Serious Moonlight(46)

“Joseph? He won’t even look me in the eye.”

“Or Chuck.”

I made a face. “Not if he was the last boy on earth.”

Daniel shrugged. “I’m just saying, it doesn’t matter to me. I get it. You’re not interested.”

“In what?” And why were we still standing so close? We were done reading the printout.

I backed up a step.

Something flickered in his eyes. Leonine, limbs loose, he stepped forward and erased the distance I’d put between us. “You’re not interested in me.”

“Oh.” How was I supposed to answer that?

“And you don’t care about us,” he said, as if “us” were a thing that existed anymore. “You’ve made that clear.”

“I . . .”

His face was awfully close to mine. I’d forgotten that he was just the right height, not too tall, not too short. “We have no chemistry. That’s why it didn’t work between us. It was a mistake.”

“A mistake,” I agreed. I just wish I sounded surer of it.

“And you definitely don’t want to try again. I mean, you can’t rewind time, and there’s no do-overs, right? We’re like soured milk. Just throw it out and buy a new carton. Nothing to salvage.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far.” I wiped my hands on my pants. For the love of Pete, WHY DID I SWEAT SO MUCH AROUND HIM?

“But you don’t believe in second chances.”

“I never said that.”

“Did so. In that reply to that Truth or Lie text I sent you.”

“You asked me if we’d still be together if we hadn’t gotten into your car the first day we met. I said I wasn’t sure.”

“And you were lying.”

“I was?”

“That’s my guess.”

I felt as if this were a trap, and I wasn’t running at full brain capacity with him standing so close. “Obviously we can’t physically go back and erase what we did, so I guess if you’re asking how to do everything all over again differently . . . ? I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“Where to start?” he murmured. His gaze circled my face. “Well, if I were to hazard a guess—and I’m just spitballing here—I think I’d say something like, ‘Hi, my name is Daniel.’ And you’d say, ‘I’m Birdie, the most adorable name ever, just like me.’?”

I chuckled nervously.

“And then you’d say, ‘I like to solve mysteries.’ And I’d say, ‘Cool. Want to solve one with me?’ And you’d say, ‘Oh, Daniel. That sounds dynamite.’?”

“I’d never say that.”

“Sorry. I meant, ‘That sounds GD dynamite.’?”

“I sort of want to strangle you right now.”

The corners of his mouth curled ever so slightly. “I hear that a lot. So, anyway, you’d agree, and we’d start solving a mystery, much like this one. And I’d say, ‘I love investigating with you, Detective Birdie. Look how great we are at solving things together.’?”

“We’ve solved nothing, just for the record.”

“Shh. This is my fantasy, not yours. Then I’d say, ‘Uncovering criminal activities is exciting, but how will we ever figure out what it all means? Wait, I have an idea. Maybe we should go out tomorrow night to discuss what we’ve found, because I checked the schedule, and unless Melinda gets a wild hair up her ass to have another pointless staff meeting, we’re both off.’?”

“Uh . . .” My voice squeaked and crackled when I asked, “That’s what you’d say?”

“Absolutely.”

“I see. And what would I say?”

He lifted his hand to my hair and gingerly touched the petals on my lily. “You’d say, ‘Wow, Daniel. You’re the sexiest guy ever and the coolest detective partner of all time—so much better than that jerk Watson. Of course I’ll go out with you tomorrow night at seven thirty.’?”

“That’s awfully specific.”

“Then you’d let me pick you up at the ferry—the Colman Dock one here in the city, not on the island. Just to be clear.”

“At seven thirty.”

“At seven, actually. We’d need time to get there,” he explained, eyes on my hair as he traced a line down from the flower to my neck. “So, yeah. We’d go out and do a fun thing right here in the city, for which I’ve already reserved two tickets, just in case you’d agree.”

“Oh,” I breathed, feeling shaky. “Tickets to what?”

He picked up my hand and placed it over his heart. It was racing as fast as it was when he was spying in the hallway. As fast as mine. “Can’t tell you that until you say yes.”

“Are you asking?”

“Will you say yes? I think you should.” He leaned forward until his nose was touching the lily and inhaled deeply. Waves of chills raced over my scalp. And across my arm, radiating from where his warm hand pressed over mine, which hum-hum-hummed with the faint but insistent echo of his heartbeat. “Just two friends, enjoying a pleasant night out. In public. Nothing can happen.”

He was confusing me, touching me like this, saying we’re only friends. . . . “We were in public the first time around. And look what happened then.”