Page 34 of The Diamond in the Rough

I looked up, surprised to be asked, finding his gold-brown eyes focused on me. “Yes, of course.”

A few minutes later, I followed Raj out of the Federal Building, which was a boring, nondescript cement-and-glass squat tower, to a dark blue Subaru sedan. He hit the key fob, and the car let out a soft set of chirps, the yellow fog lights flashing in the twilight. He paused near the back of the car, and I stopped, too, looking at him.

“Do—do you want me to open the door for you?” he asked, a slight furrow to his brow. “Or will that not bother you?”

“I—I think it’ll be okay.” I really should have taken the time to dig out my gloves when Hart picked me up, because it would avoid the problem I was currently facing. “Do you drive a lot of people around?”

He started at me for a few seconds, then blinked. “No, not really. Hart sometimes, but mostly he drives because he’s a control freak.”

I smiled a little at that—Raj wasn’t wrong. Hart really did like to be in control of pretty much all situations and became very agitated if he couldn’t be. And then he usually went out and got coffee or something sugary. The more out of control he felt, the more likely the rest of us were to also be given caffeine or dessert.

Then I steeled myself and gripped the door handle, letting out a breath when no thoughts that weren’t my own slithered into my head.

I settled into the passenger seat, careful to keep my hands to myself.

Raj got in on the other side, then looked over at me. “Time got away from us,” he said. “It’s a bit late for dinner.” He grimaced as his stomach growled audibly, which reminded me that I hadn’t had anything other than my peanut butter sandwich for lunch. I’d run out of jelly, so I’d had to stick to plain peanut butter. And I would for the foreseeable future, too, at least until I managed to get to a grocery store or place an order online.

About the only good thing that came from robot-operated warehouses was the reduction in number of people who handled the stuff I ordered online. I didn’t like a lot of things about those particular places, but sometimes it was just easier to buy something I knew had most likely only been handled by a robot than to risk something having been packed by a pissed-off human.

Raj glanced over at me, and I realized he expected some sort of response. “I’ve got frozen dinners,” I told him, not sure if he was concerned I’d miss dinner or not.

“We could do better than that, if you’d like,” he said softly.

I looked over at him. “I—don’t understand?”

He was watching the road, his features more relaxed than I’d seen them before—of course, we’d always been working. I’d been distracted by other people’s thoughts or my own failures, and he’d been trying to figure out what I was telling him—or, rather, what the details I could tell him actually meant in the bigger picture of the case.

His gold-brown eyes glanced over at me. “Would you like to get dinner, Rayn?” he asked.

“With you?” I asked, then winced. It had sounded awkwardly surprised, even to me, and I’m usually fairlyoblivious to the tenor of things that come out of my mouth. “I mean, yes, please,” I hurried to add, feeling a flush creeping into my cheeks. I don’t know why I was being even more awkward than usual, but I didn’t want to offend him or make him think I didn’t want to have dinner with him.

Another flicked glance. “You don’t have to,” he said, his voice low and even, but with something in it I couldn’t identify.

“I—I’d like to,” I managed, feeling my face flush even more. I didn’t know what to say to Raj, really, other than things about work, but I certainly didn’t have any objections to eating dinner with him. Or any meal. And I was hungry.

He nodded slightly. “What are you hungry for?” he asked, then.

My face felt like it was on fire. “I—I don’t know,” I replied, half-swallowing the words. “I don’t really go out much. Takeout sometimes.”

He glanced over. “Sandwiches?”

“I like sandwiches.” It was true, although I did generally prefer that my sandwiches be a little more complicated than wheat bread and peanut butter.

“Secret Sandwich Society?” he asked.

I had a particularly fond memory of one evening when we’d all been in late working on sorting out a case and Hart had decided he wanted Secret Sandwich Society—which meant that we all got some. “Yes, please,” was my response to Raj, who smiled. I rarely ate out, so I could justify the cost of a sandwich and fries. Maybe even the fries with pimento cheese on them as a reward to myself for having spent most of the day inside other people’s heads.

It was late enoughthat the restaurant wasn’t crowded, but it wasn’t abandoned, either. The server took us back to a booth in a corner, and Raj stretched out on his side, putting his long legs up so that his feet hung off the end of the bench. He’d left his suit jacket in the car, and proceeded to unbutton and roll up the cuffs of his sleeves a few times. I decided that if he was that relaxed, then I didn’t have to sit facing forward, either, and tucked one foot up under myself, leaning the other elbow on the table.

“So,” he said, after taking a long drink of the ice water the server had left with us. “What do you do outside of being a psychic and the front desk guy for Beyond the Veil?”

I blinked, surprised. I’d expected him to talk about the case—ask more questions, maybe, or offer up suggestions for how I might be more helpful. I hadn’t expected him to ask me about myself as a non-psychic.

“I mean… I’m a death witch,” I said, although I’d thought he knew that.

“Besides that,” came his reply. “You know—hobbies, taste in books, movies, that kind of thing.”

I blinked again. “I—don’t really have hobbies,” I answered him. Not ifhobbiesmeant things like knitting. “I do like books, though. Especially sci fi.” I felt my cheeks flush. I wasn’t used to talking about myself.