between them vibrating. Reed looked away first, reaching for his coffee and taking a sip. “So, tell me about today,” he said.
So Liza did. She told him about Simon, about how he’d stolen a gun from the security guard and threatened his own life and the lives of those who might stop him, though Liza had gambled on her belief that he was bluffing. He wouldn’t have hurt anyone.
“Even so,” Reed said, worry etching his brow, “accidents happen when someone emotional is waving a gun around.”
“I know. It was a risk. I do know that. But . . .” She looked away, collecting her thoughts. “I don’t think anyone had ever gone to bat for him, Reed. No one. So I did, and I think it mattered to him. I know it did, because it would have mattered to me.” Her shoulders rose and fell as she inhaled a big breath. “I connected with him in a way I haven’t connected with a patient before. I felt it.” She gave her head a small shake. “I don’t know that I’ll always share my own past with my patients or if that will be appropriate, but I felt like it was in that circumstance, and I wouldn’t have had the bravery without your words in my head.” She felt shy suddenly, her eyes lowering as she fiddled with an empty sugar packet on the table.
Reed reached over and put his hand on top of hers. The warmth of it—the intimacy—caused a flush of happiness to glitter through Liza. She felt like a schoolgirl whose crush had just noticed her, and she had the insane urge to giggle. And Liza was many things, but she was not a giggler. A small laugh emerged nonetheless and she smiled up at Reed. “Anyway, I got written up and earned a week off without pay.”
“What?”
“Yeah. The woman who’s standing in as director wasn’t pleased that I broke protocol. Chad was happy to recommend disciplinary action too.” Liza hoped doing so had helped smooth his fragile ego after she’d rejected him, and they could move on. “Anyway, I’ve been disciplined to the full extent of Lakeside law.”
He grimaced, squinting at her. “Are you remorseful?”
“Not in the least.”
Reed laughed, his eyes twinkling. “Well then . . .”
“Yeah,” she agreed. “Well then.”
Their eyes met again for a beat, two, and they both laughed, looking away. “Do you wanna walk for a little bit?” Liza asked. “It’s such a nice night.” And she thought it’d be easier to talk to him about the other things on her mind if she was moving, working off her nervous energy.
“Sure.”
They stood, tossed their drinks in the trash near the front, and emerged into the mild evening air. Liza put her hands in the pockets of her light coat, enjoying the feel of the breeze on her face.
For a few minutes, they simply walked, a comfortable silence settling between them, the lights of the city glimmering all around. “I’d like to tell you about it,” Liza said quietly, haltingly. She hadn’t planned to do so, but maybe that’s why it felt right. “What happened after the fire.”
“I’d love to hear it,” Reed said, some emotion in his voice she wasn’t sure she could identify. Happiness mixed with something else. And somehow, that was enough to spur her on.
She took a deep breath. “After . . . the fire, I went into foster care. I was in several homes, but all of them were good. Nice houses. Clean. Decent people. I can’t say I became overly close with any of them. We still keep in touch at Christmas and things like that. But the foster care homes provided the first stable home environment I’d known, which I suppose is sad, considering foster care is never exactly stable.” She paused, thinking. “Foster care gets a bad rap a lot of the time, and granted, there are horror stories.” She glanced at Reed. He had a strange expression on his face that was there one second and gone the next, a flash that made her question whether she’d seen it at all.
“But you didn’t have one of those,” he said. “You were lucky.”
She realized that Reed, working in law enforcement, must see sad stories involving foster kids all the time. It was probably something that affected him regularly. “Yes,” she said. “I was lucky in that respect. I wasn’t hungry anymore. There was soap and toilet paper, things that weren’t available at our house.” She glanced