Page 14 of Just Desserts in Pelican Point
Chapter6
Marcus
Istop by the bakery again.
Third time this week. I tell myself it’s routine. That I’m only checking on a business owner who recently experienced a loss. Making sure everything’s in order. It’s part of the job. Community policing, or whatever term the brass likes to throw around to make it sound official.
But I know the truth… I just want to see her.
It’s early. The scent of cinnamon rolls hits me before I even push open the door. The overhead bell chimes as I step in, and Julie looks up from behind the counter. Her eyes brighten for a fraction of a second before she catches herself, schooling her expression into something more neutral. But I saw it hit my chest with a wave of warmth I wasn’t prepared for.
"Officer King," she says, her voice light, teasing.
"Marcus," I remind her, fighting a smile.
She grins. "You keep showing up like this, people are going to think you’re addicted to sugar."
"And caffeine… don’t forget the caffeine."
She laughs, and the sound wraps around something tight in my chest and makes it loosen.
"Black coffee and a danish? Or are you going to be bold and try the peach turnover today?"
"Just the coffee and raspberry danish," I say.
She tsks. "Creature of habit."
I accept the paper cup and pastry she hands me. Our fingers brush. It’s less than a second, but I feel the sensation shoot through my body. I tell myself to walk away, to get back to work, but my feet stay planted.
"You doing okay?" I ask.
She shrugs. "I have my moments. The funeral’s coming up. That’s been rough."
I nod, unsure what to say. I don’t do grief well. I know how to bury it. Box it up and shelve it for later. But Julie? She wears it on the outside for the world to see and somehow it makes her stronger.
"Do you ever build tables?" she asks suddenly.
I blink. "What?"
She jerks a thumb toward the back. "I could use a sturdy worktable in my storage room. The folding one I have now wobbles like it’s got a death wish. You know... if you’ve got the time."
"I might."
She smiles, bright and warm and utterly disarming. "Well then, Officer Marcus King, if you have time, I’d like to commission one."
"Are you commissioning it with cash or baked goods?"
"Depends. Are you more motivated by money or muffins?"
I arch a brow. "Depends on the muffins."
"You haven’t lived until you’ve had my lemon blueberry."
A beat of silence stretches between us, not awkward, just charged. The air shifts.
"Alright," I say, surprising both of us. "I’ll build you a table."
Her smile could power the town and the wall of ice around my heart starts to melt.
