Leaning forward on my rickety little chair, I caught sight of the clock inside my apartment. I had half an hour to finish this damn note, get dressed, drop off the basket at the station, and then open the shop. That was all the motivation I needed to get it right this time.
Dear Jackson,
I'm leaving you this note because I know you're very busy and I don't want to waste the town sheriff's time. Lord knows I've already wasted enough of it.
Thank you for taking me home last night…and everything else. I made you a basket of wild blueberry muffins for your trouble. That seemed like the appropriate baked good for getting naked in your living room.
I wasn't myself last night. I didn't mean to kiss you or fondle your backside or ask all those intimate questions. Thank you for pretending to enjoy it.
It was very noble of you to sleep on the couch while I was starfished on your bed. I couldn't help but notice it's quite large. The bed, that is. I swear I didn't notice anything else when I let myself out this morning.
As you know, Talbott's Cove is a ridiculously small town and there's no chance we can avoid each other. Not that I'd want to avoid you, of course, but I'm not sure I can look at you without thinking of the forty different ways I made a fool of myself.
Instead of avoidance, let's try to be friends. We'll forget all about last night…if that's what you want.
Please burn this note after you read it—
Annette
p.s. I whipped up some cinnamon buns, too. Please enjoy them. I'm not sure why, but I couldn't get buns out of my mind today.
I didn't allowmyself the time to reread this draft, instead folding it in half and penning his name on the front. I returned inside, marched straight for the basket, and set the note right in the center. The other drafts I slipped inside the hardcover book, and left it on the counter.
The morning sun and ocean breeze had dried my hair, and I pulled on the first sundress I found in my closet. Dresses were my favorite. One piece of clothing, no worries about matching tops and bottoms. It didn't get any better than that. Then again, dresses that required neither dry cleaning nor ironing were better. I didn't mess with either of those chores.
I slipped into a pair of cute sandals, grabbed my spare set of shop keys, and hooked the basket around my elbow.
I didn't allow myself any time to reconsider the muffins or the note, instead greeting other shopkeepers and neighbors as I walked down Main Street. It wasn't strange for me to come calling with an armful of goodies. Ever since I'd started watching Bake Off and teaching myself how to prepare pastries, I was always delivering something to someone.
"Good morning," I said when I reached the station's front desk. "I made some muffins this morning and couldn't possibly keep them all to myself. I thought the new sheriff might like to try some wild blueberries."
"Of course," Cindy, the station manager said. "He'll be in by ten. He does morning patrol first, then paperwork."
She went to high school with my grandmother. They played bridge together every Thursday and she came into the store each week for a new stack of romance novels, the smuttier the better. That was small town life for you. It was a wonder she didn't mention how grown-up I looked these days or that she was happy my teenage acne had cleared up so nicely.
She gestured to the corner office, and then swiveled away from her desk. She tapped a cane against a thick plastic boot on her leg. "Take that back to his office, wouldya, dear? I had bunion surgery last week and I'm slow going."
"No problem," I said, plucking two muffins from the basket and setting them on her desk. "Let me know how these turned out."
"I'm sure they're outstanding," she called as I walked through the station to Jackson's office.
I didn't allow myself to think about being in his space, instead smiling and greeting officers and firefighters on my way. The door to Jackson's office was ajar and I elbowed my way through. It was sparse and tidy, not unlike his home, and it smelled like him. I didn't know how to describe the scent—woodsy? male? were there any words that didn't remind me of erections?—but I liked it.
I liked it enough to know I had to put the damn basket down and get the hell out of his office.
Something about this man made me want to take off my panties.
5
Knead
v. To combine dough by hand on a hard surface.
Jackson
I readthe note once more but not for content. No, I knew what it said. I'd read it forty times if I'd read it once. This time through, I focused on the line and swoop of her letters. Her penmanship was simple, direct. No time wasted on flourishes like dotting thei.
I wasn't going to let this note—or last night—go unaddressed. But more importantly, I wanted to see Annette again. Hell, I'd wanted to see her this morning but she foreclosed that possibility. Not that I blamed her. It grated on me and it drove me mad with worry but I understood her reaction. If the tables had been turned and I woke up after a night like that, I'd probably tuck tail and run, too.
