Yours, Mine, and Ours by MaryJanice Davidson

idea if she was talking to us, or herself.
    “Don’t blame them for everything.” Patrick was speaking in such a low voice I had to strain to hear him. He was staring at the tabletop. “I let it happ—”
    “Shut up with that shit, Patrick, we’ve been over this.”
    He shook his head, but didn’t speak further. Something was going on, and I had no idea what it was. Worse, thoughts of the June Boys Jobs killer were starting to crowd out thoughts of my boyfriend and best friend. I really needed to get back to work.
    Cathie cleared her throat. “The thing is, we’re not done. I mean, I am, but Patrick, I asked you to breakfast to tell you he’s calling for you, too. It wouldn’t have been right to not tell you that.”
    I squeezed her hand. “You’re a grown woman; you don’t have to visit anyone you don’t want to. I’m just asking that you think about it.”
    She grinned and I saw a spark of her usual vitality, something that was missing from this sad and angry woman. “Well, I’m not gonna think, so there. Here. Give me that.”
    It took her an entire pack of Handi Wipes to get the syrup bottle clean to her satisfaction. But when she was finished Patrick and I both agreed that she’d done a fantastic job. I think she even believed us.
    I made an effort to push work out of my head, and so the rest of our breakfast was as affable as it could be with me preoccupied with chasing a serial killer, Cathie cracking, Patrick being stood up (and house hunting), and Shiro dating (maybe).
    That was good enough for me. I’d take affable over argumentative every time.

 
     
    chapter twenty-seven
     
    Patrick staggered back as I rained kisses on his upturned face. “Oh boy. Oh boy,” he said, hanging on to me. “There goes my center of gravity.”
    “I wanted to make it up to you.”
    We had just walked out of the restaurant. Cathie wanted to stay and clean the ketchup bottles (the ones across from our booth were pretty bad).
    Once we had a bit of privacy, I’d sort of leapt on him, crossing my ankles behind his back as he held on to my butt for dear life. “Couldn’t let you get back in your car without making it up to you.”
    “You couldn’t just text me?” He leaned against his hybrid and kissed me back, hard. “Never mind. This was a good plan.”
    Passing cars honked cheerfully at us; I probably hadn’t thought it through. PDA in a restaurant parking lot during the breakfast rush … well, it was his fault, drat everything. He was too handsome and smelled too good and liked me too much. All his fault. I was the blameless victim who was sort of assaulting him in a restaurant parking lot.
    Just being this close to him was enough to make me want a whole lot more than kissing. But I was still saving myself. Maybe for Patrick. Of the three of us sisters, I was the only virgin left. At my age! Yes, that wasn’t too weird.
    His mouth tasted like syrup (he’d hogged half of my breakfast) and beneath that, his own smell, his clean cottony scent that made me think of clothes drying on a line under a spring sun.
    I ran my fingers through his thick, dark red hair, then cupped his face in my hands, our mouths pressing so hard together it was like we were trying to sear each other. I could feel his grip on my butt tighten as his arousal, like mine, ran higher and higher.
    With deep regret, I broke the kiss. We both panted at each other for a few more seconds, and then I said, “I have to go fight crime, now.”
    “Awwwww.” He gently set me back down on my feet. “Have I told you you’re the best kisser I’ve ever met?”
    “How many have you ‘met’? And yes.” I smiled. “About a hundred times.”
    He grinned back and kissed me again, smack on the cheek. “Cadence, you are ridiculous good fun. You sure I can’t talk you into taking the day? We’d go anywhere you want, for as long as you want.”
    I shook my head. Tempting, but … the autopsy photos would haunt me. Their school pictures would,