Where The Heart Is: A Bay City Paranormal Investigations story

early.”
Dean grinned. “Entice him with sex, and he’ll do whatever you want.”
Sam turned red, and Dean laughed in spite of his lingering sadness. Sam and Dr. Bo Broussard, founder of Bay City Paranormal, had been lovers for over a year now, and Sam still seemed to regard that fact with wonder. Dean thought it was adorable.
“We thought we’d drive across the bay to Rousso’s for dinner. I’d kind of like to beat the Valentine’s crowd.” In the front room of the office, the squeak of the door announced the arrival of a visitor. Sam rolled his chair over to the door into the other room and peeked out. “Dammit, I hope this isn’t another case. We’re covered up as it is.”
“True.” Pushing himself out of the chair, Dean pressed both palms to the small of his back and arched his spine. Sitting at a computer all day was hell on his back. “So I take it whoever’s here isn’t anyone we already know?” The sound of murmured voices drifted from the other room.
“No. At least I’ve never seen him before.” Sam flashed a wicked grin. “He’s pretty hot, though. You could give it a try.”
Dean snorted. “What if he’s not into guys?”
“Dean, you could turn the straightest man on the planet.”
Snickering, Dean leaned over to thump Sam on the shoulder.
“Dean?”
He looked up to see Danica McClellan, BCPI’s receptionist and general office manager, standing in the doorway. “Yeah?”
“There’s someone here to see you.” Glancing behind her, she dropped her voice to a near-whisper. “He says the two of you met in Chapel Hill, and he’s anxious to talk to you. He’s acting a bit strange, though. Would you like me to tell him you’re busy?”
Dean barely registered anything after the words “met in Chapel Hill”. He felt like he’d been kicked in the stomach.
It can’t be him. It can’t. Those things don’t happen.
    A hand slid around his wrist. “Dean, you don’t look so good,” Sam said, brow furrowed. “Why don’t you sit down?”
“I’ll tell your visitor he’ll have to call another time,” Danny added. “And then I’ll bring you some tea.”
“No, wait.” Lunging forward, Dean grabbed Danny’s arm before she could leave. She raised her eyebrows at him. He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm his racing pulse. “It’s okay. I’ll…I’ll come talk to him.”
She looked dubious. “All right, if you’re certain.”
“I’m sure,” Dean said, feeling anything but. Steeling himself, he forced his legs to move, to carry him into the front room.
And there he was. Right there on the other side of Danny’s desk. Sommer Skye.
Chapter Sixteen
    Dean’s vision tunneled, blotting out everything but the sight of Sommer standing there in faded jeans and a UNC sweater, long fingers twisting nervously together. God, he looked good. A rush of longing turned Dean’s knees to jelly.
    “Sommer.” Dean’s voice shook. He cleared his throat and tried again. “What are you…? I mean, I didn’t expect…” He fell silent, staring at Sommer’s mouth because he was afraid to look into his eyes. Afraid, because what he saw there might not be what he wanted to see.
    “I, um, I was in town, and I remembered you said you worked here, and I just… I thought I’d…” Sommer bit his lip. “Could we go someplace and talk?”
Dean blinked. For a moment, he’d completely forgotten where he was. He glanced sideways, taking in Sam and Danny’s stunned expressions. Behind Sommer, the rest of the BCPI employees stood huddled together, staring at the two of them in cautious silence.
Dean licked his dry lips, watching Sommer watch the movement of his tongue. “Um. Yeah. Good idea.” Running a trembling hand through his hair, he glanced at his boss. “Okay if I take off, Bo?”
Bo nodded, dark eyes curious. “Of course.”
“’Kay. Thanks.” Grabbing Sommer’s wrist, Dean dragged him toward the front door. He flung it open, strode out onto the porch with Sommer’s wrist in a death grip, and shut the door behind him.
They were already in Dean’s lime green Civic before Dean realized he hadn’t even introduced Sommer to his friends. He grimaced, irritated with himself. Oh well, I can always do it later. I hope.
    Dean cranked the engine and backed out into the Dauphin Street traffic. He narrowly avoided being sideswiped by a gleaming black Ford pickup. The truck’s horn blared with what Dean swore was an accusatory tone.
    With a sheepish smile, Dean