Accidentally On Purpose

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The light over the stove gives the kitchen a warm, homey feel. Alan gestures for Detective Garrison—Jim—to have a seat at one of the stools at the breakfast bar, then turns to the Keurig machine on the counter. “So, what’ll it be, mate?” Alan asks. “Coffee, tea…”

Silently, he finishes the thought with the rhyme, Or me? He clamps his mouth shut to keep from saying it out loud.

If the same rhyme occurs to Jim, he doesn’t mention it. Instead he says, “Coffee’s good. I have another four hours until I’m off duty. I’ll need something to keep me alert.”

Alan laughs. “So no decaf then.”

“Yeah, no.” The smile is evident in Jim’s voice.

As the Keurig heats up, Alan takes the other stool, pulling it out on the opposite side of the breakfast bar so he can sit across from the detective. Now that they’re face to face, alone for once, a nervous silence suddenly fills the air between them.

This close, Alan can see a network of fine lines around the corners of Jim’s eyes and mouth, the ghosts of wrinkles that appear when he smiles. The hair swept back from his brow still holds the imprints of a comb. His eyes are dark, even in the kitchen lighting, and Alan can’t quite figure out if they’re blue or brown. The way Jim ducks his head makes it hard for Alan to look at them directly. Besides, he doesn’t want to stare.

But damn, he’s a handsome bloke. A faint shadow edges his jaw, darkening his skin, and Alan has to clasp his hands together to keep from reaching out to run a finger over the thin stubble. What would it feel like beneath his thumb? Against his cheek?

Bloody hell. This is torture, pure and simple. Whose bright idea was it to invite this guy into his home, anyway?

Mine.

Anxiously Alan drums his fingers on the bar top and tries to think of something, anything, to say. You offered him a drink. Did you think you’d just sit here and stare at each other? Gaze lovingly into each other’s eyes? Declare your undying love for each other, even though you’ve already said more to him tonight than you ever have before?

What can you two possibly talk about, anyway?

Alan doesn’t know. Do they even have anything in common? “So…”

Jim glances over, that tight smile of his in place. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, which Alan sees now are a deeper shade of blue than his own. Whatever he might’ve said next evaporates as he loses himself in that dark gaze.

I’m too old to be acting like some damn schoolgirl, he chastises himself. I’m older than this man. Why the hell can’t I act like it?

Fortunately at that moment the Keurig starts filling the coffee mug, and it’s the distraction Alan needs. He retrieves the mug and sets it in front of Jim with a spoon to stir the hot java. “How do you take it?”

“Some milk, if you have it,” Jim says. “Sugar…”

“Right here.” Alan places the sugar bowl on the bar top, too, then gets the milk from the fridge. “I hope two percent’s okay?”

Jim’s smile is more genuine now. “Sure, thanks.”

As Jim stirs the coffee, Alan fixes himself a mug of Earl Grey tea. It doesn’t take long; the Keurig’s all ready to go. Then he’s back across from Jim again, stirring a spoonful of sugar into his own steaming mug.

Let’s give this another go, shall we?

“So,” Alan says, blowing on his tea so he can take a sip. “How’s tricks tonight?”

That earns him a laugh. Jim winces as he samples his coffee, then sets it down to let it cool. “Oh, you know. This isn’t exactly New York City. When I’m not on a case, I’m out at the mall enforcing curfew.” He gives Alan a pointed look.

Alan sips at his tea. “Brooks is a good boy. Really he is. A lot of it is he misses his mother.”

Jim arches his eyebrows. “Where is she?”

With a dismissive wave, Alan says, “Afghanistan. Deployed. She’s in the Army.”

Jim’s gaze drops to Alan’s hands. “I didn’t know you were married.”

“What? No, I’m not.” Alan frowns at him. “Why would you think I was?”

“Well, you have a son…”

For a moment, Alan isn’t sure what Jim’s talking about. Then it hits him and he laughs. “You mean Brooks? No, mate, he’s my nephew. He stays with me while my sister’s overseas.”

Is it just him, or does Jim’s smile widen a little at the news?

Alan hides his own grin with another sip of tea. “Didn’t you think it a bit strange, fellow as old as me having a son as young as him?”

“You keep saying you’re old,” Jim points out, “but you can’t be as old as all that.”

“Older than you.”

Jim counters, “I’d bet not by very much.”

“A wager you’d lose.” Shut up, you stupid git, Alan thinks. Why is he going on about it? Is he trying to push Jim away?

Something glitters in Jim’s eyes. “You’re on. How much?”

Now you’ve done it. “A ten-spot,” Alan says. “Guess how many years there are between us.”

“Do I have to get it exact?” Jim’s smiling broadly now.

“Close enough,” Alan tells him. “Within two years, either way. But let me warn you now, if you over-guess, I’ll feel horrid.”

Jim studies him for a few moments, silently assessing him. Trying to guess his age, Christ. This can’t end well.

Finally Jim takes a gulp of coffee and sighs. “Well, you keep saying you’re older than me, so I’m not going to err on the side of caution and say twenty-nine.”

In spite of the anxiety twisting through his gut, Alan laughs. “Yeah, that’s a bit off the mark, I’m afraid.”

“For both of us,” Jim adds.

Then he’s staring at Alan again. Studying him. What is it he sees? Alan would love to know. He’s all too aware of Jim’s gaze on his face, his hands, his chest. He feels naked in front of the detective, sure Jim’s using whatever mental tools are at his disposal to figure out the answer to Alan’s question. When he looks at Alan, what’s he taking in, exactly? The dark hair tapering to gray at the temples, the lines around his eyes and mouth, the worn skin on his knuckles. If he comes back with anything higher than fifty-five, Alan tells himself, that’s it, I’m dead. I might as well give it up.

Jim clears his throat, and his smile turns suddenly shy. “So instead of twenty-nine I’m gonna go with…twenty years on. Forty-nine.”

“You’re a liar.” But Alan’s more pleased than he cares to admit. “I don’t look a day under fifty-five and I know it.”

“This isn’t how old you look,” Jim reminds him. “Hell, if that’s the case, I’m sure I look fifty-five some days. I sure as hell feel like it in the morning.”

Alan shakes his head. “Nonsense. You can’t be forty yet.”

“Forty-two last August,” Jim says. “Now fess up. I know you aren’t fifty-five.”

“Not far off, though.” Alan finishes his tea and gets up to set the mug in the sink.

Jim’s still nursing his coffee. Tapping his fingers on the side of the mug, he stares at Alan thoughtfully. “So what then, fifty-one?”

With a look over his shoulder, Alan laughs. “Higher.”

“Fifty-two?” Jim’s grinning again.

Alan turns and leans back against the sink, both hands on the stainless steel edge behind him. “Getting close.”

“Fifty-three.” Jim doesn’t ask this time.

“Ding ding ding!” Alan jokes. “We have a winner. Get this man a prize.”

Jim scoffs. “I’d hardly call that old. Eleven years’ difference might matter when you’re sixteen looking to date someone older, but once you’re over forty, anyone your age and higher is fair game.”

Alan feels his face freeze in mid-grin. Is he saying what I think he’s saying? Alan isn’t sure, but he thinks Jim just said the age difference between them isn’t a deterrent.

To dating. Whether he knows it or not, he just implied I’m not too old for him to get involved with. He specifically said the word date. I heard him.

Minutes stretch out between them, silence again, this time growing awkward. Part of Alan wants to clarify things, but another part, a more sensible part—an older part—doesn’t want to ruin the hope he feels, however fleeting, that maybe, just maybe, Jim might be interested in him, too.

So ask him.

But no, he can’t. This is the first time they’ve spent more than five minutes together. They’re just getting to know each other, really. Alan doesn’t want to rush anything and risk spoiling it.

Getting a grip on himself, Alan nods at the mug in Jim’s hands. “You about done with that?”

Jim takes one last swallow, then hands over the empty mug. “Yeah, good. Thanks. I needed it.”

Alan sets the mug beside his in the sink. “I guess you have to get back to your…what’s it called, beat?”

“I’m a detective, not a patrolman,” Jim explains. “I only drive around the mall a bit before midnight to send home any kids milling around after hours.”

“Kids like Brooks.” With chagrin, Alan says, “Sorry about that.”

Jim shakes his head. “No, it’s okay. I got a good cup of coffee out of it, at any rate. And good conversation.”

Alan waves that away, secretly pleased. “Nothing more than what you’d find at the Brew. At least I didn’t spill it on you.”

That earns him a laugh. “That only happened the once,” Jim reminds him. “And it didn’t even stain my shoes. I put water on them back at the station like you suggested and the espresso came right out.”

Hoping to steer the conversation away from that embarrassing memory, Alan asks, “So if you aren’t going to be patrolling the mall all night, what is it you do?”

“I’ll head back to the station, do some paperwork,” Jim tells him. “Hope something gets called in before my shift is up.”

“When’s that?”

Running a hand through his hair, Jim sighs. “Four in the morning. These overnights can be a killer.”

“Bet your wife doesn’t like them,” Alan suggests.

Jim laughs. “No wife, sorry. I’m married to the job.”

“Girlfriend, then?” Almost teasing, Alan adds, “Boyfriend?”

Jim’s brows rise up again. “No one. I kind of have a cat but I’m not really sure I can call it mine. It comes and goes as it pleases.”

“Don’t they always?” Still, the admission makes Alan light-headed. His chest feels full, his arms tingly, his legs weak.

No one, eh? And he didn’t flinch or make some homophobic comment when asked about a boyfriend, either. So you might have a chance after all, old man, if you don’t scare him off.