Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
DECLAN
I fucking hated when my brothers were right. Always had. Probably always would. Thank Christ none of them was here to witness whatever the hell this summons was all about.
In some small back room in town hall, fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Half of them flickered, proving they were just as done with this bullshit as I was.
Mabel, however, looked like she was just getting started.
Wearing a gleeful smile, a leopard shawl, and a fucking tiara, she sat behind a folding table masquerading as a judge’s bench. A sign doused in glitter hung across the front, proclaiming, Court of Mabel, Community Civics Initiative.
Who the fuck thought it was a good idea to put Mabel in charge of anything, let alone a court?
I leaned back in my chair, stretched out my legs, and waited for this to be over so I could get back to work.
Propped against the wall to my left, Sheriff Brady McKenzie stood with his arms crossed and a scowl firmly in place. Looking exactly how I felt.
To my right, Penelope paced back and forth. Her footsteps were quick and agitated, her breaths sharp and controlled like she was trying very hard not to scream.
Shame, really. I would’ve loved to hear it.
She paced in my direction, her brows drawn down, lips pursed, before spinning around and stalking off in the opposite direction.
That quick move made her dress flare around her thick thighs, and the minuscule inches of skin showing between that and her knee-high boots had no business getting me hard in a place like this.
Unfortunately, my cock listened as well as the rest of me.
My fingers twitched against the rolled-up packet of papers in my hand, the urge to sketch the way her skirt moved nearly overwhelming. But god knew I didn’t need to draw another version when I’d already filled more pages than I’d admit with iterations of that exact motion.
I forced myself to turn my attention away from her and back to the front.
Proving just how completely batshit this entire situation was, a cookie tin, a legal pad, and something that looked like a metal measuring cup duct-taped to a wooden spoon rested on the table in front of Mabel.
In her hand, she held a sheaf of papers, no doubt identical to what Penelope and I had received upon entering.
I glanced down at my packet, flipped through the stack, and stopped at a random page.
THE TUMULTUOUS ONGOING FEUD OF STEELE V. SHEA
Incident #41: Violation of the Express Checkout Lane Code
Date: June 13 15:27
Location: Mahone’s Market
Notes: Mr. Steele checked out thirteen items in the express lane, which clearly states a five-item limit.
In line behind him, Ms. Shea was seen visibly clenching her jaw while holding a single lemon.
Witness reports confirm Mr. Steele made no effort to speed up after she arrived.
Instead, he slowly counted each item out loud while Ms. Shea—
Like I thought—complete bullshit.
Mabel tapped the wooden-spoon-slash-measuring-cup combo against the cookie tin—the official gavel of this clown court, apparently. “Court is now in session.”
Penelope immediately stopped pacing and turned to face Mabel. “Good, I would love to know why I’m here.”
“I’m going to tell you if you give me a minute, sugar.” Mabel’s eyes twinkled behind her reading glasses. That old bat was up to something shady as fuck. “Why don’t you have a seat?”
Penelope blew out a long exhale before primly sitting on the metal folding chair as if it were a throne—back straight, knees together, hands folded. Like she could counter this madness through sheer force of will alone.
It pissed me off. And for reasons I refused to unpack, it also made my cock hard as hell.
“Let’s begin, shall we?” Mabel said. “The Court of Mabel is convened to address the escalating tension—and borderline criminal chaos—between Ms. Penelope Shea and Mr. Declan Steele.”
Penelope’s mouth dropped open. “Criminal—”
Mabel loudly cleared her throat and leaned forward, her brows raised. “If you don’t mind, Ms. Shea?”
Somehow snapping her spine even straighter, Penelope inhaled deeply, her nostrils flaring before she parted her lips. For half a second, I thought she might argue. But then she clamped her mouth shut and gave a tight, jerky nod.
Jesus. The amount of pressure she kept bottled under all those cardigans could light the whole town. I had to hand it to her, though. That was impressive restraint for someone who once threatened to lodge my handlebars up my ass.
Mabel dipped her chin. “Now, then. This unresolved animosity has reached downright alarming levels and is currently endangering the sidewalks—and people—of Starlight Cove.”
I snorted and rolled my eyes. Brady ran a hand down his face while grumbling under his breath. Penelope looked ready to combust from barely restrained rebuttals.
Mabel continued, undeterred. “This hearing will determine the appropriate consequences for the escalating petty feud between Mr. Steele and Ms. Shea, both of whom have wasted enough of this town’s energy and resources to power every toy stocked in Wicked Little Things for a month.”
While Penelope practically vibrated with the effort it seemed to take to hold in a retort, I just leaned back in my chair and said nothing.
Not yet anyway.
This already felt like a setup. Not a prank. Not a joke. Something more deliberate. And if Mabel had a hand in this, it was probably less civic duty, more personal entertainment with a meddling subplot.
Mabel adjusted her readers and pulled the sheaf of papers toward her. “The incidents will now be read aloud for the record.”
Brady sighed. Loudly. “Jesus Christ, Mabel, there’s no one here to record. This isn’t a real court.”
She raised a brow at him. “Your deputization of me says otherwise.”
“I only deputized you so you’d get off my ass and stop harassing me on my personal number for bullshit. I didn’t think you’d weaponize it.”
She grinned, smug as hell and completely unrepentant. “That’s on you, sugar. Don’t hand a woman a sword and expect her not to swing.”
Annnd…there it was.
Mabel wasn’t just involved. She was the director, producer, and showrunner of this entire shitstorm.
She cleared her throat. “Let’s begin with the most recent infraction.
Incident number eighty-seven—sidewalk obstruction via motorcycle.
Alleged parking violation occurred at approximately 11:03 a.m., directly in front of the Starlight Cove Public Library.
The vehicle in question was described as—quote—‘a black, two-wheeled beast parked with deliberate provocation.’”
I didn’t so much as blink because, yeah, that sounded exactly like something my prim little librarian would say.
Mabel glanced over her glasses at me. “Anything to add, Mr. Steele?”
I shrugged. “If someone was parked there, I’m sure that someone placed their ‘black, two-wheeled beast’ out of the way of pedestrians.”
Penelope huffed. “That’s beside the point! You’re not allowed to—”
“So you called the cops on me, rebel?” I raised a brow at her.
“I didn’t call the cops. I asked Mabel who I should reach out to regarding a parking infraction. She wrote down the number for me.” A blush swept over Penelope’s cheeks as she mumbled, “I didn’t realize she’d given me the sheriff’s personal number.”
Brady glared at Mabel. “And if I find out you’ve given it out to one more—”
Mabel tapped her homemade gavel on the tin to interrupt him.
“Now, now, Sheriff. I promised I wouldn’t do that anymore in exchange for my new civic responsibilities.
Speaking of which, let’s move on to incident number eighty-six—late-night tire sabotage.
Alleged event took place last Saturday evening at approximately 10:18 p.m. in the parking lot of One Night Stan’s.
Witness reported Mr. Steele stabbing a ‘big-ass knife, ninja-style’ into the tire of a black pickup truck.
It was observed that Ms. Shea stood frozen from several parking spaces away, her mouth agape in what appeared to be shock.
Upon completion of the alleged act, Mr. Steele reportedly stood, winked at Ms. Shea, and strode back inside. ”
“How do you even have that on the record?” Penelope asked. “I didn’t call any—”
“There aren’t many secrets in a small town, Ms. Shea.” Mabel licked her finger and flipped to the next page. “Now, on to incident number eighty-fi—”
“Forget it, Mabel,” Brady barked. “I’m not going to spend my whole damn afternoon listening to you read all eighty-seven incident reports you’ve already been sending me for months. Get to the damn point, or we’re done here.”
Mabel huffed, clearly offended someone had interrupted her one-woman show. “Fine.”
She straightened and folded her hands on top of the stack of papers, splitting her gaze between Penelope and me. “Because I believe in redemption and second chances, I’ve decided to offer a choice.”
I nearly snorted. Choice, my ass. Mabel didn’t offer options—not any sane ones anyway.
“Either you both complete five hundred hours of community service, each—”
Penelope gasped. “What?”
“—or…” Mabel paused and grinned like the deviant shit she was.
“Thirty days of cohabitation. One shared living space—provided generously by me, of course. During that time, there will be no public disputes, no retaliation. Just proximity and a little togetherness so you can work through your differences and harmony can once again return to Starlight Cove.”
My eyebrow twitched as Penelope made a strangled sound.
Well. That was…interesting.
“Mabel, this…this is absurd.” Penelope’s cheeks were bright red, her hands clenched into perfect little fists in her lap.
“I understand that you’re just trying to do what you think is best for Starlight Cove.
But I don’t even have a record. I’ve never received so much as a parking ticket!
And now I’m faced with a criminal blemish because he doesn’t follow the rules? ”
Brady cleared his throat. “That’s not exactly—”
Mabel tapped her gavel, grinned broadly, and spoke over the sheriff.
“You’ve made a wonderful decision, dear!
Thirty days of cozy cohabitation to keep that record of yours squeaky-clean is definitely in your best interest and that of Starlight Cove.
I’ll deliver the keys to you both tomorrow morning. Court is adjourned.”
The flush on Penelope’s cheeks only intensified as she stood and headed toward Mabel, her voice pitching higher with each word as she attempted to bargain with the meddling instigator.
I probably should’ve said something. Told her to relax…that we didn’t have to do it.
But I didn’t—not when Penelope Shea was a vision whenever that prim exterior was unraveling. And this? This would make her unravel for the foreseeable future, and I wasn’t ready for the show to end.
So instead, I rolled up the packet of papers, tipped my chin at Brady, and strode out the door.
Ready for the games to begin.