Page 24 of Manner of Death
“Oh my God.” Detective Villeray appeared beside the table with an apologetic smile. “I did not mean to be that late.”
Bashir couldn’t define the mix of emotions vying for dominance. Relief that he wasn’t being stood up. Dread over the inevitable train wreck this date would be. A little exhilaration because, holy shit, Villeray was here. A whole host of other contradictory feelings that somehow didn’t cancel each other out.
He managed to school his expression, though, and he rose, offering a hand, which felt weird. A handshake on a date seemed… too formal and stilted. Anything else seemed too casual and unprofessional. Christ. He was terrible at dates on the best of days. When the other guy was a colleague? That just made it all complicated and confusing.
Unaware of Bashir’s mind spinning out, Villeray gestured at the vacant chair and raised his eyebrows. Bashir nodded, and they both took their seats.
For a moment, they stared at each other with all the poise and confidence of a pair of fifteen-year-olds on a first date while their parents watched from two booths away. The awkwardness was almost physically painful, and Bashir actually hoped for a moment that his phone might ring. He didn’t want anyone to die to get him out of this awful standoff, but was a ruptured water main at his house too much to ask? Maybe a burglar setting off his alarm and—
“Jesus.” Villeray laughed, breaking eye contact as a blush rose in his cheeks. “I’m so bad at this. First I’m late, and now…”
It was kind of annoying how charming and adorable he was when he was flustered. Bashir waved down a server so Villeray could order a drink, then said, “I’m not much better, so we’re a good pair.”
Ugh. That little smile. The look through his lashes. Cops weren’t supposed to be cute. Or shy.
The server mercifully didn’t keep them waiting long, and the pause gave them both a chance to rally and try again. Once the server had gone, Villeray cleared his throat. “Listen, uh, I mean it—I’m really sorry I kept you waiting. I’m usually on time to everything, but stupid me, I thought I could get down Division Avenue in under fifteen minutes.”
Despite himself, Bashir laughed. “Hope springs eternal, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, but I spent enough time patrolling this area, I fucking know better.” He wrinkled his nose and made a dismissive gesture. “We don’t need to talk about work, though. At all.”
Bashir blinked. “You don’t like talking about work?”
“Not when I’m off the clock, no.”
Well. Thank God for that.
“I agree,” he said. “Not that my job makes very good dinner table conversation.”
Villeray made a face. “Okay, I’m glad you said it, because…” Grimacing, he shook his head.
Bashir couldn’t help laughing. “Hey, you’d be surprised.”
“Yeah? People actually want to talk about that over dinner?”
Bashir just rolled his eyes and nodded.
Villeray shuddered. “No, thanks. Uh, no offense.”
“None taken.” Bashir paused. “So, um… If we’re both completely off the clock and not even talking about work, I guess calling you ‘Detective’ might be… uh…” He cleared his throat. “Now that I think about it, I don’t even know your first name.”
That smile was seriously disarming. Jesus Christ. “Sawyer.”
Oh. Right. Now he remembered hearing Villeray’s—Sawyer’s—partner using it. “Got it,” he said. “Well, as long as we’re off the clock, you can call me Bashir.”
Sawyer nodded his acknowledgment, the smile still firmly in place and screwing with Bashir’s pulse.
Maybe this date hadn’t been such a huge mistake after all.
They did eventually crack open the menus and figure out their entrees. After the server had arrived with Sawyer’s drink and taken their dinner orders, Sawyer shifted in his chair and held Bashir’s gaze. “Okay, so, no shop talk or gory stuff at the table, but, um…” He hesitated. “Is the subject completely off limits?”
Guarded, Bashir studied him as he tucked his reading glasses back into his pocket. “That depends.”
“I’m just curious.” Sawyer folded his hands behind his glass. “You said you were aiming to be a doctor before you went into pathology, but dealing with the living was too much.” He tilted his head. “What was your plan before that? I mean… like did you want to be a family doctor? A specialist?”
“Oh.” Bashir relaxed a little, absently running a finger through the condensation on his glass. “Family medicine. My mother was a pediatrician and my dad was a general practitioner, so it’s in my blood, I guess.”
Sawyer nodded. “Sounds like it. How did they take it when you… took a different path?”