Kate Hoffmann - Conor

Conor winced as he shifted his weight. “It’s not bad. Most times I don’t notice it.”

“Why don’t you let me get you some dinner?” she said, crawling off the couch. She picked up his feet from the floor and swung them around. “You stretch out and rest. I’ll let you know when dinner is ready.”

He groaned, then rubbed his eyes. “I didn’t get any groceries. I’m sorry. I had to take care of some police business and then I met Danny and I talked with him. Then I stopped over at Dylan’s place. I just lost track of time.”

He made to get up, but she gently pushed him back down. “We don’t need groceries,” she said. “We have neighbors. Sadie from across the stairs brought us a tuna noodle casserole and an apple pie. Louise from downstairs, who is married to a retired Navy man, brought us a taco casserole and a fruit salad. And Geraldine, who used to be a Rockette, brought us a little honeymoon basket with candles and champagne and some chocolate. There are cookies from Doris-she’s so funny-and some fresh lemonade from Ruth Ann who looks a little like my landlady. And we’re invited to join the canasta club on Tuesday, the bocci ball couples’ tournament on Saturday, and the potluck supper on Sunday night.”

“I see you’ve been as busy as I was,” Conor murmured.

Olivia sighed. “We’ve lived here one day and I already know five of my neighbors. I’ve lived in my flat on St. Botolph Street for six years and I know two people-the woman who rents the downstairs apartment and my landlady who lives down the street.”

“Don’t get too used to it,” Conor muttered. “We won’t be staying forever.”

His tone had an edge to it that she’d never heard, not even when he was ordering her around. She tried to read his mood. So often over the past few days, he’d let his guard down. It just surprised her when those barriers suddenly appeared again, in the tone of his voice or in an impatient sigh. She didn’t need to be reminded that they’d only be together a finite time. She reminded herself of that same thing every day-every time she looked into his eyes or touched him, every time she remembered their time together on the boat.

But Olivia had already decided that she wouldn’t think about the future, even if that future was only a week away. She wanted to live for the moment, to enjoy Conor while she had him, for she knew once his responsibility to her was through, he’d rebuild all those walls so he could walk out of her life.

“Why don’t you put your feet back up,” she said. “I’ll get us some dinner and then we can have a quiet evening. No bullets flying, no car chases.”

That brought a tiny smile to his lips. He stretched out on the sofa, not even bothering with his shoes and, in a few minutes, he’d fallen asleep. Olivia gently covered him with the quilt then wandered into the kitchen. She grabbed the tuna casserole from the refrigerator, then popped it into the oven.

As she searched a drawer for serving utensils, her mind wandered to Conor. She found herself pretending that he’d just come home from a long day at work, that she’d met him at the door with a kiss, that they were married and living a happy life together. She’d never imagined an ordinary life for herself. When she’d imagined marriage, it was always so much more exciting and urbane.

But then the excitement didn’t really come from a fancy apartment or a glittering social life. It came from moments like these, moments when she could make Conor’s life more comfortable, moments when she could walk in the other room and just touch him when she wanted to. Olivia smiled, then pushed up on her toes and retrieved two wineglasses from the top shelf in the kitchen cabinet. But halfway there, she froze.

A soft sigh slipped from her lips. What was she doing? All these silly fantasies, tropical vacations, quiet evenings after work? “He’s a cop, you’re a witness,” she murmured. She’d have to remind herself of that more often. This wasn’t a fairy tale romance with a happy ending, this was a few stolen days with a handsome cop who’d been assigned to protect her.

A half hour later, the tuna casserole was bubbling in the oven and she’d set the coffee table in the living room for an impromptu meal. She retrieved the champagne from the fridge, then lit the candles that Geraldine had tucked in the basket. It all looked perfect…romantic.

Olivia frowned. Was she being too presumptuous thinking that Conor might want to share a romantic evening with her? Whether she acknowledged it or not, this whole meal was a prelude to seduction. She’d secretly hoped that the candlelight and the champagne would lead to a few fleeting kisses. That those kisses would lead to a few more. That they’d end up passing the night in a passionate interlude in her bed.

She moaned softly, doubts assailing her. This was way too obvious. She had to play harder to get! Reaching out, she grabbed one of the candles. But the sharp movement caused the wax to drip onto the back of her hand and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. She dropped the burning candle and it tipped over on the table, landing on the pile of paper napkins that she’d set out.

In an instant, the napkins ignited. Olivia grabbed the champagne bottle and with fumbling fingers, tried to remove the cork. But before she could, the smoke alarm on the ceiling went off, a shriek loud enough to pierce her eardrums.

Conor bolted upright and reached for the gun in his shoulder holster, dazed and confused. He glanced around the room, then scrambled off the sofa when he saw the small fire on the coffee table. “What the-” He snatched the champagne bottle from her hand and popped the cork, then dumped half the bottle on the burning napkins. The flames sizzled and then went out.

Finally, Conor’s eyes cleared and he gaped at the mess on the table. “What the hell were you doing?”

Olivia opened her mouth to explain, then snapped it shut. With a soft cry, she spun on her heel and ran into the bedroom, then slammed the door behind her. She sat down on the bed and clutched her trembling hands in her lap. What was she thinking? Did she really believe that she could seduce him with a candlelit meal and a bottle of champagne?

“Olivia?” A soft rap sounded on the door.

“Go away,” she muttered, too embarrassed to even look at him. True, she’d never been good at seduction, but even a dope could turn a frozen tuna casserole into a nice meal without setting the apartment on fire.

“Come on,” he said. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. The smoke detector just startled me, that’s all. Come on out and eat with me. The tuna casserole is getting cold.”

Olivia drew her knees up under her chin. “I’m not hungry!”

The door opened and Conor peeked inside. He slowly approached the bed, then reached down and grabbed her hand. “If you ignore the smouldering napkins, the table looks very nice. And the food looks great.” He gave her arm a tug and pulled her to her feet. “Come on.”

He dragged her along to the living room, then settled her beside him on the floor. The smell of scorched paper mixed with the aroma of tuna casserole and spilled champagne. Conor picked up the candle and relit it with a soggy book of matches. “See, it looks good,” he said as he scooped a spoonful of casserole onto her plate.

She ignored the food. “What are we doing here?”

Conor chuckled. “Well, a few minutes ago, you were torching our hideout. Now we’re eating dinner.”

“No,” she murmured. “I mean, what are we doing? You’re a cop and I’m a witness and all I can think about is plying you with tuna casserole and champagne so you’ll kiss me again.” She turned to him, meeting his eyes directly. “What’s going to happen to us when this is all over?”