A Lot like Love (FBI/US Attorney #2)(54)
Jordan laughed, enjoying these rare insights into the real world of Nick McCall. Until now, he’d been somewhat of a mystery. “I bet you miss them all.”
He shrugged. “Sure. Although I try to keep that fact from my brothers. Our relationship is more of the sarcastic, annoy-the-crap-out-of-each-other type.”
“Oh, I think I know the kind,” Jordan said. Her relationship with Kyle wasn’t exactly defined by expressive sentimentality, either.
When they had finished eating, Nick offered to help her clean up the store.
“You don’t have to help me out,” she said. “I was just kidding about that earlier.”
“And let you do all the hard work? If anyone’s watching, my character needs to look like a helpful and supportive boyfriend.”
She tossed him a dishtowel. “In that case, your character can get to work on all these dirty wineglasses.”
Between the two of them, they cleaned up the store quickly. Nick had parked out front, and he drove Jordan the four blocks to her house, where he insisted on walking her to the door. Per usual, she saw him check out the other cars parked on the street.
“Were we followed?” she asked.
“Actually, I don’t think so,” Nick said. “We’re in the clear.”
“Oh, good.” Jordan stopped at the top of the steps. As they stood in the moonlight on her front stoop, it struck her that this had been the first evening she’d spent truly alone with Nick. No private investigators watching them, no friends, no Xander Eckhart and company. Just them.
Almost like an actual date.
“Thanks for dinner and for helping me out tonight.” She paused, struck by the truth of what she was about to say next. “I had a really good time.”
Nick seemed amused by her surprise. He moved up another step, joining her at the top of the stairs. “You don’t have to sound so shocked. I’m not all bad, you know.”
“Maybe just mostly bad,” Jordan teased.
Nick cocked his head, considering this. “Mostly bad . . . I guess that’s progress.”
They stood very close, Jordan noticed. As in, end-of-the-date, do-I-invite-him-inside close. Which made no sense, considering this arrangement between her and Nick was all a charade.
They both fell silent for a few seconds. The night, the street, and everything else suddenly felt very still. Finally, Jordan gestured to her house. “I should probably get going inside. Subzero temperatures out here and all.”
Nick pointed to his car. “Right. And I need to get home. Have to get up bright and early for my fake job.”
“Okay, then.”
“Great.”
Neither of them moved.
“So I guess I’ll see you later,” Jordan said. She turned to go—if for no other reason, her feet were beginning to freeze in her boots and pretty soon she wouldn’t be able to move.
Nick caught her hand. “Jordan.”
He said her name so quietly, if it hadn’t been for the relative silence of the night, she might have missed it. When she turned around, his eyes were looking into hers as if searching for something.
Then just like that, the moment was gone. He gave her a curt nod, his expression unreadable once again. “I’ll call you later.” He dropped her hand and strode down the steps without looking back.
Twenty
THE NEXT MORNING, Jordan spent her first hour at the store doing inventory and placing orders with her distributors for the following month’s wine supply. She was leaving for Napa Valley on Friday, a trip she’d planned months ago. While she generally tried to make it out to wine country three or four times a year for business, she was particularly excited about this trip—she had an appointment to visit a new winery whose debut cabernet she was considering for the store’s wine club.
Plus, she needed the weekend away, from Chicago, FBI undercover assignments, and everything else. A few days alone would do her some good, get her back to thinking clearly again. Maybe get her to stop wondering whether Nick had wanted to kiss her last night.
Somehow, she’d blurred the line in her head between what was real and fake in their situation. But a real date would’ve kissed her last night, not given her a token “I’ll call you later” before hightailing it off her front porch. Yet here she was, still thinking about him.
Jordan did a mental headshake, forcing herself to focus on work. Wanting to make up for the extra shifts she had to burden her staff with during the time she’d be in Napa, she had scheduled herself to both open and close the store that day. Luckily, Andrea was feeling better and was set to come in at one o’clock, which meant that Jordan wouldn’t have to work the evening shift alone again.
After placing orders, she posted on the store’s Facebook page about the special they were running through the weekend: buy three reds, get the fourth half off. Then she turned to her favorite project—paying bills. She cringed at the gas bill and cursed the ridiculous cost of keeping a large store warm in the winter. Apparently, the folks at Peoples Gas thought she had a half-billion dollars at her disposal.
A little heiress humor.
Shortly before noon, the chime on the door rang as the first customer of the day walked in. Jordan looked up from the bar and smiled at the woman, an attractive brunette wearing a North Face coat and yoga pants that showed off her fit, curvy physique.