“Thank you for this,” she tells both of us, but her gaze is on me. “Let’s do it again? Maybe next week?” “Sounds good,” I say brusquely. “What are you up to this weekend?” Beckett asks her. “Not sure yet. Why?” “We’re having people over on Friday. You should come by.” I give him a look, which he returns with a wink. I know what he’s up to. Beckett is as transparent as glass. Mostly because he never tries to hide his intentions.
