Chapter 7
Jesse
All I’m saying is, if you leave a tray of
Gingerbread men unattended, that’s on you.
~ Unknown
The Oh, Sugar! bakery smells like cinnamon, frosting and warmth. Alex and I arrive after Jeanie’s slightly frantic call. Apparently someone stole a pan of gingerbread right out of the kitchen while it was cooling.
It’s early afternoon, so the shop is filled with kids in basketball uniforms, moms, and a few local businesspeople picking up orders for holiday parties.
The owner of the bakery, Thea, is in full panic mode. She asks her workers to cover the counter and walks around to greet us.
“Thea, this is Alex, my new partner,” I say.
My voice feels commanding and official, but when I look at Alex, there’s more.
I’m proud to show her off as my partner—as the new addition to the force.
I think that’s all it is, but my mind drifts to the way she looked yesterday after her visit to the Dippity Do.
I push those images down along with the rush of warmth that floods me. We’re on the job. She’s my coworker.
Thea and Alex shake hands. Thea glances around, and then she says, “Follow me to the back.” Her hands fly around as she tells us the details of what happened.
“We were all out front. I had just taken a pan out to cool. We had an influx of morning customers. When I went to pull the gingerbread onto a rack to finish cooling, they were gone—tray and all.”
My eyes rove the scene. I’m listening to Thea. Alex has her pad out, taking notes as usual. I admire how she zeroes in on the details—methodical, calm, cutting out the noise of the world to get the job done.
I step out the back door and look around the wide alley that runs behind the shops.
Anyone could make their way into the bakery from here.
I glance to the left and right, hoping to see something—anything that might be a clue—when I look at the trash cans sitting to the left of the stoop, a glint of metal catches my eye.
I step down, move the bin and grab hold of the tray. A piece of paper is stuck to it by way of a wad of gum.
“Alex! Thea! Come see this.”
They appear side by side in the doorway. I hold up the tray.
“Good going, Heinz,” Alex says. “What’s that paper?”
I turn the tray and read the note. “Thank you for the cookies. Sorry I couldn’t pay. They’re for a good cause.”
Alex and Thea’s expressions match mine. My brows knit together in confusion.
“Robin Hood,” I mutter. “Stealing for a good cause.”
I get it, maybe more than I should—sometimes we take what someone would freely give us, convincing ourselves it’s harmless. I’d never steal cookies from a bakery, but I understand grasping at crumbs.
“Well, I’m just glad you found my tray. I can replace two dozen cookies. Those trays are industrial grade and I’ve got them to the point where they bake just right for me.”
“You can get back to your customers,” Alex tells Thea. “We’re just going to look around for any other clues. We’ll keep you posted as to what we find.”
“If this gingerbread thief had come to me, I would have gladly donated cookies to a good cause,” Thea says. “We do it all the time.”
I look at the handwriting. It’s scrawled and messy. Maybe a child. Maybe someone in a hurry, more typically male than female, with sharper angles and a slope to the printed letters.
“If you catch them, issue a warning,” Thea adds before turning back to her business. “I’m not pressing charges.”
“Are you sure?” I ask. Though, after reading the note, I tend to agree with her. Someone obviously thinks they’re being a Good Samaritan.
“I’m sure. In the spirit of holiday forgiveness, I’m letting this go.” She glances between Alex and me. “Can I get you two anything?”
“We’re policemen—er—people. Police people. We won’t turn down donuts.”
I say it as a joke, but Thea nods and says, “Coming right up.”
Alex and I canvas the alley, combing every inch for anything that might be a clue.
“I’m taking photos of these muddy boot prints,” Alex says from the end of the alley. “They could belong to anyone.”
“I saw some mud on the kitchen floor. I’ll photograph that,” I tell her, ducking into the kitchen, taking a few pictures and then returning to the trash bins where I found the tray.
Alex is already there, carefully poking around the outsides of the cans to see if she can find anything else. She lifts one lid at the same time as I lift the one next to it. Our arms brush and a fissure of warmth takes me by surprise.
When I turn to say, “Sorry,” Alex is blushing.
Did she feel it too? The air between us felt charged—like the purr of an engine right after the key is turned—at least that’s how it felt to me.
Maybe she just blushes easily—it’s not the first time her skin has turned pink from something I said or did.
We wrap up our investigation of the bakery and take our donuts out to the patrol car. Alex isn’t shy about enjoying her food. She takes a big bite of her sugarplum spice donut and pulls away with a dusting of purple icing and sugar dust around her mouth.
“You’ve got …” I circle my mouth with my finger.
“What?” Alex’s face scrunches up and then she pulls down the visor and moans. “Kill me now. I’m a mess!”
“It’s …” I was about to say cute. What has come over me? “It’s fine. Grab a napkin from the glove box. I don’t think you’re really enjoying a donut unless you make a bit of a mess.”
“You’re just saying that so I feel better.” She pulls a napkin out and wipes around her mouth.
“Maybe, but it's true.”
“You have quite a way with people, you know,” Alex says easily.
“What are you talking about? Because I pointed out the sugar on your face?”
“No,” she chuckles softly. “The way you handled the décor wars. And Thea. She was a wreck. You were steady, confident, and snapped right into problem solving. You put people at ease.”
I’m about to ask her if I put her at ease, but I don’t want to fish for compliments.
Who am I kidding? I’d love to fish for compliments, especially from Alex, but I refuse to appear desperate, so I just say, “Thanks. You have a way with people too.”
“A direct way,” she amends.
“There’s nothing wrong with being direct. I think that’s admirable, really. So many people are afraid to say what they really think. You’re never mean.”
I glance at Alex. Her mouth is popped open. She promptly closes it.
“What?” I ask.
“That was sweet,” she says. The blush returns.
“Just the facts, ma’am,” I say, affecting a 1950s detective accent like the one on a classic show I watch on TV Land.
Alex’s laughter rings through the car, filling spaces that I didn’t realize were empty before she came along to fill them. It might not be prudent to like that sound as much as I do. But I can’t seem to help myself.
“Are you going to Aiden and Em’s tomorrow night?” She asks the question as if she assumes I’m included in all the gatherings of people my age in this town. I’m usually not.
“They invited me,” I say.
“Is that so unusual?” She must have picked up on that nuance in my response. Good detective work.
“Actually, yes.”
“Why?”
“We never hung out much in high school.”
“High school?” She scoffs. “That was like eons ago.”
“Let me educate you on small town social structures.” I glance at her.
She’s pivoted in her chair to face me more fully. It’s casual—the way she leans into the chair like we’re just two friends on a drive through town, sharing our thoughts as we go.
I take a deep breath. “People pick their friends. And those become the people they do life with. If you’re not in that circle, you might not even be officially shunned. Just—not included.”
Maybe I’ve always told myself I didn’t mind being on the outside because it hurt less than admitting I wanted in. Either way, I’ve adjusted to life as it is. Alex’s presence—seeing my life through her eyes—is suddenly making me want more.
“So, you’re telling me they get together for things all the time and you’re never invited?” Her outrage on my behalf is endearing.
“Yeah. Pretty much. But it’s okay. I’m not big on hanging out in groups all the time anyway. I like one-to-one relationships more. And I’ve got my cousin. And my mom. And hobbies. And this job.”
It sounds radically pathetic when I say it all out loud. I’m not miserable. I like my life. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want more.
“Well, I’m glad they came to their senses and invited you to this one.” She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest as if she’s miffed.
“Probably because of you,” I say, and then regret saying it right away.
“You think?”
I know. “Yeah. I do. It’s okay, though. My feelings aren’t hurt.” Not much. “And I’m glad you’re being included.”
“Hmph.” She doesn’t speak for a little while.
“Please don’t say anything to any of them,” I finally say into the silence.
She looks at me sideways, pursing her lips.
“No. Really. Don’t. If people decide to include me in events or friendships, I want it to be organic. I don’t want charity invites.”
“I understand,” she agrees. Then she eyes me from head to toe. “Wear something other than your uniform.”
I chuckle. “No one will recognize me if I do.”
More laughter, soft and easy. And hers draws out mine. When was the last time I laughed like this? I make the mistake of looking over at Alex. Her eyes are crinkled at the corners, her mouth open, head slightly tipped back. The sight of her is like a punch to the gut.
She’s so far out of my league. Beautiful. Articulate. Funny. And, she’s my partner.
I straighten my face, focusing on the job for the rest of our shift and fighting the gnawing feelings of affection trying to grow roots and establish themselves as something more than a passing infatuation with the new girl in town.
“What about this?” I turn in front of my phone, which is propped low against the wall of my bedroom.