The rest of dinner revolved around tales of the ridiculous. Mary and Aaron’s honeymoon disaster in Mexico, the time Caitlin got food poisoning at the mayor’s mansion, the various ways women had tried to convince Patrolman Greenwood to ignore their vehicular inebriation.

“Let’s have a fire,” Mary said, leading the party to the porch. She and Aaron huddled over a firepit while Caitlin claimed a love-seat glider.

Greenwood arrived with red wine reinforcements. “Room for two?”

She took the wine, patted the cushion. Greenwood’s body rocked the entire couch.

Mary called over to them. “We’re gonna do s’mores. You guys want in?”

Caitlin knew the second she said yes, Lubbers and Aaron would disappear into the house. She’d pulled the same trick on a camping trip their junior year.

She raised her glass. “Why not?”

Mary nudged Aaron, and the two completed their play.

Greenwood laughed. “Wow, Mary’s got an agenda.”

“Picked that up, did you?”

“Sure, I went to church camp in high school. I know the signs.”

“How’d that turn out for you?”

“Dry humping in sweat pants? Not as hot as it sounds.”

Caitlin let a loud, manly laugh escape, the kind she reserved for scotch and cigars.

“Wow,” Greenwood said. “You okay?”

She reeled in her awkward. “Pretty damned good, actually. You?”

The detective had his top two buttons undone and the right amount of chest hair poked through. No Magnum P.I. forest, but not waxed gym rat either. Caitlin already knew Jerry Greenwood would be great in bed—if he didn’t burst into tears.

He looked to the sky. “Beautiful night, Caitlin.”

She looked up to a full field of stars. It wasn’t the time, but she went there anyway. “Any luck with Paige Lauffer?”

He met her back on Earth. “Where’d you and Mary get the organic vegetables? Little farm by Nashville?”

“Maybe we don’t talk work tonight.”

She leaned in, kissed the man. He met her lips with the perfect amount of pressure and desire—not one single tear.

Who needed therapy?

She touched his shoulder and felt the firm, corded muscle. His hands wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer. He had the grip of a man who could swing an axe. Caitlin loved the push of his lips, the firm, yet receptive play of a good kisser. She stepped up her game, stood, then straddled him. The glider’s springs squeaked like a thirty-dollar-a-night motel mattress, and Caitlin rode the wave with the same dirty passion.

Greenwood reached up, held the side of her face with one hand. Caitlin pushed against him, felt the seam of her jeans hit the right place for both of them to know the night’s potential.

“Should have worn those sweat pants, Detective.”

“Would it be wrong if we left?”

Caitlin kissed him again. “Let’s take a walk.”

*   *   *

It only took two blocks to get to Bryan Park.