“What’s the magic word?”
“Meatloaf,” I answer, knowing that Saffron is indeed making meatloaf for dinner with her perfected gravy that I cannot wait to sink my teeth into. I may even hum in satisfaction as my mouth salivates.
“Nope.” Once more, he takes up his stance. He stands with his jean-clad legs braced apart and his bulky arms crossed, testing the limits of his signature flannel.
I tap my lips in thought. “Walk of breaking and entering shame?”
“Oh, you are so close, Birdie,” he growls in his gravelly voice that sends all kinds of tingles to places I’m not sure I want to identify right this second.
I love our banter, and I never want it to end. In fact, I could do this for the rest of the day and never tire of it. Maybe I’ll do just that. Then, when it’s nice and dark out, which around here is about nine—oh yes, the sun begins its descent toward the horizon at seven, but it isn’t dark until nine—it will be safe to walk unseen.
“Okay, rock wall.”
“Fourth date.”
“Got to get to the third date first, Arlo.” My fingers itch to grab the front of his flannel and drag him closer.
“Got to commit, Birdie,” he retorts.
“Why do you have to call me out like that?” I wave my hands between us. “This back and forth was coming along so well. Don’t give up on me now, knight in flannel armor.”
“Oh, Birdie, I told you…” His voice does that gravelly thing again as he takes a step into my personal space. All my parts stand at attention, and trust me, I did not know they could do that. “I’m a very” —he leans close— “very” —his breath ghosts over my neck— “very patient man.” He leans back with a smug smile on his face as I turn into a puddle of the woman I once was.
How did he even accomplish this?
I am a goner when it comes to this man.
“You won’t make me walk like this, will you?”
“Naw.” He grabs my hand, tugging me to the backdoor. “The town already knows what you did.”
“No!” I whine, following him out to the parking lot past that dreaded black fence. “How can they know?”
“Davis,” he replies smoothly.
“That demon deputy.”
“Oh, I guarantee he did not want to tell anyone, but someone probably drew it out of that poor boy.”
“Poor boy?” I scoff. “I’m not buying it. He knew what he was doing.”
“Go easy on the kid. His position is a hand-me-down kind of thing.”
“That is not how the sheriff’s department works, Arlo.” Finding his truck, I practically sprint for it, hoping my wrist doesn’t snap with how tightly I’m holding that drawstring.
“At eighteen, he ran off to the police academy down in Concord, and after graduation, he came home just like everysingle male in his family. He and his three brothers run the entire department.” He unlocks the truck as I bounce around in the cold, scanning the streets, hoping no one sees me.
Though I just know as I walk through that door to the B&B, they will all know my shame because of one moment of weakness.
Thanksgiving should be fun.
“I’ve never seen the other three.”
“The twins patrol at night, while his older brother runs everything in the office.”
“This disturbs me.”
“It’s how their parents raised them.” The rumble of the engine eases, but a flicker of anxiety rushes through me once more, and I’m not at all afraid to admit I slink down in his seat. “That won’t work,” Arlo mutters.
