1
Carolyn
I’ve just finished polishingthe front display case when the abrasive knock at the front door interrupts me. Dammit! I can’t get five minutes of peace around here without someone bugging me. I grit my teeth and look up, ready to rip someone—probably one of my sisters—a new one when the anger turns to fear. Standing in the glass window with his hands cupped over his eyes is the most gigantic police officer I’ve ever seen. He stands way over six feet tall, his shoulders so broad they stop somewhere outside the door frame.
As I walk to the door, my hands twist behind my back, fumbling to untie my mother’s old, permanently flour stained apron. I take a deep breath, knowing that I’ve done nothing wrong. All of the permits for the bakery were turned in long before their due date. I’ve gotten the liquor license for the late night bake and sip classes and I’ve made sure that the parking situation is completely up to code. A wave of nerves washes over me.
The last time a cop came to my house…
No, I won’t think about that. Instead I plaster a smile on my face and reach for the deadbolt. The bell jingles overhead as I throw the door open. “Good morning, Officer.” My breath catches in my throat as I meet the man’s eyes. They’re the darkest shade of green I’ve ever seen, practically glowing with a golden-hazel ring beaming from his irises. The bright shade perfectly accentuates his naturally dark skin, which wrinkles ever so slightly at the edges of his eyes when he smiles down at me.
“Danvers.” He finishes my sentence for me. “Officer Nick Danvers.”
Holy shit. Beingthatgorgeous should be considered a crime. He should lock himself up immediately.
I take his outstretched hand in mine, “Carolyn Sweet.” The minute our skin touches a ping of energy jolts all the way down my arm and into the depths of my guts. My heart rate quickens, leaving me slightly lightheaded in the process. I pull away and gently grasp the doorframe. I must be wildly overworked. “Is everything okay?”
“That depends.” His husky voice reverberates through me, all the way down to my bones. “Do you own the blue Toyota parked outside?”
“I do.” Trying to peer around him is a feeble task. Officer Danvers steps to the side to reveal my car, and the visible dent on the rear passenger fender. “No!” I say, brushing past him and rushing over to my baby. “No, no, no! Not Verla!”
“Verla?” He repeats, but I’m already halfway to my car, hands outstretched.
I run my fingers over the scrape, surveying the damage. “Dammit.” I can feel the tears stinging the backs of my eyes, but I swallow them down. I’ve become a pro at suppressing my emotions over the last year. If I can keep my shit together through the death of my parents, I can certainly hold my shit together over a fender bender, even if the jerk took off without leaving a note.
I rest my palm against the cool trunk of Verla, taking a few deep breaths and reminding myself that this isn’t the end of the world. That I’m over exaggerating. My mother and father may have given me this car when I was in college, but it’snotthem.
Danvers’ boots scuff against the concrete as he makes his way over to me. “Mrs. Sweet, are you alright?”
I take a deep breath and turn to face him expecting to meet his eyes, but instead my gaze lands squarely in the middle of his broad chest. A ragged breath escapes my mouth while my eyes trail upward to meet his once more. “I’m sorry to say, Mrs. Sweet—”
“Miss.” I correct him, and clear my throat. “It’s Miss Sweet, I’m not married.”
An expression I can’t read passes over his face before he furrows his brow. “I’m sorry to say that it was me who scraped up against your car.”
“You?”
“I assure you it was an accident.” At the mere mention of the word my chest tightens. “You look pale.” His voice echoes in my ears and I suddenly realize that I haven’t eaten anything this morning. I had one cup of coffee and zero water to wash it down with, just a piece of gum to freshen up. I cannot possibly faint in front of Officer Sex Pot. I refuse, absolutely—
“Whoa!” He throws his strong arm behind my back, bracing my weight. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.” He says, pressing me closer to his impossibly firm body. “Lean into me.”
Jesus Christ, with pleasure!
Even though I feel like a total idiot, I let Officer Danvers walk me back to the bakery. The giant fluorescent pink sign that reads “Sweet” beams without it being turned on.
“I owe you a donut.” I manage to say, while inhaling his spicy cologne.
“I don’t eat gluten.”
I spin my head so fast I nearly give myself whiplash. “What?”
A low, growly laugh escapes his full lips. “I’m kidding. I love donuts.”
“Oh.” My feet are back in business, slowly but surely supporting my weight as I pull myself away from the police officer’s strong, firm embrace. I brush a strand of reddish brown hair away from my eyes, unable to shake the image of the man wearing only his gun holster, and pressing me firmly up against the wall, reading me my Miranda rights.
“What’s so funny?”
Oh my God, did I just laugh out loud?