Chapter 7
7
Janie
"YOU LOOK WAY too fucking happy for this early in the morning." Janie took in Mariah's bright smile and sparkling eyes. "You got laid last night, didn't you?"
Mariah scoffed. "I can be happy for reasons besides sex." She turned her attention to the long line of vegetables in front of her. "But in this particular situation, yes. I did get laid last night."
Janie finished tying on her apron before going to the pile of potatoes that needed to be peeled, chopped, boiled, and mashed for an event taking place later at The Inn where Mariah was the head chef. "I want to be happy for you, but first I need to know whether or not you got off."
Mariah's smile dimmed a little, and she didn't look up as she hacked the end off a carrot. "That isn't the only thing that matters."
Janie's head dropped back and she groaned. "Are you fucking kidding me?" She slammed one of the potatoes onto the towel lined down the counte r before flinging both arms out. "It might not be the only thing that matters, but why are you acting like it’s an irrelevant part of the fucking process? Do you think he would feel the same way if he didn't get off?" She pointed a finger at Mariah's face, before her friend could answer. "Because I can tell you, he would absolutely not."
She'd been around the block a time or two. She was over forty and had never been married, but she had a string of failed relationships behind her. And if there was one thing she’d learned the hard way, it was that any man who didn't put effort into getting you off, wasn't worth shit.
Half the ones who did still weren't worth shit.
"I think he was just caught up in the moment.” Mariah offered an excuse Janie had used too many times herself. “I'm sure it will be better next time."
"For your sake, I hope you're right, but I’ve never been right when I made that same assumption." She scrubbed the next potato so aggressively part of the skin wore away. "Please tell me he knows where the clit is."
Mariah was quiet beside her.
Janie's head spun her way. "Seriously?"
Mariah blew out a long sigh and had the audacity to act aggravated. "It's not like there's a neon arrow pointing to it."
Janie stared at her friend, eyes getting wider by the second until they burned from her lids stretching so far. "It is literally front and center."
Mariah's earlier smile was completely gone now, replaced by a frown. "I knew I shouldn't have told you. You're still fucking bitter over Griffin falling in love with Dianna."
Janie's head bounced back like Mariah had slapped her. "Are you kidding me right now?" Sure, she hadn't initially been happy about Dianna and Griffin's relationship, but it had nothing to do with her history with Griffin. The reason she'd been unhappy was because Dianna’s amazing—beautiful and smart and successful and sweet and kind. And, up until recently, Janie’s opinion was that Griffin was a piece of shit. But, in the time her boss and ex had been together, she'd seen him be everything she’d wanted. A good and communicative partner who supported Dianna at every turn.
It was the kind of thing that might send her spiraling if she thought on it too long. But thanks to the steady stream of bills and debt she'd racked up while chasing down more unfinished dreams than she could count, sitting and stewing in her own shortcomings wasn't something she had much time for.
"I'm sorry." Mariah's shoulders slumped as she leaned against the counter. "I shouldn't have said that. I know you don't have any sort of feelings for Griffin anymore." She lifted one arm to swipe at a bit of her hair. "I just really like this guy, and you’re kind of shitting on my parade."
Janie sighed. Bitterness was an emotion that always came easily. One she spoke just as fluently as bitchiness and sarcasm. It made her the kind of person you wanted to have your back when shit went down. But it also occasionally made her a shitty friend, too jaded and cynical to simply be happy for someone she loved.
Forcing her tone to soften, she twisted on a smile. "I'm sorry. I just worry about you and don't ever want you to waste time on someone who doesn't deserve you." It was the same sort of conclusion she'd jumped to with Dianna, and it nearly led to the loss of their friendship. She didn't want to make the same mistake with Mariah. "I really genuinely want him to be as great as you think he is, because you’re awesome and deserve someone fucking amazing."
A little of Mariah's smile came back. "Thank you."
Janie stepped away from the sink, coming to rest her hands on Mariah’s shoulders. "But, fair warning, if he ends up hurting you, I might make him dead."
Mariah rolled her eyes on a laugh. "I would say you can't go around killing men who are mean to your friends, but I feel like you’d do well in prison. You'd probably end up running the place."
That was honestly a really nice compliment. Janie grinned at her friend. "Believe it or not, I don't plan on finding out. I’ve gone this long without getting arrested, and it's a life goal of mine to keep that streak going." Not that goals were her strong suit. Or streaks. Or consistency. Or follow through. That's why she latched onto any sort of achievement and held tight with both hands. "So, unless they can start arresting people for outstanding debts, I think I'll be able to remain on this side of the bars."
Mari ah’s expression fell a little. "I thought you were starting to get caught up."
Janie sighed again, dropping her hands and turning back to the potatoes. "Caught up is relative. I’ve made a lot of dumb mistakes over the years. It was going to catch up with me sooner or later."
She'd hiked halfway down lots of career paths in her lifetime. That was how she found Mariah. They met during her stint in culinary school. But while Mariah finished and went on to have a great career, she dropped out part way through, realizing running a kitchen wasn't how she wanted to spend her life.
Unfortunately, just because you didn't get a degree, didn't mean you weren’t still responsible for your student loan debt, so her history of quitting cost her dearly. Not only did she still owe money on her time in culinary school, she still owed for the two thirds of a cosmetology degree she had, the time she spent in massage school, and the community college where she took a stab at accounting.
Mariah leaned in to give her a tight hug. “You’ll get it all straightened out.” She pulled back, meeting her gaze. “And you might even meet a nice guy while you’re at it.”
Janie snorted. “I’m pretty sure a nice guy will see me and run in the opposite direction.” She wouldn’t blame him either. Chances were good she’d chew him up and spit him out anyway.
Mariah wiggled her brows. “Doesn’t seem like Officer Peters runs when you cross his path.”
She’d been waiting for her friend to bring that up. They hadn’t had much time to chat since the run-in she’d had with Devon in the bar a few nights ago, and it was only a matter of time before her friend wanted all the details. “That’s because Officer Peters isn’t a nice guy.”
Even as she said it, the words felt less right. Maybe not wrong, but also not entirely correct. Any man who spent two full hours in both police gear and an apron assembling cinnamon rolls, couldn't be all bad. But any man who took every opportunity to point out shortcomings the way Devon Peters did, couldn't be all good either. Regardless, he was pretty fucking good at getting rid of screaming menstrual cramps, so there was a place for him in this world.
"Cut him some slack. He's a widower with three teenage daughters." Mariah went back to their morning task. "He's got a lot going on."
"We all have a lot going on." Janie looked her friend over. "Except for you. You've only got a ranch hand who definitely won't be able to find your G-spot going on."
They'd been friends long enough that Mariah recognized her sarcasm, and instead of being offended, she laughed. "Whatever, bitch. At least I've seen a dick in the past five years."
"I've seen one." Janie dug back into her stack of potatoes. "I just didn't have any interest in touching it." She'd been in enough tumultuous relationships to experience some pretty good sex in her day, but the fallout wasn't worth it. Especially when she learned the better a guy was in bed, the more pr oblematic he was outside of it.
Maybe it was actually great that Mariah's little ranch hand was terrible in the sack. He’d probably treat her like a fucking queen. As long as she invested in a good vibrator, she might just live happily ever after.
The rest of the morning flew by in a blur of food preparation and idle chatter. Like her relationship history, her job history was all over the place, so she'd worked a decent number of jobs over the years. Enough to know that she was lucky to find the two she had now. Working at The Inn and The Baking Rack with people she liked, doing things she didn't hate, was more than she'd had up to this point. Add in her little trailer on the outskirts of town, and she had it pretty good in Moss Creek.
For the first time in her life, things were looking up and—outside of her run-ins with Officer Peters—she was almost feeling pretty good about where she was in life.
For the most part. There was still no forgetting all the ways she'd fucked up to this point—especially as she watched every penny she made disappear from her bank account—but she wasn't making shit worse. No more pretending she could follow through on a career path. No more dreaming she'd find a man to whisk her off her feet.
The revelation was surprisingly freeing. Depressing, but freeing.
When her shift was over at The Inn, Janie packed up and headed home, tidying up and grabbing a quick lunch before going into town for her solit ary afternoon at The Baking Rack.
Dianna had hired a few more employees, but they all worked the morning shift since that was the wild one. For now, she was still able to handle the afternoons herself, and today was no different. Her period was finally finishing up, so she wasn't struggling with bloating or cramps or any of the litany of other things that came with it, and getting through the bucket of dough waiting for her was a breeze.
Even without a maybe-nice, but also occasionally dickish, small-town cop to help.
Her eyes slid to the large apron hanging on the wall. She gritted her teeth, hating herself for almost wishing he’d stop in again. Only for the extra set of hands, of course.
Possibly also for the conversation. Talking to him hadn’t been hateful, and had given her something to do besides mental math as she worked. Normally calculating how close she was to being caught up on her student loans and credit card bills was what got her through the silent afternoons of repetitive work, but having Devon to entertain her made the time fly by.
When he wasn’t lecturing her on the baldness of her tires or her decisions about pain management, the man was actually pretty nice to talk to.
And even nicer to smell.
She had a thing for good scents—that’s why there were a million candles around her home—and whatever Devon sprayed on in the morning was like freaking catnip. It was rich and masculine an d carried an oaky hint that made her think of the outdoors. There was also another note to it. One she hadn’t been able to identify yet.
Her eyes drifted back to the apron she’d been working hard to avoid all afternoon. Even with the heavy scent of cinnamon and buttercream hanging in the air, she kept getting a rogue whiff of Devon’s cologne.
What in the hell was that last scent? Not leather. Not coffee. Not spice.
“Fuck.” Janie dropped what she was doing and marched over. Grabbing the apron off its hook, she smashed it against her face and inhaled, pulling the too-familiar smell into her lungs. Her eyes slipped closed, and for a split second she let herself remember what it felt like when he held her close the night he took her home.
It was an indulgence she couldn’t allow again, but there was no one here to witness this particular moment of weakness. Or insanity, depending on how you looked at things.
Pushing the Devon-scented air from her lungs, she dumped the apron into the hamper to be washed and went back to her prep work, still fighting to figure out what that last hint of an undernote was.
An hour later, all the cinnamon rolls were assembled and stacked in the refrigerators, the doors were locked and the lights were off, but she was still no damn closer to figuring out that fucking note of his cologne. It was driving her crazy enough she considered pulling the apron from the hamper for one more s mell, but that felt like taking things a step too far.
She was not going to give a shit about Devon Peters or how he smelled or whether he was a nice guy or an asshole. It didn’t matter. It’s not like she was interested in him—or any man—taking up space in her life. She learned a long time ago they were all more hassle than they were worth.
After switching on the security system, she ducked out the back door, determined to go home and hit the reset button on whatever part of her brain was shorting out thanks to Devon and his confusing, conflicting ways. But she only made it three steps toward her car when she looked up and stopped so short her runners skidded across the blacktop.
“Shit.” The word came out under her breath as she stared at the exact same man she’d decided to forget existed no more than two seconds before.
Devon was leaned back against his cruiser, well-defined arms folded over his broad chest, an odd look on his face.
She lifted her chin, sucking in a steadying breath as she marched toward him, doing her best to look unaffected by his unexpected appearance. Stopping in front of him, she gave him her best glare, trying hard to fall back into old ways. “You here to lecture me about my tires again?”
Devon studied her for a minute, his expression strangely unreadable. Finally he shook his head. “No.”
Janie swallowed hard, because if he was there for something else—something that migh t result in more of his taunting scent permeating her brain—she might just be stupid enough to forget how to tell him to fuck off.
And the realization was terrifying.
But then Devon said something that ensured her ability to keep hating him was alive and well.
“I’m here to arrest you. ”