“You want one, you find one. Talk to HR. Are we done?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Anna stood. “Thank you.”
“Get out of here,” Shirley said gruffly. “It’s the weekend.”
She didn’t need to be told twice.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The grace of a woman was evident in her arrival.
—The Temptress of Pecan Lane, by Mae Daniels
Nothing saidsorry I missed your calllike a fresh-baked pie.
Or so Anna hoped. Was a pie too much? She didn’t want to give him the wrong impression. Like that she wastooattached. Gram had always said the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, but she wasn’t looking for his heart.
She should put a note on the pie.
And say what?I like you, can we be friends? Maybe with benefits?
Right. She liked him, he liked her. She felt bad for missing coffee so she’d take him a pie. Because she wanted to.
So Sunday afternoon, after she’d studied until her brain resembled molten roadkill, she baked a pie. She studied a few more brain cells out while it cooled, then packed it up.
She thought about calling first, but she was afraid he’d tell her not to come, or worse, get gentlemanly and make her wonder if he was only being polite about inviting her over.
Or if he was just in it for the pie. Not that she’d completely mind, since his kisses had progressed to where she couldn’t remember her own name, let alone her ex’s, but she hoped heliked her forsomethingother than her pie.
When she pulled up in front of his house, the garage door was down. No one answered her knock. No barking either.
She had triple-wrapped the pie, so the local critters probably wouldn’t bother it if she left it on his porch.
Probably.
He did have a screened-in porch in back. And he was fairly laid back. He wouldn’t mind if she left a note telling him it was there, and he’d probably appreciate the pie so much, he wouldn’t care if she broke all the way into his house to leave it.
Not that she’d gothatfar. But leaving it on his back porch was reasonable. She rang the doorbell and knocked once more for good measure. Definitely no one home.
She scanned the street. Despite the finally bearable temperatures, no one was out and about. She went off the porch and across the driveway. She’d leave the pie, then go back to her purse for a pen and paper to write the note.
A wooden privacy fence surrounded Jackson’s backyard. She crunched over the dying grass and had to step around an ant hill. She shuddered. He’ddefinitelyappreciate her leaving this on his back porch. She was two steps from the gate when she spotted an armadillo that wasn’t Enrique at the corner of the fence.
It eyed her.
She eyed it right back.
Wait. Was it staring at herpie?
She’d thought the only thing armadillos did was to lie on the side of the road with their legs in the air. But this one was very much alive, and it was snuffling toward her.
Her Northern upbringing was moderately disturbed by this new turn of events.
She hustled the last two steps to the gate handle and tugged. The door didn’t budge. The armadillo came closer. She didn’t like the semi-crazy look in its eyes.
Were armadillos friendly? This whole it-being-alive thing was disconcerting.
She yanked harder on the door. It caught on something up top. Stupid thing locked from the inside, and not only was she too short to reach over the fence and unhook the latch, the armadillo was sniffing closer.
