Page 8 of Dining for Love

“I need to get back to work, Mom.” I turn away without another word.

Chapter 4

Reid

ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER morning of pretending not to notice Willa Dash as she hides behind Agatha’s car.

It’s cute, really.She’scute. Completely adorable, in fact, how she contorts herself into the strangest possible positions to ensure that I don’t see her. I do, of course. I see everything. I observe a great deal. I’d go so far as to call it a plethora. Like the generously curvy outline of her at night behind the blue and white checked curtains that are now constantly drawn in her kitchen. An outline that hints at a body I wouldn’t mind getting to know better. And I hear far more than she probably realizes, too, including the way her voice cracks as she sings to the pop songs blaring through her house.

It’s a gorgeous summer morning. The light blue sky is streaked with clouds that are burning away by the minute, and the salty air is thick with humidity. People smile and wave as I pass them on my short drive to the station. I give Uncle Jack crap about it, but Lucky, Alabama really is quaint as hell. The little downtown looks like everyone agreed on a coordinating beachy color scheme for the buildings, and the town square is meticulously manicured with flowers and plants that someone definitelyspends time taking care of. There’s a coffee shop, a bookstore, an ice cream shop, even a little sliver of a storefront proudly announcing weekend ghost tours that end, naturally, at the ice cream shop. There’s a sense of community and pride and outrightkindnessaround this place, and it’s downright disconcerting.

I’m not used to nice. Nice is suspicious.

At the station, I poke my head into my uncle’s office to say good morning.

He looks up. “Any news?”

We’ve already fallen into a pattern. “No word from Chief Muñoz,” I answer. “You’ll be the first to know.”

He gives a jerk of his chin. “You’re with Ox again.”

I give him a salute and prepare for my shift. It took no time to get up and running with the station, and I’m not sure if it’s because the town of Lucky just doesn’t insist on a lot of paperwork and training for its temporary officers or if my uncle simply didn’t bother. Either way, after a wave and chat with Betty Pierce at the station’s front desk, Ox and I are heading out on foot. I like the guy, even though he let me crash and burn with Willa the other day. He’s a big, burly fucker with dark red hair and a thick beard who absolutely lives up to his name. After a pit stop at the coffee shop, we continue down Arnold Avenue, one of several blocks’ worth of tiny shops and boutiques. The town caters to the tourists who flood it over the summer, that much is certain.

“Officers, over here!” comes a lady’s voice.

“Mrs. G, good to see you!” To me, Ox says, “Mrs. G owns the original Tourist Trap.”

I grin as we near the woman, who straightens after writing on the sandwich board sign on the sidewalk. “Tourist Trap? That’s the actual name of her shop?”

“Yes, it is,” Mrs. G says proudly. “You must be Officer Reid. Your uncle’s been bragging all over town about you.”

We shake. “He neglected to mention all the lovely shop owners I’d meet.”

The older woman blushes and swats at me. “You’re a flirt. Good for you.” She turns to Ox. “Come tell me what you think about these new T-shirts and stickers.”

We go into the shop. It’s a classic beachside tourist trap, living up to its name perfectly. Racks of beach-appropriate clothes are on one side, and shelves everywhere are stuffed with all manner of toys, hats, sunblock, shot glasses, thimbles, shells, and more, most of them themed for the beach generally or Lucky in particular. When Mrs. G leads us to the display she wants our opinion on, I laugh.I got lucky in Lucky, Alabama, they say. “Perfect.”

Ox nods approvingly. “You’ll definitely sell these.”

We chat a bit longer, and it’s more of the same: the weather, the tide, the tourists, the pier, and locals I don’t yet know. This town is absolutely nothing like Miami. Not only is it filled with people who aren’t plastic surgeried to within an inch of their lives, but the pace is so much slower. When I was a beat cop before going undercover, I was constantly moving from one issue to the next. But here, we’ve barely gotten any real calls.

In a way, it’s refreshing. But it also makes my skin itch. I’ve got to be missing something. No town is this nice.

We say our goodbyes to Mrs. G and head back onto the street. And who should I spy with my little eye but Willa Dash herself, along with the waitress who waited on me the other day. Willa’s in loose-fitting green shorts and a baggy shirt, and it does exactly nothing to detract from her appearance. Especially when she smiles at her sister. Holy shit. It’s the first time I’ve seen her smile, and it’s so carefree and happy. She’sbeautiful. I take a deep breath, reaching up to rub away the sudden tightness in my chest.

Ox leans in and lowers his voice. “The Dash sisters. You’ve met Willa, obviously. Goldie is who waited on us during the sesame bun incident.”

“I’m never forgiving you for that.”

He snorts. “You did it to yourself, man.”

He has a point, but I’ll never tell him.

“Anyway, Goldie’s the younger one by a couple of years. They’re close. Town always figured Willa would head off and make something of herself and Goldie would stay here. And Willa left for a minute. She was on this reality cooking show. She hates talking about it.”

My interest is piqued. “You’re nothing more than a town gossip,” I rib him.

He purses his lips. “Gotta do something to stay occupied. I regret nothing.”

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