Page 25 of One Sweet Match Up

“No.” She pulled out a metal soup ladle, holding it in the air. “It’s definitely not.”

“Zoe, wait up.” Donovan caught up to her, catching his breath. Only moments ago she’d freaked out, threw the soup ladle at him, and tore off down the sidewalk.

“Leave me alone, Donovan,” she shouted over her shoulder.

He matched her stride because there was no slowing her down. For a short woman, Zoe’s legs could move her from zero to sixty in no time. “Look. I know this bag has spooked you.” He held it out. “Why?”

She stopped, her nostrils flaring. “Did you put the ladle in there?”

“What?”

“You heard me.” She leveled him with a stare, her voice full on accusation. “Did you put it in the purse?”

He gave a short laugh and patted his leather coat. “Yeah, I hid a metal ladle in my jacket and, when you weren’t looking, slipped it into your purse because I knew it would get this reaction out of you. Who doesn’t totally lose it over a cooking utensil?”

He stopped talking the minute he saw that her eyes were watering. Damn, he was just trying to lighten the mood. He hadn’t meant to upset her. “Zoe, I’m sorry. Why don’t you talk to me? What’s got you so scared?”

“I’m not scared.” She looked away.

“Oh, really. I would say the soda on the carpet and the sticky butter stains on my leather jacket from the popcorn bucket you heaved at me tell a different story. Not to mention your meltdown on the bench just now.”

She snapped her head back in his direction, shooting him the mother of all dirty looks. “That wasnota meltdown.”

“Care to fill me in on how a purse and a cooking utensil have got you bent out of shape then? Maybe I can help.”

“Doubt it. I’m bent out of shape,” she repeated and paused, forcing a smile toward an old couple passing by. Her voice noticeably lower as she finished her explanation. “I’m bent out of shape because those items aren’t mine and both appeared out of nowhere.”

“What do you mean ‘out of nowhere’?”

She pointed to the purse. “That was tied to the front door of the Ice Heaven when I arrived this morning.” She let out a loud sigh. “And the ladle, it wasn’t in there when I left the shop earlier. The purse was empty.”

Then how did the ladle get in there?He rephrased that internal question, “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I checked it this morning to see if there was any identification. That . . . that thing.” She pointed to the ladle. “It was definitely not inside.”

“Okay, then. I’ve got the full story. I can work with that.”

Zoe shook her head and proceeded to walk. “I don’t want you to work with anything. What I want, Donovan, is for you and the woman who that purse belongs to to leave me alone.” She took off down the street.

He was probably risking a slap in the face, but he followed her back to the Ice Heaven, clutching the ladle in one hand and the bag in his other. “Do you know who this belongs to?” He waved the purse. “Because I’d like to save my masculinity and return it.” He added with a wink, “I might keep the ladle.”

Zoe stopped in front of her shop. “I have no clue who it belongs to.”

“But you want her to leave you alone. Am I missing something?” What wasn’t Zoe saying?

She threw her hands in the air. “All right. Fine. I think it was Mary’s, as in Mary Reed’s. That picture in the theater. It was hard to tell, but it looked like the same looped strap was around her shoulder.”

“You saw that in the picture?”

“Yep.”

“In that small black and white photo?” Wow, she must have eagle-eyed vision. He certainly hadn’t caught that detail.

Zoe pulled her coat in tight, blowing out a cold breath. “I don’t know . . . I think so.”

No wonder she had lost it back there. “So, if it’s Mary’s, why would there be a soup ladle in it? It probably belongs to some woman who purchased the ladle recently.”

She started to say something but stopped, turning her back to him and jamming her key in the door. “Just go, Donovan.”

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