Boiling Point (Crossing the Line #3)(62)

She realized he’d pulled her to a stop outside Drake’s condo and gave him a look, registering for the first time that he’d sat outside waiting for her, dressed like a priest. “You could have picked a more comfortable stakeout disguise.”

He smirked before turning serious. “I didn’t feel anything while I was sitting here. I hated you being out of sight. I always hate it.”

Polly couldn’t swallow around the sudden heaviness in her throat. “Say more things like that.”

“My things aren’t nice like yours.”

“Let me decide.”

He looked to the side, his Adam’s apple rising and falling. “Sometimes when we go an entire week without a squad meeting or a case, I…sit in the back of your diner while you eat breakfast. Just to see your face. And to make sure no one’s with you.”

Polly had to struggle to hear him over the pounding pulse in her ears.

“I like the way you move to stay fresh in my mind. So I can recall it any time I want to see you, but can’t. I like the feeling we’re sharing something, even if you didn’t know it. And I like knowing you order breakfast at random after barely looking at the menu. It’s so unlike you. Why do you do it?”

Afraid the maelstrom of feelings whirring inside her chest would show in her expression, Polly ducked her head. “Everything else in my life is a file icon on my computer screen. Sometimes I like not knowing what’s coming. But I have to resist ordering the blueberry waffles every time, because they’re my favorite.” She turned and headed up the path toward the condo, sensing him directly behind her. It should have bothered her that he’d been watching for months without saying a word. It should, but it didn’t. In a way, it even soothed her, knowing she’d never truly been alone. Austin had been there, fighting the loneliness off without her knowledge or appreciation.

When they reached her father’s door at the far end of the complex, Austin curled a hand around Polly’s elbow and pulled her to a stop, his frustration visible. “If I’ve said too much, it’s down to your encouragement. I just wanted to keep holding your hand and now I’m not.” He glanced at the appendage in question, as if he wanted to take it, but wasn’t sure she’d allow him. “How do I hold it again?”

She knew he wasn’t referring to the present. That he meant beyond today. The future. And it scared her, because she’d never thought past settling her score with Reitman. But he was scared, too, even if he didn’t admit it out loud. This trip to Roanoke had proven one crucial fact, however, which was that they needed each other in a way that transcended a vocal explanation. So they would be scared together and figure out what came after Reitman when the time came.

“You could hold my hand without touching me,” she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. “You’re holding it right now.”

He stared off into the distance, jaw flexing. Trying to downplay and not pulling it off in the slightest. “Blueberry waffles, is it? I would have guessed something more practical, like a cheddar cheese omelet and wheat toast.” When their gazes reconnected, the gravity behind Austin’s knocked her back a step. “I need to eat waffles with you, Polly. I need to know that we have breakfast in our future—normal things that make you happy—or my next breath doesn’t mean shit.”

“We’ll have breakfast.” She took a step closer, and Austin met her halfway. “But never having normal will be what makes us happy.”

He leaned down to growl against her mouth. “I’m going to f*ck you senseless at the first opportunity, you realize.”

Halfway through his declaration, the door swung open to reveal her father, whose smile didn’t waver, even though Polly suspected he’d heard far too much. “Coffee, anyone?”

Austin put a respectable distance between them, looking sheepish for the first time since Polly had met him. “Tea, actually.” He reached into his pants pocket and drew out a fistful of her favorite tea bags, handing them to her confused father.

“That was your doing back at the café?” her father asked.

“Indeed.” Polly could see the moment he decided not to act the part of doting boyfriend—although she knew he definitely had a seamless golden boy act in him—and decided to be real. Be Austin. “I had to find a way to make her need me. She doesn’t need anyone or anything…and I worked with what I had. Because I need her. And so I bought a f*ck-ton of tea bags and I’ll dole them out when I feel like it. Until I’m sure she’ll come back to me with or without them. You’ll both need to employ patience.”

Her father split a wary, but slightly bemused, look between them. “Shall we have that tea now?”

Polly laughed and slipped inside, waving at Austin to follow. When she reached the kitchen, she turned to watch Austin venture into the homey condo the way an art expert walks through a museum. Cataloging the nuances of each family picture, making deductions based on her father’s decor choices. She was more eager than ever to pick his brain, to find out how it worked without the biased windshield through which she’d viewed it before.

“This isn’t the place where Polly lived when she was younger,” Austin said conversationally, straightening his right sleeve with a tug of the wrist.

When he didn’t continue, her father quirked an eyebrow in her direction and went to light a fire beneath the kettle. “How did you come to that conclusion?”