Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Luke
It's been a week since that disaster of a date with Callie, and I still can't shake the memory of that kiss in her car.
It damn near knocked me sideways. Not exactly what I expected from our arrangement.
Every time I shut my eyes, I'm back in that moment, the taste of her lingering like a promise I'm not sure I should be making.
This is pretend, I remind myself for the hundredth time.
So why do I have this sense, I'm lying to myself instead of the town?
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I know without looking that it's Harper, asking where I am. Apparently, I'm late for my shift at the bakery.
Being Sheriff of Cupid's Creek isn’t exactly a demanding job.
A few traffic stops, a handful of domestic squabbles, and a fender bender have been the highlights of the last month.
Many days, I miss the chaos of working in a big city where every call-out kept me on my toes.
But I don’t miss the inherent danger. I don’t have to fear being shot or stabbed every time I leave the station.
And I don’t have to worry about a partner’s life being on the line.
But the extra time in my day gives me plenty of opportunity to think about Callie.
To take her lunch and walk her home from work.
Which I’ve done consistently for the past few days.
And then I get to kiss her sweetly at her front door for everyone within eyesight to see, when what I really want to do is pick her up, carry her to her bedroom, and make love to her all night long.
I don’t think Nikki would approve that plan, though. She’s been waiting for us at the end of each day. Talk about cock blocking.
That cheery bell above the bakery door jingles as I push my way inside.
Each time I do that, it takes me back to my childhood, when Grams ran the place and we'd head straight here after school until Mom finished work.
It's not nearly as empty as my first day back.
Today, there are actual customers at four of the tables instead of empty chairs.
Still not the bustling hub it once was, but if every person that comes through the doors means another bill gets paid without having to dip into savings, maybe our little charade holds promise.
Tom, who works as a general caretaker for the town, is arguing with his widowed sister, Clara, about what kind of pie to order, while their mother, Edna, flips through a magazine. Mr. Henderson is at another table, nibbling on a cookie while reading a book.
Harper glances up from behind the counter, her expression a mix of relief and irritation. “Finally,” she says, wiping her hands on her apron. “I was about to call in the cavalry.”
“Sorry. Got held up at the station. I do have an actual job, you know.”
“I’m sure you do, but you promised to help here, too.” She hands me an apron. “Anna's in the back prepping for tomorrow. She could use some help with the heavy lifting.”
I nod, grateful for the distraction, but before I can escape to the kitchen, the bell jingles again, and Callie saunters in, looking like every fantasy I've ever had.
Her hair is down today, and she's wearing a simple light blue sundress that makes her eyes impossibly bright.
When she spots me, she freezes for a second before her professional smile slips into place.
“Hello,” she says, her voice steady as she approaches the counter.
“Hi, Callie,” Harper chirps, way too brightly. “What can I get for you this afternoon?”
I watch as Callie's gaze flicks briefly to me before settling on Harper. “I would like to place an order. For the library. Please. For tomorrow, if it’s not too late.”
“An order?” Harper's eyebrows shoot up. “Like, for pastries or muffins?”
“Yes, Harper. Like pastries and muffins. From a bakery.” Callie's tone is calm, but there's a hint of amusement in her eyes today, something I haven’t seen since the day I arrived back in town. “That is what you sell here, right?”
Harper blinks rapidly, clearly thrown by this development. “Um, of course. Sorry, I’m just surprised you’re here and not in Juniper.”
“It was a last-minute decision.”
I can tell Harper’s a little disappointed, but she puts her smile back in place, obviously eager to help her friend regardless of the reason she came in.
I’m still not sure Callie’s plan is supposed to win over Harper.
All I know is they need to repair their friendship.
The pain in their eyes when they face each other is crushing me.
“Well, thank you for bringing your business to us. What would you like?”
Callie sets her purse on the counter. “I’d like an assortment of cookies, please, and perhaps a few of those little fruit tarts Anna makes. It’s for the reading circle tomorrow. I’ll pick it up at nine in the morning if that’s okay.”
“How many people?” I ask, finding my voice.
Callie finally looks directly at me, and the air between us crackles with tension. “Well, I’d like to have a few extra for staff and the members of the library board as well. So, let’s go with enough for two dozen?”
“I'll write it up.” Harper grabs an order pad and a pen. “This is great, Callie. Really. Thank you for thinking of us. And we’ll run it over first thing in the morning, as I know you’ll be busy.”
“I’d appreciate that, Harper, thank you.”
As Harper scribbles down the details, I notice a small group of women peering through the front window, their curious gazes darting between Callie and me. Mrs. Jenkins is practically fogging up the glass with her breath.
Callie notices too, and a small, determined smile curves her lips. Before I can process what's happening, she's circling the counter and coming toward me.
“I need to talk to you,” she says, her voice low.
She leans in, and I catch a whiff of something floral and sensual that makes my gut clench and my dick twitch.
Then she rises on her toes and presses a quick, light kiss to my cheek, her lips lingering for only a second, as she rests her hand on my chest for balance.
The gesture is intimate, intentional, and entirely for show.
But my body doesn't care about her motivations.
My arousal is instant and hard, and I instinctively place my hand at the small of her back.
The simple touch sparks awareness in every nerve ending.
“What are you doing?” I murmur against her hair.
“Making it believable,” she whispers back. Then louder, “I should get back to work. Call me later?”
“Yeah,” I manage, my voice rougher than before. “I'll call you.”
As she turns to leave, I notice the women outside quickly dispersing, no doubt eager to spread the news that the town librarian and the new Sheriff are indeed an item. Even more interesting, the bakery door opens again, and two of them step inside, their eyes wide with curiosity.
Harper looks between me and the retreating figure of Callie, her expression unreadable. “That was interesting.”
“It's nothing,” I say, but the words sound hollow even to my own ears.
“Didn't seem like nothing. First at Pete’s, now here. And I’ve heard the rumors.” She hands me the order slip. “Can you take this back to Anna, please?”
“Sure.”
“And Luke?”
I glance over my shoulder at her. “Yeah?”
“Be careful.” Her voice softens. “I don't want either of you to get hurt.”
I want to say something, but I don't know what. A couple of new customers are approaching the counter, their expressions eager for both pastries and gossip. I retreat to the kitchen, my mind spinning with the scent of Callie's perfume and the ghost of her lips against my skin.
By the time I finish helping my sisters at the bakery, the sun is setting and casting long shadows across Main Street.
I should probably head home and take a shower, but I find myself walking across the street toward the library.
She’s been closed for a couple of hours now, but I can still see the lights on in the back. And I didn’t see her leave.
I circle around, knocking on the side door where she can hear me knocking in case she’s in her office. For a long moment, there's silence, and I'm about to turn away when the door opens.
Callie’s got her hair pulled back in a messy bun, and a pair of black-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. Her lipstick is gone. Her eyes appear a little tired. I glance down and see that she’s ditched her shoes. She looks softer, more vulnerable without her public face on.
“What are you doing here?”
“You said to call you,” I say. “I thought I'd do one better.”
She hesitates, chewing on her bottom lip, drawing my gaze. A group of kids out for a walk, slow their steps to stare. One points at us and whispers something that makes the others giggle.
“Get in here,” Callie mutters, grabbing my arm and pulling me inside. “This town, I swear.” She closes the door firmly, then leans against it with a sigh.
Is she about to tell me her words at the bakery were nothing more than part of the play?
I wait for her as she locks the door behind us.
And then I follow her quietly back to her office.
It’s small but cozy, two walls lined with books and a desk cluttered with paper.
It smells like her—vanilla, old paper, and something uniquely Callie.
“That was quite a show you put on this morning,” I say, sitting on the edge of her desk while she circles to the other side, keeping the aged furniture between us.
“It worked, didn't it?” She crosses her arms. “Martha was in here an hour later, asking all sorts of questions about you.”
“And what did you tell her?”
A hint of a smirk plays at the corners of her mouth. “That you're an excellent kisser.”
“Is that so?” I want to kiss her so bad right now.