I didn't have to glance out the windows to know evening was settling in and it was long past quitting time for me. My inbox was as empty as I was going to get it today and my deputy was on duty for the night. By all accounts, I should've been kicked back on my patio with a beer by now.
But I couldn't go home. Not yet. Not after Hurricane Annette left her mark all over my house. Not after suffering several heart attacks when I found her gone this morning. Not after receiving the best blueberry muffins in the world—or so I was told—and a note loaded with mixed messages.
And I didn't have to look in the direction of Annette's shop to know the door was open and the lights were on.
I hadn't been able to keep myself from staring across the town center all day. I'd wanted to go to her the minute I arrived at the station and found the treats she'd left for me, but I knew we required the type of time and privacy that a busy Friday morning in July couldn't deliver. So, I waited. I paced my office, gazed out the window, went on unnecessary patrols around town, always looping past her shop.
I hated that she'd left my house before I woke up this morning. I'd barely slept on that rigid torture device of a sofa and I couldn't fathom how she'd snuck out without my notice. Discovering she was embarrassed about last night—and thinking Ipretendedto enjoy her—was another round of torture. We couldn't have that. It took everything in me to keep from marching across Main Street and setting her straight. It was a damn good thing I'd been due in court this afternoon. I needed every distraction I could find.
But through it all, I was conflicted. Annette's head and her heart were all over the place. I couldn't blame her for that. As recently as twenty-four hours ago, she had romantic feelings for Owen Bartlett. Even if he'd closed the door on those possibilities, it wasn't right to assume she'd shed that skin overnight. Any advances she made toward me were a product of Owen's rejection rather than an attraction toward me.
But I couldn't deny the way she set my pulse racing every time she smiled at me. I couldn't deny my attraction toward her, or that I'd felt it since my first day in Talbott's Cove.
I glanced out the window around sunset and caught sight of Annette through her storefront. She was with a customer, her hands doing all the talking. With a smile, I read the note again.
We'll forget all about last night…if that's what you want.
I tapped the card on my desk, nodding to myself. I didn't want that.
With that decided, I pushed away from my desk, grabbed the empty basket, and strode through the station. A wall of hot, humid air hit me when I stepped outside. Thankfully, I'd left my suit coat in the office. I wrenched my tie loose, flipped open the buttons at my collar, and rolled up the sleeves of my dress shirt. Before coming here, I'd believed coastal Maine enjoyed mild, breezy summers. That was occasionally true. It wasn't true tonight.
As I walked toward her shop, I watched two customers exit with bags in hand. They didn't notice me as they chatted about their purchases and headed toward The Galley. I'd devoted too much time to staring out my window today to have that talk with JJ about overserving his patrons, but I'd make time soon.
I pushed open the door to Harborside Books, a small bell tinkling overhead to announce my arrival.
"Just one second," Annette called from behind the counter. She was crouched down low and I couldn't see what she was doing. "Just plugging in my phone. I forgot to charge it today—and last night, for that matter—and I just remembered that now. Actually, I just found my phone now. I guess I'd left it in the receipt tape box. Funny, I don't remember going in there yesterday. I hope the world didn't fall apart today. If it did, it couldn't have been that bad since we're fine but you never know. Anything I can help you find this evening?"
I set the basket on the counter and planted my hands on the wooden surface. I couldn't begin to catalog the number of worries she just invented for me. Instead, I studied her dark curls as she wrestled with an overloaded power strip. That was the first thing I'd noticed about her—I was obsessed with her legs but her curls straddled the line between damn cute and fucking sexy.
"You can help me find the woman who made the most incredible cinnamon buns I've ever tasted," I said. "I'd like to thank her for her generosity, among other things."
"The—oh," she stammered, her head snapping up and connecting with the edge of the counter. "Oh, shit. That hurt."
"You're a whole lot of trouble, Annette," I muttered as I joined her on the floor. I brought my hands to her face, squinting at the red mark on her forehead. "How bad is it?"
"Not bad," she replied, her eyes cast down. "Just took me by surprise. I'm all right, sheriff."
"Jackson. You call me Jackson," I ordered. I wanted the openness and honesty of last night. I didn't want the nice girl who said all the right things and lathered everyone in cheerful platitudes. I didn't want her at all. "Now, tell me. Where do you keep the ice around here?"
She turned her head, silently forcing my hands away from her face, and pushed to her feet. She put several steps between us and busied her hands with a small flower pot filled with pens. I almost laughed at the idea of her being shy around me when she'd stripped down and stood naked in my kitchen last night, but this was the side of her I was getting today. Shy, and jumpier than a cat in a roomful of rocking chairs.
I hated it.
"No need for ice. Just a little bump. It won't even bruise," she said, still focused on the pens. They had softball-sized fake flowers attached to the ends. I didn't get it but I wasn't about to ask. I knew something about sticking to my priorities. "I'm glad you liked the rolls. I made the caramel myself."
I was a modern man. I believed in equal pay for equal work and every one of women's rights and choices. I didn't entertain any notions of women belonging in the kitchen. But something about Annette announcing she'd made the caramel herself sent a ripple of rightness down my spine. I'd kneel at her feet if it meant I'd get a taste of her fresh caramel.
"Ilovedthe rolls," I corrected, brushing my palms down my thighs as I stood. "The guys demolished the muffins before I could get a hand in there but I heard they were also exceptional."
Finally, she glanced up and met my gaze, a smile pulling at her lips. "I'm happy they went over so well," she said.
I shook my head and stepped closer to her. "Let me be clear, Annette. Grown men were shoving muffins in their face as if they hadn't eaten in weeks. A fistfight almost broke out in my bullpen over those rolls. The rookie resorted to picking crumbs out of the basket. It was mayhem. I almost turned the fire hoses on them."
Laughing, she abandoned the pens. "I'm sorry you didn't get a muffin. The wild blueberries are amazing right now. I should've made more."
I wagged a finger at her. "Don't say that. Don't take the blame when you haven't earned it. You had no way of knowing my staff was full of heathens."
She lifted a shoulder and let it fall. "I saved a few muffins. I might have some stashed in the storeroom if you'd like."
