But just as I knew I didn't want to keep reading those books, I knew I wanted to see Jackson again. I wanted him to look at me like I was as delicious as yesterday's sticky buns. I wanted those things but I didn't want it to mean anything. There was a limited number of things I could manage in a given day and the expectations associated with wanting Jackson weren't on my list. I just didn't have it in me. I could do this as long as I didn't build it up into a huge project like my one hundred books and their pithy reviews.
If the expectations didn't exist, the risk didn't exist either.
Still, those pies taunted me all day. They were in the storeroom, secure in a glass container, but they taunted me from all the way back there. With every lull between customers, I found myself pacing down the sidewalk to look for Jackson's town-issued SUV in the station parking lot. Each time I found it there, I debated dashing over to deliver my pies. I figured I'd drop them at the reception desk and retreat, insisting I couldn't leave the shop unattended for long.
That was my tidy little plan, but somehow the day slipped away from me. When I finished with my last rush of customers, I glanced toward the station and found the sky streaked with pink, purple, and gold. It wasn't my typical closing time but I grabbed my pies and flipped the front sign on my way out.
I didn't stop to fix my hair or check my teeth for leftover bits of spinach from my lunch salad. I didn't need to do any of that because I was walking in and then walking right back out. No visiting. If Jackson wanted to talk about pie or anything else, he knew where to find me.
It was just another one of my mind games.
I pushed through the station doors and waved to Cindy at the reception desk. "Hi! How are y—"
She cut me off with a wobbly wag of her cane. "Go on back," she said, winking in the direction of my pies. "He'll be thrilled to see you, I know it."
I sputtered to a stop, blinking as I processed her words. "No, that's fine. I don't want to bother—um—anyone. I'm just dropping—"
"No can do, my dear," she hollered, waving that cane around like a drunk bride with a penis wand. "He told me to send you right back the next time you dropped in."
That stopped me fast. The only reason he'd say that was if he expected me to pay him visits and that—that was the kind of expectation I was trying to avoid. "He saidwhat?"
"He's expecting you," she replied as she answered the phone. "Talbott's Cove Public Safety Office, you got Cindy here. How can I assist you this evening?" When I didn't move, she whacked her cane against the side of her desk and covered the receiver with her palm. "Go on. Don't stand there all night. You know the way."
I glared at the office door in the back corner of the station. It was slightly ajar. "Wouldn't want to keep him waiting," I murmured as I marched through the station. It was nearly deserted, with only two deputies busy at their computers. It didn't take me too long to slip inside Jackson's office. "Since when am I on your list?" I asked as I leaned back against the door.
Jackson's head snapped up from studying the documents on his desk and his gaze landed on me. His eyes softened a bit and the hard line of his lips melted into a smile. "Since always," he replied.
Without looking, he closed the file in front of him and pushed to his feet. His hands dipped into his trouser pockets. Another suit, the coat abandoned on the ancient rack in the corner. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his collar open. No tie today.
"It's good to see you again, Annette," Jackson said. "I wasn't sure I would."
He beckoned me forward. At least ninety-four percent of my body wanted to follow his command. Maybe more. That little stronghold in my head wouldn't allow it. Instead of going to him, I deposited the pies on his desk and dropped into one of the empty chairs. He stared at me for a moment, his jaw working and his eyebrows lifting as he watched me cross my legs. "And yet you told Cindy to send me back. You must've had some idea I'd show up here again if you told her that."
Jackson reached for the Pyrex dish and pried off the lid. "What did I do to deserve this?" he murmured, looking inside.
"Nothing in particular," I said, as flippant as I pleased. I didn't know why but this man brought out my sassy side. My inner bitch, if you will. That, and the desire to drop my panties the minute he leveled me with one of those stern stares. It sounded ridiculous but one look from him and some ancient, cavelady part of me was ready to hand over my undies and take what he had to give. "Why am I on your list?"
He pointed at me with a pie. It looked miniscule in his big paw. "The better question is why wouldn't you be on my list?"
I motioned between us. "I know this is really fun, us repeating questions back to each other for five minutes and all, but I'd appreciate an answer."
"I like you," Jackson said, "even when you're busy hollering at me." He bit into the pie, sighing and murmuring his praise as he devoured it. "How do you do this? What's your secret? I couldn't bake a pie like this with the aid of ten pastry chefs and your magical back alley berries."
"Answer my question or I'll feed the rest to the firefighters." I reached for the dish but Jackson snatched it away. "I'll do it."
"You wouldn't dare," he replied, the dish cradled in the crook of his arm like a newborn baby.
"I would," I countered. I had to work real hard to ignore the throb of enthusiasm from my ovaries at the idea of Jackson and babies.Oof. "I would and I'd make you watch."
He narrowed his eyes at me. "You're cute but you're cruel. You hide it behind that pretty smile and those fuck-hot ankles—"
"Excuse me, mywhat?"
"—but there's some evil hiding under those dresses. Those fuckin' dresses." Jackson nodded as if he'd proven an essential point and popped another pie in his mouth. "You're on my list because I want you there. If you come to the station, I won't have you waiting for me if I can help it."
"Gotta get those pies and muffins hot from the oven," I said with a stiff laugh.
"If that's what you want to believe, sure, Annie," he replied. "The treats are good but you're better."
