Page 6 of Holding on to Chaos
He was right. She was forgetting about Fitz’s unfortunate face-first skid down Lavender Street after the ice cream truck last month.
“Is Mayva okay? Was there much damage to the store?” Eva asked, changing the subject.
“Everyone’s okay,” Donovan assured her. “Mayva’s already planning a cruise when the insurance money comes in andCalvin Finestra and his crew start the reno.”
Eva breathed out a sigh. “I’m glad it wasn’t worse. I can’t believe all that happened over a grilled cheese.”
“I don’t know what got into her. Mayva’s been a vegan for thirty years, and today of all days, she gets a hankering for a grilled cheese.”
“I imagine weird things happen a lot in this town,” Eva predicted.
“You have no idea,” Donovan grinned.
The full wattage nearly killed her. Blinded, she reached for her mug to give her hands something to do and succeeded in sloshing it all over the counter.
Wordlessly, Donovan ripped a paper towel off the roll and mopped up her spill. He looked like he wanted to say something, but his phone rang.
“Cardona,” he answered briskly. She listened to his side of the conversation, a short series of “uh-huhs” and “yeahs.”
“Okay. Thanks, Minnie. I’m on my way.”
“Duty calls?” Eva asked, sliding off her stool and hoping for flirty and casual. It was hard to pull it off with a dishtowel of ice stuck to her head, but she gave it her best shot.
“Yeah, Garcia’s ferrets got out again. Snuck into Mrs. Duphraine’s house and terrorized her pitbull.”
“Poor Willoughby. Thanks for dropping off my things,” she said, escorting Donovan to the door.
He looked down at her, and her toes curled into the floor boards as she looked way, way up to meet his gaze.
“My pleasure,” he said, his voice husky.
He reached for the doorknob.
“Oh! Wait. Your shirt!” Eva grabbed the hem and pulled it over her head.
Donovan was staring at her like she’d just made a repeat performance of this morning.Geez. Hadn’t he ever seen a tank top before? Oh, shit.
She was topless again. The tank top came off with the t-shirt.
She clapped her hands over the lacey pink bralette that hid absolutely nothing from his cop eyes.
“Aunt Eva, why do I hafta wear clothes if you don’t?” Aurora, her niece and seven-year-old wannabe nudist, was standing on her doorstep.
Eva wrestled the tank out of Donovan’s shirt and yanked it over her head. He started to say something, but Eva knew there was nothing he could say that would make this situation less humiliating.
“Just go,” she said, hanging her head and pointing to the door. “Go before my pants fall off and my kitchen sink erupts in a geyser.”
The wise sheriff took his leave.
“Bye, Donovan,” Aurora yelled cheerfully after him.
CHAPTER FOUR
Donovan wanted a beer. And a curvy redhead to accompany him into a steaming hot shower. Only one of those things was going to happen tonight. Leaving the October afternoon behind him, he pushed open the station’s front door and breathed in the familiar scent. Stale coffee and new carpet.
His mother wouldn’t recognize the place, he thought, pouring himself a cup of hours-old coffee. The new coat of paint squeezed out of the budget had toned down the lavender walls—a color that some jokester a few decades ago decided would be soothing to prisoners. Not that Blue Moon ever really dealt with prisoners.
Hazel Cardona had put in her time as Blue Moon’s sheriff and never batted an eye at the feminine color that had clashed horrifically with the mossy green and yellow carpeting. Now the walls were a nice, plain beige and looked just fine with the slightly darker beige carpet. Donovan considered it a victory that the issue hadn’t been put up to a vote at a town meeting. His shoes would be cruising over some rainbow shag right now had the town had their say.
