Next to it, in a cellophane bag, was a glazed strawberry and cream doughnut hole. Just one. I considered bringing it over to the police department’s evidence locker. No, a crime hasn’t been committed yet. But I have my suspicions.
Wearing a shifty smile, Mindy peeks into my office.
“Do you know anything about this?” I point to the cup.
“It’s Valentine’s Day and you must have a secret admirer. Romance is alive and well in Huckleberry Hill.” She lets out a dreamy sigh.
The space between my eyebrows pinches because that’s a bridge too far. “It’s just coffee.”
“And a special holiday doughnut hole. Everyone knows how much you love them,” Mindy hints. “I saw a smug grouch leave your office earlier.”
I glance at the contents of my desk, wondering if that means Patton left a note or emailed material related to our planning. A booby trap?
Eyes narrowed with suspicion, I say, “He must have the dates mixed up. April Fool’s Day isn’t for another couple of months.”
“Oh, come on. He was being nice.”
“Nothing about Patton Cross is nice.” Though the flutters inside at the thought of him stretching his arms overhead, bringing me dinner, and his gaze lingering on me when I walk past his office, tell another story.
“Half of the county would disagree. Let’s see, there’s his handsome face, those muscles. His confidence, skill, and willingness to rush into danger. What about that isn’t hot?”
I recall my verbal misstep during our Fireman’s Ball planning meeting and fan my face. When did Mindy and I go from discussing the mysterious coffee to the notion of anyone being hot, least of all the man across the hall?
“Whatever are you talking about? I don’t know what you mean,” I say innocently.
She giggles. “Oh, but I think you do.”
My stomach twists. “Mindy, what about Austin? Why are you talking about Patton like that?”
She flicks her wrist. “I’ve moved on. Met a cute guy at karaoke night.”
I resist rolling my eyes. It’ll be a warm day in February here in the mountains when this woman finally finds the one. She whisks out of my office. I sniff the coffee just to be safe and then take a cautious sip. It’s robust, creamy, delicious. I still have a pulse, so I take another sip.
I risk a bite of the doughnut hole and the trio of flavors meld on my tongue.
I’m especially tired today after fielding questionsfrom my brother about finances last night and stopping the leaky faucet that’s been keeping my Grandma awake for the last three nights with itsdrip,drip,drip—much like the slow leak of my thoughts about a certain firefighter.
Then, sensing eyes on me, I glance up. Through the glass partition, Patton sits at his desk, writing something down. I can’t help but think his posture radiates smug satisfaction.
It’s been a week since the Fireman’s Ball planning meeting, where we’ve managed not to commit a felony against each other. A week since the supplier negotiation miracle. A week of him being … tolerable. Occasionally helpful. Sometimes almost pleasant.
Which is exactly why I’m suspicious about this coffee.
I take another sip. It’s perfect. Hot but not scalding, strong but not bitter. Exactly how I like it.
Through the glass, our eyes meet.
He smirks before returning to his computer.
That settles it. The man is definitely up to something.
I’m not falling for another guy who makes me doubt myself. If that means I’m single forever, so be it. Anyway, I don’t plan on being in Huckleberry Hill long and there aren’t that many available bachelors, anyway. Well, fine. There are a few. Namely, the one who tilts his head in my direction as if he knows I’m thinking about him. Or just watching to see how long the cyanide takes to act.
Yes, Patton is competent.
Confident.
Yes, he’s kind.
