Deadly Waters Pt. 05

The waitress arrived and took his drink order.

"We're going to have to introduce you to sweet tea," she teased after the waitress left.

"Tried it. A little sweet for my taste. If I'm going to drink that, I'd rather have a pop. What?" he asked when she grinned.

"'I'd rather have a pop,'" she mimicked in a passible Boston accent. "It's Coke, even if it's Pepsi, Dr. Pepper, or whatever." He dropped his head in mock shame, and she snickered. "It's okay. You'll get it. Pretty soon you'll be talking just like the rest of us," she said, laying on the southern.

He grinned as he experienced that little tingle he felt when listening to a pretty woman speak with a slow southern drawl. "Can I let you in on a little secret?"

She leaned forward and propped on the table. "Oh, do tell."

"I like listening to the accent. It's very," he wanted to say sexy, but decided that was a little too flirty, "pleasing to the ear."

She sat back with a smile. "You think so? It's funny how you perceive things. To me, we don't have an accent, but you do. The moment you speak there's no doubt in anyone's mind you're not from around here."

"Are you saying I talk funny?" he asked, laying on his own Boston accent.

She grinned in delight. "Why no! You sound perfectly normal!"

Sean followed Maggie's suggestion and ordered the chicken fried steak with mashed potatoes, both slathered with white gravy, pinto beans, and cornbread. Though he could feel his arteries hardening as he ate, it was delicious. As they ate, they talked about everything and nothing, avoiding the topic of work entirely. He found out that she'd lived within fifty miles of where she was born her entire life, attending college notwithstanding. He'd thought that was strange until he thought about it, and realized until he'd moved to Brunswick, he hadn't done much better.

He pushed his plate away. "I'm stuffed. I'm going to have to hit the gym hard tomorrow to make up for that."

"Ready for some chocolate meringue pie?" she asked with a mischievous grin.

He groaned. "Maybe some other time." He blew air from puffed cheeks. "Do people eat like this all the time down here?"

"Pretty much. That was a pretty big serving, but yeah. I grew up on fried chicken, mashed taters, and pinto beans."

"Ugh. I'd weigh five hundred pounds."

She smiled. "So, what's a piece of pie going to hurt then?"

He flashed a grin and nodded. "Point taken, but I'm too full."

They lingered over coffee before they paid their tab. Sean offered to pick hers up, but she refused, and he didn't argue. Much.

"Thank you for inviting me to sit with you. I enjoyed it," he said as they stepped into the parking lot.

"So did I," she confessed with a smile. "Like I said, I hate eating out by myself... almost as much as I get tired of eating my own cooking."

"I know the feeling. Tonight would have been a can of soup, I think, because the pantry is bare. I haven't been able to get to the market this week. Laundry, the market, and house cleaning tomorrow."

"You're a regular wild man, aren't you?"

He snapped his fingers by his face a couple of times as he grooved to unheard music. "That's us, me and Marmalade, leading the swinging single life."

She smiled at his antics. "Let's do this again sometime. It reduces the anguish of having to decide to cook or eat by myself."

"Okay, deal."

He thought about trying to kiss her then decided that would open a can of worms he didn't want opened. She was still, technically, a suspect in the Boyd Thacker murder, and he wouldn't go there.

"Enjoy your weekend," he said as the silence began to get awkward.

"You too. Say hello to Marmalade for me."

He gave her a smile. "I will," he said before he turned and walked to his cruiser, resisting the urge to look back.