And focusing on all that, he reminded himself not to be a dumb fuck.

Finally, she spoke.

“I think, you’re down with it, we should discuss another waffle morning. Maybe next weekend,” she suggested.

He gave her another squeeze. “You’re good with that, you think Ethan’s good with that, we’ll do that.”

She pressed closer and smiled.

He dipped his head and kissed her again. Another good-night kiss that turned into a five-minute make out session.

With effort, he ended it, touched his lips to her jaw, lifted one hand so he could slide his fingers along where he’d touched his mouth, and let her go.

“’Night, brown eyes,” he murmured.

“’Night, Merry,” she replied.

He turned and pushed out the storm door. Once out, he twisted to see her in it, watching him go.

He gave her a look.

She rolled her eyes and did what his look told her to do. She locked the storm, stepped back, closed the front door, and he heard that lock go.

Only then did Garrett start down the walk.

Instinct made his head turn.

When he did, he saw the guy he’d seen the night he’d come to take Cher on their first date. He was standing in his drive, leaned over a car that was running, arms on the roof of the car, attention to the driver’s side window.

Two men were in the souped-up muscle car. Nissan GT-R.

Big-ticket car for that ’hood.

And a late-night discussion in the cold.

The man could be saying good-bye to friends who were leaving after coming over and having a few beers.

But it didn’t look like that and Garrett had been a cop a long time, so he knew it wasn’t that.

And he didn’t like the feeling his gut told him it was.

Garrett kept watching as he made his way to his truck at the curb.

The guy must have felt eyes on him because he lifted his head.

There was eye contact through the dark and Garrett didn’t break it.

The guy did when he pushed back, looked down, said something to the driver, slapped his hand on the roof, and moved away from the GT.

Garrett beeped his locks, rounded the hood, opened his door, and swung into his truck.

He took his time with firing up his vehicle and putting it in drive.

The GT backed out.

Garrett memorized its plate.

Cher’s neighbor stayed in his driveway like he was planted there. The GT was pulling away and the guy didn’t move.

It was a statement.

This was his turf, he could do whatever the fuck he wanted, and he wasn’t big on attention.

Garrett hit the gas, keeping his gaze on Cher’s neighbor as he did, making his own statement. This meant he saw the neighbor watch him as he pulled away.

He was forced to break contact when he lost sight of him.

He stopped at the stop sign at the end of Cher’s street, saw it was clear, and made his turn.