“Thank you for giving ten hours of volunteer time for the Cake and Skate.”
“Eight hours.”
“Excuse me?”
“We agreed to eight hours each. Jean told me.”
“Oh,” she said with a playful glint in her eyes. “I must have remembered incorrectly. Thank you foreighthours.” She gave me a quick smile and I knew the next time we spoke she’d accidentally forget again.
“When is it, again?”
“Saturday. Starts at eight in the morning. I’ll expect to see you at the Puffin Muffin bright and early.”
Bertie was nothing if not persistent.
“Coffee’s free for volunteers, right?”
“So is the cocoa and marshmallows.”
Like I was a child.
“Fine.” I padded across the floor to the bathroom. “I’ll be there. But I’m not skating.”
“Oh, I’m sure we’ll find a better way to use your talents.”
She said it so sweetly, it shouldn’t have sounded like a threat. But it totally was.
A shower was definitely in order. After a good hot soak in the nice strong spray, and as much vanilla body wash as I could spread over every inch of my skin, I stepped out of the shower and got dressed.
A quick glance out the window told me we were looking at rain with a chance of downpour today—no surprise there—so I gave my summer shorts one longing look and, instead, pulled on a pair of jeans and tank top.
Over the tank top I layered a thin T-shirt and over that I buttoned up my work uniform. I attached my badge over my heart, just below my name tag, and checked my reflection in the standing mirror propped against one wall.
Well, my tan wasn’t getting any traction this year, but my wash of freckles still spackled my nose, cheeks and forehead. Eyes with that in-between blue and green color looked a lot like my dad’s. I brushed my hair even though it was still wet and wrapped it back in a quick pony tail at the base of my neck.
I thought I had the kind of face and build that most people would say was average or maybe just on the athletic side of average. Jogging, which I’d missed out on yesterday, kept me lean, and my job kept my fashion choices practical.
I wondered what Ryder saw when he looked at me. Was I more police chief now than the girl he’d grown up with? Was I still the woman following doggedly in her father’s footsteps? Was I the small town girl he was just humoring?
Was I someone he could love?
Or was I the person who was going to lock him away?
And not in an adult-fun-time kind of way.
I pulled on socks and my boots—boots, in August—and walked through the small living room to the smaller kitchen.
“You’re out of cocoa mix.” Crow hunched at my table, elbows planted and palms spread on both sides of his face like he was trying to keep his head on where it belonged.
“Drink a little too much last night, did we?” I strolled over to my coffee pot, measured out grounds and hit the go button.
“That Valkyrie could out-drink a sailor. Or a fish. Or a sailor fish that’s been stranded in the desert with nothing to eat but salt for a week.”
He hadn’t moved so his words were coming out a little smooshed from how his mouth was also a little smooshed between his palms. His eyes were closed and he wore the same clothes I’d seen him in yesterday.
There was no umbrella hat in sight.
Thank goodness.
