Blind Trust by Sandra Orchard

“I’ve had a lovely time.”
    â€œReally? Because I was beginning to think you were chiming off the Latin names of every other flower to avoid talking about us.”
    She hitched the corner of her mouth into a half smile. “That obvious?”
    â€œMm-hmmm.”
    â€œI’m sorry.” She stopped at the pond and slipped her hand from his clasp. “I guess I don’t have much experience with . . .” She fluttered her hand in search of the right word.
    â€œDating,” he filled in, and the softly spoken word flitted around her chest, touching here and there like a tiny bird looking for the perfect place to nest.
    â€œIs that what this is?”
    Tom angled his body so he was facing her, his expression tender. “I’d like it to be.”
    Her heart leapt in response even as she braced for the impossibility. “I’d like that too . . .”
    â€œI sense a ‘but.’”
    â€œIt’s just . . .”
    He fluffed his hair. “You don’t like my hair?”
    She giggled. “No, your hair is gorgeous.”
    â€œWow, thanks. Hmm, what other compliment could I fish for?” His gaze tangled with hers in a playful tug-of-war. He tapped his fingers on his lips. “You don’t like the way I kiss?”
    â€œI wouldn’t know.” She smirked, forgetting for a moment that he was a cop and she was involved in two too many of his cases.
    â€œI could remedy that.” He brushed his thumb along her bottom lip, releasing a flurry of butterflies.
    She held her breath as his smoldering gaze drifted to her lips.
    With a bittersweet smile, he dropped his hand to his side. “Except . . . you’re still not sure you can trust me. What can we do about that?”
    What? He wasn’t going to kiss her? Of all the times to remember her half-joking question about whether she could trust him. She sucked in a sudden breath and jerked her attention back to his eyes. They were filled with a sincerity that tugged at her frenzied heart and drew her closer. “To be honest, these days I’m not sure if my own judgment can be trusted.”
    â€œI understand. No pressure. I promise. I care about you.” The raw intensity in his voice trembled through her. “I want to help you however I can.”
    A frog poked its head out of the pond, sending ripples across the placid surface, much like the ripples churning in her chest. She nibbled her bottom lip. “I read somewhere that you shouldn’t make any major decisions in the first year after losing someone close to you.”
    â€œA year, huh?” He made it sound like a life sentence.
    She giggled. “I’ve already broken that rule by moving into Daisy’s house and taking over her research project.”
    â€œYeah, I did the same after my partner died. Left the FBI and moved back to Canada, to my childhood home no less.”
    â€œAny regrets?”
    His gaze traveled over her face. “Nope.”
    Once again, heat surged to her cheeks. She snapped a leaf from a nearby shrub and fiddled with it. “You don’t miss the excitement of working for the FBI?”
    â€œNope. Trying to keep you out of trouble keeps my adrenaline pumping more than enough.”
    â€œVery funny.” She punched his arm.
    He hugged her to his side, pinning her arm between them. “I’m serious,” he said, all hint of cajoling gone.
    She supposed after losing his partner to a bomber, dealing with her troubles looked pretty good. “So . . .” she said, falling back to their lighthearted banter. “Am I officially off the hook for counterfeiting yet?”
    â€œYou were never a suspect in my book. But I don’t have any solid leads. I’m still looking for that Peter guy.”
    Her throat pinched. Peter, right. She didn’t want to think about the fruitless night she’d spent calling every hotel in