Page 37 of Flint’s Strike

“I could put away some enchiladas. Want that tofu taco salad from Mario’s?”

Nate drops his pen. “You said salad.”

“I did. You love salads.” My mouth twists into a frown—salads barely count as food in my book, but after three years, you get to know what your partner likes, and what they absolutely won’t eat. “If you’d rather I order burgers and fries⁠—”

“No. Tracking down the first guy to sign off on the Round Rock building is going to take the last three brain cells currently holding this entire organizational system together. Salad is my only hope.”

Before I can tap the Food Dude app, my phone vibrates with a new message, and Eliot’s name fills the top of the screen.

I’ve got the detailed report from Round Rock. You and Hardison need to see it ASAP. I’m on my way in. Do you want hot or iced coffee?

My lips curve. Nate notices immediately.

“What are you grinning at?” he asks, brows pinching together. “Please don’t tell me they’re out of tofu.”

“It’s Eliot. He’s on his way with the full Round Rock report.”

Nate slides his laptop closer, flicks his gaze to me for a moment, then returns his focus to the screen. “In three years, I’ve never once seen you smile at your phone while trying to stop smiling at your phone.”

“I’m not⁠—”

“You are. Admit it, and I won’t tell Flint when he gets here.” Picking up a purple highlighter, he grins at me across the table.

“You wouldn’t.” We stare one another down, and I realize he absolutely would. “Fine. He offered to bring me coffee.”

I thumb out a quick reply.

Iced, please.

Nate watches, an amused look on his face. “We’ve been partners for three years, and you’ve never replied to one of my texts that fast.”

“You send me case files.”

“I sent you a meme last week.”

“It wasn’t funny.”

“It was extremely funny.” He uncaps the highlighter with his teeth and goes back to the second Round Rock inspection report. “If he’s springing for coffee…”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, I’ll pass your order along.”

Can you grab Nate an iced soy milk latte? Otherwise, he’s going to be insufferable.

The phone vibrates almost immediately.

Done.

I switch over to the Food Dude app and grab the link to Mario’s menu to send him.

We’re ordering lunch. What do you want?

Whatever you’re having.

A flush starts low in my chest, working its way up my neck to my cheeks. Nate lifts his eyes briefly, huffs out what might be a laugh, and goes back to his laptop.

That’s not an answer.

When Eliot’s response comes in, I want to melt into the floor.