Page 51 of All the Missing Pieces

I did my best to give him a warm smile, even though I didn’t feel it. “The podcaster.” I didn’t always like the termreporter. It felt stuffy and removed.

The man shook his head. “You need to keep on moving. No one wants you here. Let sleeping dogs lie.”

His words hit. They wouldn’t normally, but I was already feeling raw from the night before.

“Aw, Norm, quit it. You need your daily dose of prune juice because your bullshit’s backing up,” the second man said.

My gaze moved to him as a hint of my earlier smile returned. He wore a button-down shirt and suspenders that were decorated with chess piece doodles. He extended a hand. “I’m Sam, and this ornery bastard is Norman, but you can call him Norm.”

“Hi, Sam. I’m Ridley.”

“You keep talking to her, and she’s probably going to name you the kidnapper,” Norm snapped.

“I got nothing to hide, you idiot,” Sam shot back.

Norm let out a huff. “That’s what you think. Just wait till your name is all over everyone’s genius phones and those TV pads.”

Sam stared at his friend for a long moment. “You mean smartphones and tablets?”

“I can’t keep up with the terms,” Norm groused.

“Get with the times or be left behind, you Neanderthal.”

They kept up their bickering as I backed away to my table. But I put Sam on my list of folks to approach for an interview. I’d just have to do it when his buddy Norm wasn’t around. I had a feeling Norm would tackle me to the ground before letting me pull out my microphones.

I got settled at the small table, setting up my laptop and notebook. While I kept all my files and notes digitally, I loved the feel of paper and pen. Something about it was satisfying.

“Here you go,” Ezra said, sliding my plate and coffee onto the table.

The scent was heavenly, and my stomach growled. I realized I’d skipped dinner last night, never a smart move for me. Maybe that’s part of what had caused me to slam the door in Colt’s face.

Just thinking his name conjured an image of the man in my mind. Those fathomless eyes darkening to black. The anger pulsing off him in waves.

“You okay?”

My gaze snapped up to Ezra. “Sorry. I think this hash put me in a trance. It smells amazing.”

He chuckled. “I’ll be sure to tell the chef.”

As Ezra walked away, I dug in and nearly moaned. The hash had bacon, cheddar, peppers, onions, potatoes, and eggs over easy. And as much as I’d learned to master the kitchen over the past few years, this dish gave me a run for my money.

A shadow fell over my table. One large enough that I resisted looking up. Or maybe it was the tiniest scent of bergamot and cloves. It cut through the air and the more overwhelming smells of coffee and breakfast foods. And it was one that my subconscious recognized before I did.

“Ridley.”

The deep rasp skated over my skin in a way that had all my nerve endings standing at attention. Even the ones in my traitorous nipples.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I swallowed my bite of cowboy hash and looked up. Colt looked like shit but somehow still managed to be gorgeous. The dark circles under his eyes only made the deep brown look more alluring and hypnotic. The thicker scruff covering his jaw only made him look more rugged. And the sheriff’s uniform he wore clung to those damned broad shoulders like usual.

And worse? I missed him calling me Chaos. Missed that sort of shit-talking banter we’d developed. I was an idiot.

“Sheriff,” I greeted.

Colt’s jaw clenched, making a dimple pop in his cheek, as if he were annoyed by the formal moniker. “I wanted to apologize?—”

“Don’t,” I snapped.

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