“No, it’s fine.”
“You’re sure?”
She nodded and smiled. “I love Colombo’s.”
“Okay.” I slid my sunglasses off my head and onto my nose, then led her to the truck.
It couldn’t be easy for her, living in Bozeman. I’d bet she was assaulted with memories of her husband everywhere she went. It was admirable that she hadn’t let them chase her away.
Poppy was a fighter.
I beeped the locks on my truck and opened the passenger door. I took her elbow and helped her up. That familiar zing of electricity shot up my arm the moment my skin touched hers. Wanting to test her reaction, I leaned in, just a bit.
She didn’t step away and her chin lifted an inch as her eyes landed on my mouth.
I wanted to kiss her. If we weren’t in a parking lot, surrounded by patrol cars and the sounds of engines whizzing by, I might have given into the temptation. But now wasn’t the time. Though there was lust in Poppy’s cornflower blues, there was fear behind them too.
“Climb on in.”
She dropped her eyes from my lips. “Thanks.”
When she was in her seat, I shut her door, then rounded the hood to my side. Belted into the driver’s seat, I backed out and pointed the truck down the road. “So, a day without technology. What exactly are you going without?”
She was smiling out the windshield. She’d thrown her hair over her shoulder and a couple of locks were trailing down her bare arm. Her delicate hands were folded in her lap.
That was Poppy’s seat now. Any time I looked at the leather, I’d picture her riding shotgun.
“I’m basically cutting out screens,” she said, reminding me that I’d asked her a question. “I’ve deemed modern-day appliances acceptable because I’m trying to get caught up on laundry. And kitchen appliances don’t count, but other than that, nothing else. No TV. No phone. No radio.”
“Oh, shit.” I smacked the off button on the radio. “Sorry. Did I ruin your day? Do you have to start over?”
Her sweet laugh filled the cab. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Wasn’t that you singing? Has anyone ever told you that you sound a lot like George Strait?”
I grinned. “I think you might be the first.”
She was witty too. This woman had it all. Beauty. Brains. And a sense of humor.
The drive to Colombo’s was just a couple of blocks, but by the time I pulled into the parking lot, Poppy’s vanilla perfume had infused the air. I hopped out and slammed the door in one motion, hoping to keep the scent from escaping.
“This place hasn’t changed much, has it?” she asked as we walked to the door.
“Not a bit.” My favorite thing about Colombo’s was that it never changed. It was exactly the same as it had been when my parents had brought my sister and me here as kids.
Colombo’s was a Bozeman institution. Located directly across the street from Montana State University, it was always packed with college students. I all but stopped coming during the school year, but in the summer, this was my go-to lunch stop.
Opening the door, I let her walk inside first. The minute I stepped in behind her, the smell of onions and garlic and tomato sauce filled my nose.
“Oh, god,” she moaned. “I missed this place. It smells sooo good.”
That moan and the smile on her face didn’t help the problem in my jeans.
“You should know that I’m no good at sharing pizza,” she declared. “You’ll have to get your own.”
I chuckled. “I can live with that. I’m more of a sucker for their pepperoni calzones.”
We wasted no time ordering our meals from the walk-up counter and getting drinks from the fountain. Colombo’s son was manning the open kitchen today and I waved to him before leading Poppy to a booth at the back of the narrow restaurant.
“How’s everything going at the restaurant?” I asked as we sat.
“Good.” She smiled. “Busy, but I’m getting the hang of how much food to make, and so far, I haven’t had any complaints or bad reviews.”
Not that she would. I doubted anyone would find fault with her food, and I’d only ever had a sandwich and salad.
“Are you getting any sleep or are you a slave to the kitchen?”
“That first week was rough, but we have a new part-time employee who started last week, so hopefully Molly and I can get into a better routine and not be there twenty-four seven.”
“Good. I don’t like the idea of you coming and going late at night by yourself. Make sure you’re always parking in the space next to the door.”
“I know,” she muttered. “I’ll park by the door. I won’t take the trash out after dark. I won’t forget to lock up the front the minute we close.”
I took a drink of my water to hide my grin. She remembered my lecture from two weeks ago, and from the sounds of it, she’d been following my instructions. Setting down my glass, I leaned forward on the table. As much as I would have just loved to visit with Poppy, I needed some information before I went back to the station.
“So, before our lunch gets here, I have to know. What are you doing meeting with Simmons?”
She sighed and fidgeted with the discarded paper from her straw. “I’ve been coming in once a month ever since Jamie was killed to see if he’s found out anything on the case. He never has information, but I just don’t want him to forget that Jamie’s killer is still out there.”
Fuck.
She was hoping for something she’d probably never get. A five-year-old case without new evidence and Simmons as the lead? Her husband’s killer was probably long gone.
Fucking Simmons.
“I’m actually surprised I haven’t seen you before,” she said before I could think of what to say.
I shrugged. “I don’t love the office and avoid it when I can. Most of us usually only spend time there when we’re doing paperwork.” Except for Simmons. “We all started
