K. R. Treadway
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Opposites Distract 12: Close Quarters
🕑 Added 2025-03-09 15:00:10 +0000 UTC
~ Liv ~
Liv stared at the queen-sized mattress, her stomach feeling hollow and fluttery. Please let it be hunger, she thought. It was quickly becoming a mantra.
“We should eat,” she said into the sudden stillness. “I’m starving.”
“Yes,” Edgar replied a touch too quickly. “I like food. Good food,” he added. It was so awkward that she felt the corners of her mouth lifting.
“I also enjoy good food,” she deadpanned.
Her playful tone drew his gaze, and whatever he saw in her face seemed to rekindle his amusement. “Does us agreeing on something count as a break in the case?”
Liv rolled her eyes, but with a smile. Likable when he wants to be, she thought suddenly. Kind of adorkable.
“I'm counting it,” Edgar continued. “Now we narrow it down.” He gave a hard, assessing look. “Pizza?”
She nodded, reflecting his overserious manner. “Still with you.”
“New York style?”
“Definitely still with you.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Here comes a curveball…pineapple.”
She put a defiant hand on her hip. “I’m militantly pro-pineapple.”
“Ah! A heretic after my own heart. But I’m sure I can still drive a wedge between this uncommon agreement.”
“Don’t you mean slice?”
He snorted and a look of open appreciation snuck past his interrogator persona. Adorkable. And that tousled hair is really working for him. Oops. She clamped down on the thought before any mutual tension could start inching back up.
Edgar took half-a-step back, rubbing his jaw with comical intensity. “Jalapeños.” He drawled the word like a gambler fanning out a straight flush.
Liv took a step forward, closing the gap. “I. Love. Jalapeños. But we need a final topping. Is your pineapple-jalapeño palate too sophisticated for simple pepperoni?”
“Sophisticated? Have you forgotten that my favorite drink is sinful cinnamon sunrise surprise?” His eyes were practically shining with mirth. “My scarred tastebuds can handle pepperoni. Especially for the best fake girlfriend in the world.”
Oh. Liv swallowed as a bloom of unexpected warmth unfurled in her chest and threatened to sift downward. Banter, she reminded herself, just banter. Forcing a chipper tone, she said, “Can you call it in? I want to take a longer house tour.”
“Sure. I know a place nearby that's really good. Just don’t get lost.” He smiled, wandered into the kitchenette and pulled out his phone.
With his attention elsewhere, Liv almost sagged from the drop in energy. That back-and-forth just now had been almost electric, and its absence brought a sense of relief…but also left her strangely deprived. Shaking it off, she stepped past the fake granite countertop and into the living space proper. This “tour” would be laughably short.
The bungalow was essentially a tiny studio. With her back to the front door and narrow kitchenette, she could take the whole thing in at a glance. The bed—which she was not going to think about—was against one wall. A flatscreen was mounted on the other with an ugly couch facing it. Between them, on the back wall, was a sliding glass door leading to a vestigial deck. The remaining space held a cheap round table with three chairs, the theoretical forth having been omitted to allow three stools at the counter.
Having pivoted to look back toward the front, it was only natural for Liv’s gaze to return to the kitchenette and her partner tapping away at his phone. All at once she was grateful for the symbolic barrier between them. Edgar felt…safer over there.
“So colorful,” she observed in a flat voice. “Not at all dreary.”
He laughed. “The model with actual colors probably cost more.”
The bungalow’s owner had tried to go for neutral tones, but then just gave up and made everything gray. The carpet, the walls, the abrasive-looking couch, the bed’s comforter…all of it was a slightly different shade of gray.
“I’ve always wanted to live in a place with a pigeon motif,” she said. Behind her came another answering chuckle. Was it unprofessional to think her partner had a nice laugh?
“Okay, we’re set.” Edgar pocketed his phone. “Pizza should be here in under an hour. I got garlic knots too. I don't think Mr. Hartnell will mind us padding out the meal budget on this one.”
“Nah, he’s good for it.” There they went again, smiling at each other. Liv broke eye contact and grabbed her briefcase. “I’ll start on some case notes while we wait.” She took out her laptop and set it on the table. Hesitated. “Hey…can I ask you something?”
He suddenly looked wary. “You can always ask,” he said carefully. “I may not always answer.”
A fair response. Either way, her curiosity wouldn’t be contained any longer. “Why did you shove Fred Haymer this morning?”
His expression shuttered. “Technically…it was a shoulder check.” He set his palms on the counter.
“You don't have to tell me,” she said softly, “but don’t start deflecting.” She frowned. “I only wanted to know because you don’t seem like the impulsive type.”
“I don't?” His fingers began to tap in subtle agitation.
Liv shrugged. “You come across more…careful?”
“Careful.” His shoulders hitched in a silent scoff. “What a polite way to say ‘boring.’ ”
The veiled hostility had sprung like a trap, surprising her. Liv’s own temper immediately flared, ready to provoke an argument, but she bit back her usual scathing response. Amazingly, her curiosity about Edgar helped her to retain her composure.
“I’ve never called you boring,” she said tautly.
He scoffed. “Now who's deflecting? Liv, you didn’t even know my name until yesterday. You never even talked to me. Not once. I'm glad this case and forced cohabitation has proven we can communicate—yippee for that—but clearly I’m beneath notice most days.”
“Okay, enough.” She crossed her arms. “I don't know what the hell kind of one-sided argument you're having over there, but it doesn't have much to do with what I asked.”
He looked startled. “I'm not…I mean, I wasn't…shit.” His shoulders fell and his fingers stilled. “You’re right, Liv. I'm tired and the espresso is making me twitchy. I'm sorry.”
Edgar’s strange frustration had sucked, but she liked this defeated posture even less. The smart move would have been to keep silent, but Liv couldn’t let things rest like this. She suspected his angry flare-up had been masking genuine hurt, and for some reason she wanted to ease it. Needed to.
“You weren't beneath my notice at Kingston House,” she said.
Her answer made his brow furrow. “The evidence is pretty overwhelming.”
Liv exhaled slowly. “The truth is…thornier than that. It's more that I couldn't afford to notice you.”
He squinted, like she’d just handed him an inscrutable riddle. “What?”
“Let’s make a deal.” Swallowing her apprehension, she met his eyes. “Tell me why you…shoulder checked Haymer, and I'll tell you why I avoid you at work.
He stared, searching her face until his gaze felt like a feather traveling over sensitive skin. Liv was about to look away when he abruptly closed his hands into fists and shut his eyes. He leaned against the counter. “Fine,” he muttered.
She waited for his lids to open, then made a small “your turn” gesture, hoping he trusted her enough to go first—she wanted time to work up her courage.
“I did it to prove that you could depend on me.”
Liv was dumbfounded. “How, exactly,” she asked, “was sending Haymer and his stuff flying across the sidewalk supposed to communicate that?”
“It didn’t go how I was hoping. I was…trying something.”
“Okay, well I like ‘outside-the-box’ approaches, but you can’t just improvise randomly—”
“I wasn’t.” His teeth were clenched. “I took the play from your book, okay?”
Liv blinked. “My book?”
“Yes. Two years ago. The O’Donnell case. The one with the missing family heirloom, the uh…” He snapped his fingers. “The antique watch. His family brought you in to find out if the son had taken it. They staged an intervention to get him there.”
Her recollection filtered in slowly. “I’d forgotten about that.”
“Your notes said the kid was smug, completely self-assured. So you pretended to trip and bumped into him to shake him up, and—”
“He fell apart,” Liv finished quickly. “I remember now. He clapped a hand over his pocket, scared that the watch was going to spill out, and when he realized what he’d done he started babbling excuses. We had him.” She savored the memory, then returned her focus to Edgar. “You really do read my case summaries.” She studied him a moment longer, then admitted, “But I still don't get it. The part about showing me you can be counted on?”
“I didn’t want you to think I was, I don't know, chained to a computer. I care about the field work, Liv. I study it. I want to excel at it. I could even be great at it.” His fists clenched until his knuckles bloomed white. He was practically radiating passion. “I won't be timid on this case. I can't.” His eyes, bright with resolve, held hers. “But I wasn't being impulsive. I swear you can count on me, whether or not a keyboard is involved.”
Liv was feeling oddly breathless. She set her own hand onto the counter from the other side and watched her index finger mark random patterns. “You don’t want to do the computer stuff?”
“Information Security’s fine. I enjoy it—but I’m more than IS. This is my chance to prove it.” When he didn't add more, Liv glanced up. His eyes seemed to be locked on her parted lips.
She snapped her mouth shut. It wouldn’t help either of them if Edgar realized how…compelling…she’d found his conviction. But there was a way she could still help her partner.
“Okay,” Liv breathed, hoping her stirred-up blood would eventually settle, “so tell me what you learned when you hit Haymer.”
“Mostly that he was clumsier than I thought,” Edgar said ruefully, hunching forward to lean on his elbows.
Liv didn’t react. Letting him turn this into a joke would only undermine his own goals. “What else?”
“Well…the sabotage and data theft have made him suspicious bordering on paranoid.” His posture straightened as he warmed to the subject. “He was caustic and irritable to a surprising degree—I’d bet big money that he was difficult to work for even before the espionage.”
“Conclusions?” Liv asked.
Edgar pursed his lips, considering. “That lab is fertile ground for an inside job. Someone on Haymer’s staff is likely the proprietary data leak, and for that part of the case we should focus our efforts on his team.”
Liv nodded, surprised to find she trusted his assessment. “Solid analysis. It certainly matches what I saw from the observation window. And since you didn’t get fired…I say we chalk up your unorthodox tactic as a win.”
“Or at least a non-loss,” he replied. She could tell he felt better by the subtle relaxation of his body. Liv had a knack for this partner thing.
“Okay. Your turn.”
Scratch the knack. She’d somehow forgotten this was going to be an exchange.
“What did you mean when you said you avoid me?” he prompted.
A slow heat began to build in Liv’s face. She almost never blushed, but something about Edgar’s dumb bewitching browns seemed to summon them—and then her mortification would pile on until her cheeks went full scarlet…like now. She opened her mouth, but her throat felt like it wanted to close up.
“Edgar…” she croaked.
He held up a hand. “Wait. You look crazy uncomfortable. I-I didn’t want that. So, like, don't tell me. Not yet. Later, okay? When you're ready.”
Relief flooded through her. “Okay.” She closed her eyes. “Thank you.”
“Just…confirm one thing. You did notice me?”
Liv opened her eyes. She nodded, slow and solemn. He grinned, and that edginess she felt around him rushed back, only now it was laced with an unacceptable joy. Edgar Sharp had wanted Liv to see him, and, unprofessional as it was, she was mentally celebrating the fact. As coworkers, they were trespassing into territory marked with a blinking “keep out” sign.
“I’m going to catch up on my case notes.” she said.
“Yeah. Sounds good. I’ll join you.”
They settled at the table, opened up their laptops, and got to work. Unsurprisingly, Liv found it difficult to focus. That pizza needed to get here now.
This many complications called for a lot of carbs.
Comments
K. R. Treadway
My wife and I have had a frozen one (from one of the original restaurants), and it was pretty good. I'd love to try one fresh.
Betelgeuse
Chicago is great if you love flavor. Based VFP opinion.
K. R. Treadway
Far be it from me to critique a reader's choices, but is Chicago style pizza still pizza? 🤔
VeryFinePrint
Sorry, you lost me. In my house we are Chicago or Detroit style
K. R. Treadway
I admit I’m partial to the forbidden topping, myself.
brideofmoo
Mmmm. Pizza. 🍕
