Falling for the New Guy

by Nicole Helm

  “I...” His eyebrows drew together and then he turned abruptly, flipping the dead bolt on his door, then locking the chain, which, she realized, he must have added because her apartment certainly didn’t have one.

  It was that and the way he walked to the kitchen without saying anything, and maybe the dregs from her emotional upheaval earlier that made her wonder if...jeez, did she know him at all?

  “I can go. I should, really.” She got off the couch. If she hadn’t fallen asleep she probably would have left. Ten was late. It wasn’t a good idea to stay. But she’d wanted some kind of comfort, even if Marc didn’t know what he was comforting. He was good at comfort.

  She didn’t think he’d be too good at it tonight, judging from his demeanor. But maybe that meant she owed him some.

  He stood in the kitchen, palms flat on his counter, staring hard at it. “I’m in a foul mood.”

  Yes, he definitely needed some comfort. “Let me help.” She crossed to the kitchen, kneaded her fingers into his shoulders, attempting to dislodge the tight knot of muscles.

  But his shoulders only tensed more, going from hard rock to impenetrable metal. “Marc.” This wasn’t the ease and distraction he’d been offering. The nice guy who always knew what to say. This was some stranger, and that sank the earlier sadness even deeper. “Give me an inch here, huh?”

  He turned so her hands had to slide off his shoulders, and the weird look on his face was what she determined must have been some kind of fake forced smile.

  “You’re terrible at putting on a happy face. Try the blank one. You’re better at that.”

  Only then did his mouth actually curve with any kind of humor behind it. Not a lot, but at least something.

  His hands rested on her shoulders, curling around them, a strong, comforting grip. She couldn’t remember anyone ever putting their hands on her, looking at her the way Marc did, actually making her believe things could be okay. But that was exactly the effect Marc had.

  “It was a weird night. In the end, it’s nothing. Not in comparison to what you have to deal with.”

  Ouch. That kind of...hurt. She wasn’t sure why. It was probably true. There were definitely things out there worse than she had to deal with, but hers was still pretty shitty. Even so, why should that mean he didn’t tell her what was going on? “So?”

  “So. It’ll blow over. It’s nothing.” He released her shoulders, walked out of the small square of a kitchen. “You didn’t watch the next episode without me, did you?”

  But she barely heard that stupid question, that stupid change of topic. She was not being distracted from...

  What? Wanting to get to know him better? So she could fall even deeper into this thing that really didn’t have much of a future that wasn’t really damn complicated?

  Well, yeah. Damn it.

  “Just because...” It was his superhero complex again, only it didn’t seem nearly so admirable or sweet in this context. It seemed distancing. Her problems were worse, so she’d just never get to know his?

  That wasn’t right.

  “Just because my family issues might be more complex than yours doesn’t mean you should feel like you can’t talk about them.”

  He grabbed the remote to his TV. “I don’t want to.” He flipped the TV on, such a dismissive gesture, irritation started to lean toward anger.

  She marched over to him and grabbed the remote, clicking off the TV, getting even angrier when he gave her a condescending really, that’s all you got? look.

  “Well, I want to hear about it.”

  “Too bad.”

  “No, it’s not too bad. You know every nasty detail of the stuff that goes on in my family. You can at least give me some piece of you.”

  His eyes narrowed, mouth twisting into some kind of sneer. There was no blankness, no trying to pretend anything. This was anger. A kind of furious anger that made her stomach jump uncomfortably.

  “Oh, I know every detail?” he said, stepping toward her, and though it was a threatening step, she didn’t move backward. She didn’t wince. He might be angry, she might feel as though she didn’t really know him, but she didn’t believe he’d actually hurt her.

  She had enough blows thrown her way to know the difference between unrestrained violent anger and fury that would never turn into an attack.

  “What happened the night you decided that after all the no-cops stuff you were going to sleep with me? Or the next night when you showed up at my doorstep wanting more, after saying we couldn’t? What does he say when he calls you? Why do you keep thinking he might get better?”

  The questions hurt. Not physical blows, but little cuts against her heart, because he was right. There was plenty she kept under wraps, plenty she wanted to keep that way. But he at least knew something—she didn’t know anything. “Marc.”

  “Don’t go pushing me like I know everything. Do you know how many times I shut my mouth because I know you don’t want me to ask?”

  “Yes.” And she did. He got the same blank look every time she evaded a question as he did every time she figured he kept a question to himself. “I...know.”

  “Well, then.”

  “Marc.” She had to say something, but her emotions were such a confusing whirl of conflicting things. “I...” She swallowed. “Believe it or not, you’re not...I actually don’t want you to be perfect, because it makes me feel pretty stupid. So, if you could offer a flaw or two, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Tess...”

  “Just a little hint you aren’t the perfect guy.”

  “That little outburst not enough?”

  “Nope. Everyone gets angry. Everyone lashes out. Tell me what happened. You don’t have to tell me anything else. You don’t even have to explain. Give me a sliver.” And that felt...kind of gross, really. Her whole life spent begging people for little slivers of what she needed.

  When was it her turn to get the whole thing?

  He was silent for a long time, but his gaze was on her face, as if he could read all the hurt and sadness she was trying to ignore. As if he sensed it all and was going to swoop in and be Mr. Perfect and solve it.

  Except it never seemed to actually get solved.

  “When I was twelve, my grandmother died and my grandpa gave me her wedding ring. You know, to keep the tradition alive or whatever when I got old enough.”

  Her stomach did a weird jittery thing at the word wedding. “O...kay.”

  “Tonight my mother gave it to my sister’s boyfriend. So he could use it, when he proposes to Leah. Which isn’t even a foregone conclusion, except, okay, it probably is. But...”

  “It’s your ring.”

  “Yes.”

  “How could she give your ring away?”

  “I don’t—” She got the feeling he was going to say something big, important. But then he thought better of it and said, “Know. It’s stupid. Just a ring. Pathetic to get all worked up over. Leah has just as much right to it as I do. She’s a lot closer to marriage than I am. So I shouldn’t be upset.”

  “But you are.” She slid her arms around his neck, gingerly at first, then strengthening her hold when he didn’t push her away and didn’t reciprocate. Just stood there stiff and unmoving. “There’s nothing wrong with feeling something, even if it isn’t... You don’t have to be perfect or good all the time.”

  “You’d be surprised.” But he lowered his chin to his shoulder, a smidgen of that tension releasing.

  So she held him, because she didn’t have the words to convince him otherwise. But maybe she could find them. She’d make it a priority to find them.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  MARC DIDN’T THINK anything could make him less twitchy about not being in charge of his workday, but watching Tess work did ease the frustration of being an observe
r half the time.

  He noticed things he sadly would not have noticed if he wasn’t involved with her. As he watched her take the statement of an angry shop owner over his broken storefront window, Marc was filled with discomfort over the fact that despite ten years in law enforcement and working with other women, he’d never given them much credit for having to do more.

  It had been obvious the man had initially dismissed Tess as inconsequential when they’d walked up. Which only made her insist on taking his statement and handling this call. In a million subtle ways, she finally had the guy treating her like a police officer.

  Had Marc taken the call, he never would have had to handle it in any special way.

  Tess nodded at the man, tucked her notebook into her breast pocket and then strode toward him. Shoulders back, eyes cool, the perfect picture of a calm, unflappable police officer.

  But when she met him on the sidewalk she let out a frustrated breath. “I hope that guy knows I could have him on the ground with his hands behind his back in ten seconds flat.”

  “You could demonstrate. I wouldn’t tell anyone,” he offered. Even joking about it went against his normal character, his normal instinct, but he seriously would not mind watching Tess kick that jerk’s ass.

  Tess snorted out a laugh as they walked up the hill toward his patrol car. “Thanks for the offer. Maybe next time.”

  “You’re very good at your job.”

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “Oookay.”

  “I just mean, I watched you turn him from thinking you were not worthy of taking his statement to him taking your card and believing that you’d write up a report. You’re good at that.”

  She shrugged. “Had to be.”

  “So you won’t take a compliment.”

  She pressed her lips together, but her mouth began to curve. “Not from the guy I’m...” She looked around, then gestured toward his crotch, then hers and made a goofy face.

  He didn’t want to laugh. The secrecy thing wasn’t funny.

  But his mouth twitched, and he knew she caught it when she grinned at him. She stopped in front of an abandoned storefront, a few feet away from their cruiser.

  She let out a wistful sigh. “I wish somebody would buy this poor old place. I used to love it when I was a kid.”

  “What did it used to be?”

  She smiled sheepishly at him, but her gaze returned to the dusty window with a faded For Sale sign in the corner. “It was a fancy restaurant. Like, seriously fancy—way too fancy for Bluff City. I used to walk by on my way home from the library or the Y and people would be in there in suits and dresses. They always had these big bouquets on the table—not fake, either. Real flowers. Candles. A million forks and spoons for who knows what.”

  Her finger traced what was left of some etching that had been scraped away. “I had this idea that I’d get older and belong there, or feel like I could. Like it was age and not money that got you in the door.” She blew out a breath. “Silly. This girl does not lead a fancy-restaurant kind of life, and I absolutely live in the wrong town for it, anyway. Just a little girl fantasy.”

  But...it wasn’t silly. Not really. He thought of what her childhood must have been like, with an alcoholic, abusive father, even if she tried to make him believe there had been times when her father wasn’t like that.

  She’d grown up in an unstable world with no mother. His childhood had been a challenge, and it had had its own air of instability, but he’d had two people who were there, who kept him fed and sheltered and comfortable. Tess hadn’t even had one.

  She’d been on her own, and she’d dreamed about a fancy restaurant in a little Iowa river town. Such a small thing, and that’s what made it so big.

  He almost put his arm around her before the bulk of his uniform reminded him of where they were and what they were doing.

  No touches. No caring. They were two officers working side by side. Something he’d never imagined could be complicated, constricting.

  Tess moved for the car, skirting the front halfway before stopping and slapping a palm to her forehead. “Keep forgetting. Your car. You drive. And the next two calls are yours, since I took that one. I just couldn’t let that guy think he could treat me like—”

  “I know.”

  She backtracked to the passenger side.

  He stood on the curb, struck by the sudden thought that this wouldn’t be a permanent thing. When they’d first met, he’d been counting down the days till his training ended so he could go back to feeling like a real cop. Feeling like he was actually working, not being babysat. And now... “You know, it’ll be weird when you’re not with me on the job.”

  It was her turn to make the faintest of reaching movements before dropping her hand, remembering as he had that they couldn’t be, well, anything here. Except coworkers.

  “Yeah.” She scrunched her forehead and slid into the car. He followed her lead, taking the driver’s seat.

  Her phone buzzed, as it so often did. As she so often did, she ignored it, her gaze steady on the abandoned building she’d just been admiring. Nothing showed on her face, no pain, no regret, no hurt. Even her posture hadn’t changed.

  How long had she been dealing with this? All of this? He’d seen her cry; he knew she hurt. Deeply. But on the job, she could turn it off, and it was huge, really. Bigger the more he knew her and understood about her.

  An overwhelming need to do something overtook him. He only knew he needed to act, give her something. He couldn’t fix her problem, even if she’d let him.

  So he’d have to do the next best thing.

  Instead of moving the car into Drive, he pulled his phone out of his pocket. Maybe he was being paranoid, but he didn’t want to take the chance that he could be heard over the mic. So he typed a text message and showed her the screen. He didn’t want to send the message to her phone, since it made her tense every time it went off.

  Tonight: give me two hours, then come over. In a dress.

  She bowed over his phone as she read and then typed before handing it back to him.

  A dress? Are you up to something kinky, Officer Santino?

  He rolled his eyes, pushing the car into Drive and keeping his eyes focused on the road. “Just do it, Officer Camden,” he muttered, gratified when she laughed. More gratified when she very carefully and quickly brushed her hand against his thigh.

  He could give her something, and Tess, being Tess, would appreciate it. It would mean something. Maybe this whole thing between them had started out as a way to help her or give her a distraction or whatever it had been, but it didn’t have to stay this way.

  He could mean something. Something big. Not just the silent, steady distraction or foundation who could be counted on to do what was necessary but wasn’t given much in return. Not just a shoulder to cry on or lean on for support, but an actual meaningful, important piece of her life. Whom she appreciated.

  This could be the start of something he’d never had, and he’d do whatever it took to get it.

  * * *

  TESS STOOD IN front of the mirror in her bathroom, trying to decide if Marc would notice the dress she had on was old and faded, a little ill fitting. But it did pretty nice things for her butt, so he probably wouldn’t.

  She had to bite her lip to keep from grinning, and her cheeks already hurt from all the grinning she’d been doing since she’d started getting ready.

  Whatever he was up to, whatever he was planning, even if it was something simple and regular, that he would plan at all was so irregular in her world, it made her stomach lurch in a mix of nerves and delight.

  He was going to do something sweet for her, and she hoped to God she could keep her shit together enough so she didn’t cry. There had been enough tears and breakdowns. She was ready for happy.

  When her
phone rang, she swallowed. Like a pin to a balloon, all her giddy excitement deflated.

  Never going to be free of this, Tessie.

  She took a deep breath and grabbed the phone off the bathroom counter. The fact of the matter was she still had an hour before she was supposed to go over to Marc’s apartment, and maybe if she spoke with Dad he wouldn’t bother her this evening and ruin everything.

  “Dad?”

  “Hi, Tessie.”

  “Is everything okay?” The fact that he hadn’t greeted her with threats or tears, just a simple, ordinary hi was...weird. She didn’t trust it.

  “I was hoping you could come over.”

  He sounded so lucid, so calm. So different from the past few weeks. Hope sprang, so quickly it was painful. She knew better than to trust it, but that hope always grew over whatever she knew, every experience that came before. “Why?”

  “We should talk, Tessie. Don’t you think?”

  She chewed her lip and glanced at the clock. She did have an hour, and with the exception of lipstick, she was ready. “Now?”

  “I’m sober, Tessie. I haven’t...had a drink all day. Please come over. I need you.”

  How would she ever be able to say no to that? To a please. To being needed—especially if he was sober, and while he lied plenty about the state of his alcoholism or the amount of alcohol consumed or hidden in his apartment, he very rarely claimed to be sober when he wasn’t.

  “All right. I’ll be over in ten, but I...I have to leave by six at the latest. I don’t want you getting upset. I have plans. Plans I can’t break.”

  “That’s okay, Tessie. That’s okay. It’s good you have plans. Just come over for a little bit so we can talk.”

  “O...okay.” She hung up the phone and looked at herself in the mirror one last time. She took a deep breath and then set the timer on her phone. She would not be late for whatever Marc was planning. She was going to find balance here. Not abandon her father, not give up the good things in her life.