifted his head and caught her eye, sending her his sweet grin, and lifted up a finger indicating that he’d only be another minute.
“See?” Betty scolded. “You just got busted. I’m so ashamed.”
“I wasn’t trying to hide!”
Betty shook her head. “So very ashamed. I don’t even know if I can tell your grandmother.”
“My grandmother would be happy to know I don’t sneakily stare at men’s asses.”
“She’d rather you be sneaky than do it openly.”
“If I want to look at a man’s ass, I’m going to look at a man’s ass.”
“We gathered that, honey.”
Peter’s deep voice sounded just behind her. “You’re looking at a man’s ass? I told you to watch faces.”
Amy’s shoulders fell.
“Busted again,” Betty said. “Discretion. Not only with the eyes, but also with the lips. You shouldn’t have been talking about it. If you discuss the artwork while looking past it, no one knows and everyone’s happy.”
“Ugh, I’m so confused.”
Peter chuckled. “What are you ladies up to?”
Shirley pursed her lips. “We’re teaching her how to discretely ogle, but she’s a really slow learner.”
“I see,” Peter said with a grin. “Kinda like you do every Thursday when you have me come fix something that’s not broken?”
“We don’t ogle you. We’re happily married women.”
“Mmhmm. I feel so objectified.”
“We feed
you.”
“That’s the only reason I come. But one of these days you’re really going to need me and if I’m busy, I won’t rush to get to you.”
“What could possibly happen that we’d need you in a hurry?”
He shrugged. “You never know. Remember the story of the boy who cried wolf.”
The ladies scoffed and waved their hands in the air. “The building’s in fine shape. No problems at all.”
“So you don’t need me anymore to tighten a screw for you?”
“No. I mean, yes.”
Peter laughed and shook his head. “You ladies are a trip. Now if you’ll excuse us, Amy probably wants to finish looking at the artwork,” he glanced at Amy and grinned, “or men’s asses, so she can get going. I imagine all that hair curling and face streaking stuff you do takes a long time.”
“Oh, are you two going out on a date tonight?” Madeline asked.
“No. My sister’s bachelorette party.”
Shirley’s eyes widened with glee. “Oh, perfect! You can practice all your new ass-watching skills.”
Amy wanted to vanish. She looked up to find Peter giving her that look that melted her, his cocked brow and half grin. Mortification and frustration kicked her in the gut. Just once, she’d like him to see her in a non-embarrassing situation.
She turned and bolted toward the exit.
Peter
Peter’s mood shifted instantly. He’d hoped to have a couple of light-hearted hours today, but it looked like that was all about to change. And now Amy was upset on top of it.
He tipped his head toward the ladies. “Looks like she’s done here. See you all later.”
Peter didn’t know if he should hurry to catch up to her or let her go. She was upset, but he didn’t know why. The ladies could be a bit much, but he assumed she had been around them enough to know what they were like.
At any rate, Peter was even more concerned about Amy’s safety after speaking with Hank and Lucy. He couldn’t let her walk all the way back to her car alone. If she chose not to talk to him, fine, but he needed to be with her.
He pushed the door open to find her leaning against the brick wall, her sweatshirt and ponytail whipping in the wind. “Rain’s gonna hit any minute. If you want to leave, we’d better run for it.”
Luck o' the (non)Irish (New Haven Police Romance Series Book 1) Page 4