But what about dessert?
Cherries were in season right now, at the end of June and only into the beginning of August, here in Michigan.
She’d make them the highlight of July.
She was letting her mind think about cherries, pacing in the back of the house, wondering how she’d use the summer fruit, when she heard a noise in the dining room.
“Hello? Anyone in here?”
She walked out to the dining room, and there was the shirtless sheriff, though this time, he was fully clothed. Greg McQueen had a nice shirt covering his nice pecs.
Whoa, where did that thought come from?
“Officer McQueen, what are you doing here?”
“Greg, it’s Greg. Sorry, it’s a ghost town here at night. I saw the light on, door wide open, and got suspicious.”
“The door was open? That’s right, I’d propped it earlier, got a new paint job up in the banquet space, trying to air it out.”
“We don’t have a crime rate to speak of in Irish Hills, but I still don’t advise beautiful women, all alone, to leave the door open after midnight. There could be a big bad wolf, a psychotic pair of robins. You can’t be too careful.”
“Ah, flattery, well, thank you for checking. I’m okay. All is well.”
Despite completely embarrassing herself in front of Greg twice now, she felt somehow at ease. This man had seen her be real self and still seemed to think she wasn’t a lunatic.
“You know,” she said, “I realize I do owe you one for saving me from the robins. Got a minute?”
“You don’t owe me, but I do have a minute, just driving home. The poker game at the VFW just wrapped up.”
“Great, pull up a stool.”
Greg did as she instructed. There were tables throughout the restaurant, but the bar butted up to the long dining room workspace. Those diners would have the best view, Hope believed, if they were interested in how the food was prepared.
“Okay, I’ve been working on a good pork chop for one of my dinner entrees.”
Hope pulled a white diner plate from the shelf. She knew she needed custom pottery. Well, maybe someday, that was her goal. Another task she’d get to. For now, the chunky diner-style plates worked just fine.
She opened the oven and pulled out the cast iron skillet. She judged the best chop and used her tongs to plate it.
“You’re kidding. It smells so good! I never order pork chops.”
“Okay, then you’ll be a good recipe tester.”
Hope slid him a fork, and he hesitated.
“I can’t eat alone; it would be rude.”
Hope grabbed her own fork, and Greg put his up. They clinked forks, and the idea of it made her chuckle.
“Okay, dig in, be honest. It doesn’t help me if you lie.”
Greg put the fork on to the plate.
“Make sure you get the sauce. That’s key.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He popped it in his mouth, and then his eyes closed. Did she kill him? There was a growl that came from somewhere in his throat.
