stupid and would probably only make the situation even more awkward.
Thank God for her mother.
“Have you lived here long?” Gail asked.
“Just over six years,” he said. “I transferred in from Etobicoke.”
“The airport?” Gail’s eyes widened. “I imagine you were a fair bit busier there than here.”
“You’d be surprised.”
“Did you request to be transferred here or were they desperate for warm bodies and you happened to be low man?”
“A little of both, I guess.” His jaw tightened slightly before he went on, his full fork hovering above his plate. “The girl I was with wanted to move to Vancouver, and Newport Ridge was the closest detachment looking for a couple more general duty members, so…”
Gail’s gaze brushed over Ellie’s briefly before focusing back on Brett.
“What does your girlfriend do?”
“Mom—”
“She’s a photographer,” Brett said. “And we’re not together anymore.”
“Oh.” While other people might feel awkward at having brought up a failed relationship, Gail just plowed right on through. “That’s too bad. Is she still living here?”
“Last I heard, she and her husband were living up north. Whitehorse, I think.”
“She’s married?”
“She is now, not when we were dating.”
“Well, that’s good to hear; for a second there I thought you meant—”
“Mom!” Good grief. Ellie was usually the one being accused of having no tact, but she had nothing on her mother.
Gail didn’t miss a beat. “How long does a posting last in a town this size?”
Brett lowered his fork slightly. “It varies. Mine was five years, and then they extended it for a year.”
“Huh.” At least she gave him a chance to eat something before her next question. “So your posting’s finished?”
“Uh…” He cleared his throat slowly. “Yes, ma’am. It is.”
“It is?” How had Ellie not known that? And how stupid did she look admitting that out loud now?
“Have you put in for a new one, then?”
He couldn’t have hesitated more than a second or two, but it was long enough to catch Ellie’s attention. There was something in his expression, something in the way he took his time swallowing, then cleared his throat again.
“I, um…” He straightened a little and rolled his shoulder, and while Ellie couldn’t be sure, of course, she’d be willing to bet he was wishing he’d taken her offer of Scotch instead of the glass of 2 percent sitting in front of him. “Yes, ma’am, I have.”
“You have?” Ellie gaped. “When? Do Nick and Jayne know?”
“Last week.” With his hands still wrapped around his knife and fork, he lifted his fingers in one of those “what can you do” gestures. “I haven’t gotten around to telling anyone yet.”
Her head refused to nod, almost like it was refusing to acknowledge what she’d just learned. All she could do was stare back at him and pray that her expression didn’t give away the unexpected slap of regret that rocked through her.
Where the hell did that come from? And why did he look at her like that, his eyes boring into hers and making her feel like she should say or do something?
“Where will you go?” Gail’s voice broke through the moment, making them both blink and reach for their drinks.
“How ’bout we just let him eat, Mom?”
“It’s okay. I put in to go back to Etobicoke. My folks are just outside Ottawa, so…” His voice was smooth and even, and when Ellie flicked what she hoped was a casual glance his way, he was looking right back at her, his face as straight and unsmiling as ever.
“Did you go to university before joining the RCMP?”
“Yes, ma’am. I have a degree in English; figured if the cop thing didn’t work out, I’d like to go into teaching.”
“Oooh, that’s smart.” Gail nodded. “Ellie here was going to be a journalist, weren’t you, sweetie?”
“Yup,” she scoffed. “I was. All part of the Big Plan.”
“Sounds a little ominous,” Brett said.
Ellie couldn’t help but smirk at her own youthful arrogance.
“I had it all figured out. I was studying journalism and playing on the national softball team; was going to make the ’04 Olympic team and head off to Athens, and when my brilliant career as a player was over, I’d have my degree in hand and would just walk right into a job as a sportscaster on TSN. Pretty good plan, eh?”
“You were on the Olympic team?”
“Nope.” She lifted her wineglass but didn’t drink, just swished it around a little. “I got cut in the final rounds of tryouts. No Athens for me.”
“Well shi…shoot.”
“Yeah, that’s not quite what I said, but you’re close.”
“So what’d you do?”
“You