Accidentally On Purpose

Chapter 4-1

Chapter 4

After that disastrous first meeting, Alan tried to put the handsome detective out of his head. But he couldn’t stop reliving the moment he looked into Jim Garrison’s eyes, and sometimes he swore he still felt Garrison’s hand on the small of his back. He was too damn old for a schoolgirl crush on someone he met in passing, someone who didn’t even know his name, and yet there it was.

He was smitten.

The next morning when he stopped for his espresso, he left the newspaper in his briefcase, the crossword forgotten. He tried to tell himself not to be disappointed if Garrison wasn’t there. Maybe the detective didn’t stop by the Brew every day like he did. Maybe Garrison was out on a call, or on patrol, or whatever it was detectives did at 7:30 in the morning.

Yet try as he might, Alan couldn’t help feeling hurt when he looked around the small café only to discover the detective was nowhere in sight.

The next day, same thing. No Garrison. No Farrow, either, so at least there was that, but Alan worried he’d scared them off, spilling coffee and muffins and acting the fool. Had that been their first—and last—stop at the Brew?

Would Alan ever see Garrison again?

He was being a bit dramatic, he had to admit. But the more he thought of the brief encounter between them, the more it inflated in his head, until it wasn’t a chance moment between strangers but rather love at first sight. Or at least lust, and that surprised him, he had to admit. He wasn’t exactly Casanova. He hadn’t been on a date in…well, if he were being honest, the last time he’d been with someone had been years before Brooks was even born, and the boy would soon be old enough to drive. It wasn’t as if Alan had made a conscious effort to not date, but really, he was happy enough staying at home. He’d sown his wild oats as a young man and was pretty much settled into his middle age, thank you very much. He had his job at the bank and his nephew to raise. He didn’t need anything else.

Or so he’d thought.

Garrison lingered in Alan’s thoughts like cologne—sharp on the senses at first, then slowly fading to a ubiquitous scent that clouded his mind and made his body ache in ways he’d forgotten could feel so good. He started sitting at the Brew to down his drink and scone, thinking perhaps the detective was coming in after he’d already left. Maybe Alan was just missing him. He even sat at the same table Garrison and Farrow had occupied on that first day, now almost a week ago. It provided him with a direct line of sight to both the customer line and the front door.

Still no Garrison.

Let it go, mate. He’s gone, you missed your chance. Tough luck.

So Alan went back to doing the crossword while queuing and hurrying out of the café as soon as he received his order. He stopped staring into police cars he passed, and stopped looking for Garrison’s face in every crowd. He gave up the idea of going out with someone again, enjoying someone else’s company, a man his own age or near enough.

Who was he kidding? Who’d be interested in an old geezer like him anyway?

* * * *

Of course he saw Jim Garrison again when he least expected it.

Three weeks had passed, more or less. Enough time that the servers finally no longer ribbed him about that embarrassing morning, and Alan had stopped hoping to see the detective every time he looked up.

He hurried into the Brew, running a few minutes later than normal thanks to roadworks, and at the last moment realized someone was behind him, so he held the door. The young woman said her thanks and Alan smiled back, a perfunctory gesture that didn’t spread past his lips. As he let the door slip shut, he turned and, out of habit, glanced at the table where he’d last seen the detective.

His smile froze in place. Garrison was there now.

The world around Alan seemed to come crashing to a halt. The man was even better-looking than he remembered. Combed-back hair, angled features, brows furrowed in an unconscious frown as he glanced through the paper.

He must’ve felt the weight of Alan’s stare because he glanced up, curious. Then he did a double-take, one corner of his mouth pulling into a humored smirk. He acknowledged Alan with a small nod, nothing more.

Alan’s heart stuttered almost painfully against his ribs. A vein pulsed in his temple, and a more immediate throb started up below his belt. He took a step towards the detective, all thought of espresso and scones and work forgotten. It was on the tip of his tongue to say something—introduce himself, perhaps, or make an amusing comment about their first meeting. Something casual and witty, guaranteed to make the man remember him.

But before he could even open his mouth to say hello, Detective Farrow came between them, interrupting Alan’s line of sight and drawing Garrison’s attention. Garrison gave one last, quick glance Alan’s way, then focused on his partner instead.

Alan’s hope deflated. He took his place in the queue, thoughts lingering on the moment when their eyes had met. The spark of recognition he’d seen in Garrison’s dark, hooded gaze tingled all the way down Alan’s spine.

At least he remembers me. And if I’m not mistaken, he looked pretty chuffed to see me, too.

What would’ve happened if Detective Farrow wasn’t there to spoil the moment? Alan imagined joining Garrison at the table, making self-deprecating remarks about the last time they met, maybe even asking for his number before heading off to work.

Don’t get ahead of yourself. You want to scare him away? Get to know him first, let him get to know you. Don’t want to come off as an old letch now, do you?

But he also didn’t want to strike up a conversation while playing goosberry. Collecting his order, Alan let his gaze drift over to Garrison’s table, almost like an afterthought, and was pleasantly surprised when the detective looked away quickly.

So maybe he wasn’t the only one interested, was he?

Now how was he going to get Garrison all to himself?