Page 11 of Deep Feelings & Shallow Graves

Oh. Now we’re really doing this. I sip again. Slow. “At home. Baking. Murdering. Watching Bridgerton. Pick your fantasy.”

Carson doesn’t flinch. Bastard. He really might be immune to me. That makes him even hotter.

He scribbles something. Probably “suspect has cookie-related delusions” or “do not fuck under any circumstances, she offered baked goods and murder vibes.”

I should feel threatened. Instead, I’m wondering what that pen would look like sticking out of his shirt pocket while he pins me to a counter and asks, “Anything else you want to confess, sweetheart?”

“Thanks for your time,” he says, finally. Standing. Big. Broad. All hard edges and calm, dangerous masculinity. “If anything comes to mind, you know how to reach me.”

He pulls a card from his pocket and slides it onto the counter. I glance at it, then him. Then back at the card. His fingers are nice.

“You should take a cookie for the road,” I say. “No one should interrogate on an empty stomach. Especially not that one.” My eyes dip. His abs have probably filed taxes more responsibly than I have.

His mouth curves. It’s not a smile, but something that makes my thighs clench anyway. “Have a good evening, Jennifer.”

“Oh, I plan to,” I say. “Thanks for the visit, Officer. Come by any time. I always have cookies. And I never run out of suspicious behavior.”

The door clicks shut behind him.

The cookies are still warm.

So am I.

And now I need to figure out which panties say “innocent” but also “could absolutely bury you and get away with it.”

Chapter Five

Blake

I’m not spying. I’m just... watching. Casually. From my kitchen window. While drying a dish I already dried. Three times.

Okay, fine. I’m spying a little. But it’s neighborly spying. The concerned kind. Like the I’ve seen her come and go with more guys than I’ve flossed in the last five years. And I’m not judging.

Okay, I am judging, but with love. Because they’re always the same type: bad tattoo choices, worse vibes, and the kind of shoes that say I peaked in high school.

I don’t get it. She’s smart. Funny. Makes murder jokes that feel flirty? She deserves someone who knows what conditioner is and wouldn’t cheat on her with his vape.

The guy from last week had a neck tattoo of a flaming skull and what I’m pretty sure were brass knuckles tucked in his hoodie pocket. The one before that looked like he ran a pyramid scheme out of a van.

And today I watched some slick-haired douchebag try to kiss her outside O’Malley’s Pub. She pulled away like he’d offered her warm mayonnaise and said something I couldn’t hear, but it had the vibe of “not even if you were the last man on earth and I was handcuffed to a cactus.”

I was gonna go over earlier but Officer Carson showed up and that’d have been awkward turning up like a stalker with a care package.

So yeah. I’m getting ready to go now, packing donuts and milk.

It’s not weird. I was already at the store, they had a deal on the good ones, the ones with the sprinkles and that questionable cream filling, and I thought she might appreciate something sugary after surviving yet another nightmare lunch date. I throw in a few extra napkins, because I’m thoughtful like that, and because I’ve seen her laugh so hard she chokes on powdered sugar. Twice.

The walk to her door feels longer than usual. Like the air’s thicker over here. Her porch light’s still out. I’ve offered to fix it three times. In my head. Maybe tonight I get the balls to offer out loud.

I knock. Three polite, maybe-too-gentle knocks. Then immediately feel like an idiot and knock again, louder.

When she opens the door, she’s barefoot, wearing yoga pants and an oversized t-shirt that says “I LICKED IT, SO IT’S MINE.” I almost drop the donuts.

She looks like trouble. And comfort. Like the kind of woman who’d kiss you stupid and then laugh when you trip over your own feet walking backward.

“Hey,” I say, like a socially competent adult. “Uh. Hey.”

Her eyes narrow slightly like she’s trying to place me, and then she smiles. Not a huge one, just enough to send heat sliding down my spine.

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