Page 50 of Half Baked

We walk in and I grab a beer, passing it to Tripp. Taking a sparkling water from the fridge for myself, I drop onto a leather barstool. I’m abstaining from alcohol in case I get a rescue call. It’s been my rule since we were cleared to operate and will remain that way until I have a second team and a set schedule.

“Not to me,” I reply as the door to the house opens and Beckett steps out.

“I got the alert that the garage door was opening, figured you’d be in here,” he explains, grabbing a beer for himself.

“What’s going on, being in town on a weekday again?” I ask, pulling out the stool beside me. Beck might only be a year and a half younger than me, but I’ve felt responsible for him since the day we were orphaned.

“Just felt like being here.” He shrugs. I can tell it’s not the full story. But we can have this talk when we’re alone.

“How are things with Poppy?”

I clear my throat awkwardly. These two would be the guys to help me out with this one. “Well, she found out I dropped ten thousand dollars on her, and she wasn’t happy.”

Tripp chokes on his beer, eyes wide. “You what?”

“It sounds more extreme than it is. She had some equipment at the bakery that died so I replaced it.”

“Pop doesn’t seem like the type that would agree to that,” Beckett snorts.

“It was an ask for forgiveness situation.”

They laugh in unison, but I shouldn’t be surprised. This is par for the course if I need their help. I turn to Tripp, the one guy in this garage with a serious relationship. “What would you do if Ivy needed your help but wouldn’t accept it?”

“You mean when my deranged deputy was hunting her last year?”

“Actually yeah, and you just went ahead and helped her anyway. And she accepted it. Look how that worked out.”

“That was different,” Tripp points out. “Her life was in danger, and it was literally my job to help as sheriff. She couldn’t really tell me to stop investigating.”

I take a drink and drag my fingers through my hair. “Fine, then what do I do here? I want to help her keep the bakery, but she wasn’t thrilled with the idea.”

“Just do the same thing as having to make your own station—anonymous donation.”

“Already tried that with this appliance, we see how well that went over.”

“Yeah, pretty good. Considering I found you about to make out on the beach.” Tripp laughs.

“You missed the fight before that point.”

“What if you give the money to Fitzy and ask him to give it to her? Pretend it’s one of his revitalization funds,” Beckett offers.

“I don’t want to start things off with a lie. If she figures that out, she’ll never speak to me again.”

“It can’t feel one sided. Poppy won’t just accept something. You need to figure out an exchange.”

I raise an eyebrow at Tripp. He’s right. “But what would I want in return?”

“Sex.”

The nearest thing in reach is a sponge from washing my car the other day. I pick it up and chuck it at Beckett’s head. “Great suggestion, dumbass.”

“I just need it to be noted that I, the sheriff, was not referring to sex for pay,” Tripp adds.

No one comes up with anything for a minute. I finish my drink and crush the can, tossing it across the wood bar behind me.

“Maybe I can accept her offer to pay me back? Then it’s not like I’mgivingit to her. We can say I get a cut from the show or something?”

“And then we’re going to be right back here trying to figure out a way to give her back your cut from the show.”

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