Page 27 of The Birthday List (Maysen Jar 1)

I smiled and swiveled my chair back to my own paperwork that I’d been working on all day—except for the time I’d spent thinking about Poppy.

An hour later, I’d only made it through one file because she’d been hounding my thoughts again. Was she at the restaurant today? Would she care if I came in for lunch? I was hungry and it was almost noon. Two weeks was enough time to give her some space, wasn’t it?

“Hi, Detective Simmons.”

Christ. Now I was even hearing her voice.

“Hello, Mrs. Maysen. How are you today?”

What the actual fuck? My head whipped up from my desk and over my shoulder toward Simmons.

And there she was.

My pretty Poppy, pulling up the gray chair across from Simmons’s desk.

I was out of my seat so fast, my own chair went rolling backward and bumped into the wall. I weaved around the desks between us until I was standing behind Poppy’s chair with my hands on my hips. “Poppy.”

She spun around, her eyes wide as her breath hitched. Damn, I liked that.

Simmons stopped staring at her chest and looked up. “Hiyah, Cole. What can we do ya for?”

I ignored Simmons and focused on Poppy.

Her tawny-red hair was down today, something I’d never seen. It flowed down her back in loose waves, highlighted by a few strands of gold that framed her oval face.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. “Is everything okay?”

She nodded. “I’m just here checking in on Jamie’s case.”

My eyebrows came together. “Jamie’s case?”

“His, um . . . murder.” Her shoulders fell and she turned back to Simmons.

Simmons had Poppy’s husband’s murder case? I knew that they’d never found the person responsible for Jamie’s death, but after all this time, they should have marked it cold and notified his family. Hadn’t that been closed?

I didn’t need to ask. Poppy’s visit here answered my questions.

A rush of anger heated my chest. Had Simmons been leading Poppy on that he might actually find the killer?

I glared at my coworker as his eyes went back to Poppy’s perfect breasts. She was wearing a simple black tank top with wide straps. It wasn’t low-cut or indecent, but with the way Simmons was drooling, you’d think she was in a bikini.

And those breasts were not his to ogle.

“You and I are going to talk.” I pointed at Simmons, then reached down and took Poppy by the elbow, pulling her from the chair.

“Cole!” she protested but stood.

“Come on.”

“But I need to get an update on—”

“Do you have an update?” I barked at Simmons.

He shook his head and his splotchy skin reddened. “Uh, no.”

“Okay. Update delivered. Let’s go.”

“Go where?” she asked as I dragged her over to my desk.