Chapter Ten. Leslie paused at the door to their apartment, wondering--again--whether she should have a talk with Michael

Leslie paused at the door to their apartment, wondering--again--whether she should have a talk with Michael, wondering if she should discuss her uncertainties with him. After last night, after she'd admitted to Casey--a perfect stranger--that she didn't want to get married, guilt had set in. She had tossed aside her questions, her doubts and her fears, and had crawled into bed beside Michael, had wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close, trying to conjure up some feelings that resembled what Casey had called the I'm so in love I can't stand it feeling.

Those feelings never came and Michael never woke, so she slipped away from him, rolling to her side and staring at the wall, wondering what she was going to do.

And now, after a hectic day of interviewing those who had called in Peeping Tom reports from the two murders, hoping to get a description, she and Casey had called off their impromptu stakeout of the apartments. One reason being they had no concrete description of their guy. In fact, three had even insisted it was a girl. So they'd decided to compile all of their interviews tomorrow and see if they could come up with something, calling it an early day. And so on the drive home, she'd fought with herself over what she should and should not talk to Michael about. For one thing, she couldn't just say she was having second thoughts. He would never understand that. If you're having second thoughts, you don't accept a wedding proposal, you don't move in together.

She slipped the key in, unlocking the door, and paused again. And why was she just now having second thoughts? She tilted her head, trying to recall what had prompted those feelings. Was it simply Casey asking direct questions and she answering them truthfully? It dawned on her then that that could very well be the truth. She had no close girlfriends in her life. She had no one she talked to about her feelings. There was her job and there was Michael. And when Michael was off with his friends, she didn't fill the time with another person--a best friend--she filled it by being alone. But now, another woman had asked her direct relationship questions and she'd answered just as directly. And the doubts had crept in.

She took a deep breath, shoving the door open. She was tired and her thoughts were a jumbled mess. Now was not the time to have a talk.

"I'm home," she called, surprised there was no TV blaring. Instead, enticing smells were coming from the kitchen.

"In here."

She poked her head in, seeing Michael hovering over the stove. "What in the world are you doing?"

"What does it look like? I'm cooking."

"That's just it. You don't cook."

"Meatloaf."

Leslie's eyebrows shot up. "Meatloaf? You made meatloaf?"

"Well, my mother made meatloaf. She just brought it over for me to bake. I've got green beans here," he said, pointing to the pot on the stove. "And a salad in the fridge."

"So, Rebecca's coming over for dinner?"

"Oh, no. She just brought this by." He turned and grinned. "I think she's hinting that we need to cook more instead of eating out."

"Great. It could be a new hobby for you. It smells wonderful," she added as she walked away.

And minutes later, instead of having to decide between take-out, fast food or a sit-down meal in a restaurant, they were sitting at their own table having dinner. Which struck her as funny. The only time they used the table was when his mother was over. And that involved ordering take-out and hurrying home to set the table before she got there. Now, here they were, feasting on a meal Rebecca had cooked, sitting properly at the table sipping wine instead of on the couch watching TV or surfing the net on their laptops, or Michael eating in the spare room while he watched a game. No, here they were, practically like normal people. Normal married people.

But she wondered if conversation was this sparse between married people. Surely, they had something they could talk about. And Michael was the one who surprised her by starting the conversation.

"You haven't said a whole lot about your new job. Are you liking it okay?"

"Yes, it's fine. Why do you ask?"

"Well, when you were in Fort Worth, you mostly complained about how they treated you. And when you first transferred over here to Assault, you talked about how different it was, then about how bored you were. Now, you finally get to where you want, but you haven't said much about it."

She frowned, not realizing it, but it was true. She had said very little. Which was surprising, considering how at ease she felt with her new team. "I like it here a lot," she said. "They're very nice. It's a relaxed atmosphere. And there aren't any good old boys there. Not even Lieutenant Malone."

"What about your new partner? I know how important it is to you that you click."

Leslie smiled. "Yeah. And Casey is great. She's from Special Victims. She's only been in Homicide a few months."

"She? I thought it was a guy. You've never been paired with another woman before. Is that safe?"

"Safe?" Leslie put her fork down. "Like, because she's a woman she's not a good cop?"

"I didn't mean it like that. It's just...you know, if something came up and you had to use a gun or something, it'd probably be better if at least one of you was a guy."

Leslie laughed, although it was totally devoid of humor. "Oh, my God. I can't believe you just said that. I do know how to use my weapon, you know. It's required, whether you're male or female."

"You're getting defensive because you're taking my statement wrong. I in no way meant that you were an inferior cop because you're a woman. I was simply being a man," he said with a smile. "And men are the protectors."

Leslie's smile faded. "If you think you're smoothing things over with that last statement, forget it. You're digging your hole deeper."

"Oh, come on. This isn't Cagney and Lacey. There aren't any women's issues you have to fight with me. I know you're a good cop," he said. "But how do we know if this Casey person is?"
Leslie stared at him, feeling a frown cross her face but unable to stop it. How did he know she was a good cop? Because she had a handful of commendations? Because she was still alive? Because why? He wasn't really involved in her job. He rarely made it a point to get to know her partners or her team. He didn't attend any of the functions. How did he know she was a good cop?

"What?"

She blinked several times, clearing her mind. "Hmm?"

"You were staring like I'd said something wrong again."

She shook her head. "Nothing."

"Well then?"

Although her appetite had fled, she picked up her fork again, pushing the meatloaf around on her plate. "I'm sure Casey and I will be fine together. In fact, I feel honored that they paired us, considering she has so little experience. That means they were impressed with my Fort Worth record."

"In other words, I shouldn't be concerned with it."

"Exactly."

And so their dinner ended, with Michael going into the spare room and shutting the door firmly, the TV soon ripe with the sounds of a video game while she cleaned up the kitchen and put away the leftover meatloaf.

She escaped into the bathroom, filling the tub with hot water and bubbles, wondering why her life suddenly seemed so empty. The man she planned to marry was in the next room, spending his time with a game and most likely a chat on his cell with Jeff. She wondered what he would choose if she invited him to join her in a bubble bath. She smiled wryly. Most likely the game.

Didn't matter. She preferred to be alone. She stripped where she stood, then stepped into the warm water, sinking down to her neck as bubbles surrounded her.

"Heaven," she murmured as her eyes closed. She pushed her thoughts away, choosing instead to lose herself as the warm water enveloped her.

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