by Lucy Quinn
His chuckle rolled over her again. “How about breakfast at the Salty Dog tomorrow? Say, ten? I know how you hate early mornings.”
“Ten at the Salty Dog sounds great,” she said.
“Okay, see you then.” And with that, the line went dead. Not big on pillow talk, are you, Cookie thought as she shoved the phone back into her pocket. But that was okay. Some guys were just like that, men of few words. But the words they did say carried an awful lot of weight.
She turned to head back into the living room and almost slammed face-first into Hunter’s chest. He’d walked up behind her so silently she hadn’t even heard him move. Now he stood glowering down at her, the smiles and gentleness of before nowhere in sight.
“Was that Dylan?” he demanded, and Cookie noted that his eyes had gone pitch black again, a sure sign that he was agitated.
For a second, she considered lying or just saying that it was none of his business. But that wouldn’t help anything. “Yes,” she answered honestly. “He called to ask me out for breakfast.”
“What’d you say?”
This time Cookie matched his glare with one of her own. “What do you think I said?” she snapped, irritated by his possessive attitude. “‘Oh, I’m sorry, I agreed to go on a date with Hunter so I can’t go on one with you because that might upset him?’” She snorted. “I said yes, of course.”
Hunter audibly ground his teeth, his jaw muscles visibly clenching, but she cut him off with a raised hand before he could speak.
“No, this is fair,” she pointed out. “And you said you don’t want to pressure me, that you want to let me make my own decision. Remember? Well, if I’m going to do that, I’ve got to see what it’s like with both of you, not just one of you.”
He continued to scowl, but after a moment he nodded. “Yeah, you’re right,” he admitted grudgingly, the words sounding like they’d been dragged forcibly out of him. “I don’t have to like it, though.”
“No, you don’t,” Cookie agreed. She reached up and patted him on the cheek. “Don’t worry, we’ll go to the salon afterward and see if we can find Brooklyn. Okay?”
“Oh, so he gets to take you to breakfast and I get to take you to question suspects?” Hunter rumbled. Then he stopped and considered his words before breaking into a sly smile. “You know what? I’m not so sure I’m not getting the better deal, there.”
“Shut up,” Cookie warned, punching him in the arm. But she was smiling too, and they both laughed as they returned to the living room, where Scarlett and Rain had now reappeared and stolen their seats by the fire.
It figured.
6
“Good morning.” Dylan rose from his seat as Cookie approached, and then stepped around the small table to pull her chair out for her. Cookie’s cheeks heated and she knew she was blushing as she slid past him and took the seat. It didn’t help that the few other people in the restaurant at this hour were watching them and smiling at the display.
“Thanks,” she told him as he returned to his own chair. “And good morning to you, too.”
“Not too early for you, I hope?” Dylan asked with a twinkle in his eye, and Cookie smiled. The first time she’d met him, while he’d been working on their porch, she’d been struck by his looks. With his trim build, glossy dark hair, sexy stubble, strong features, and blue-gray eyes, Dylan Creed was the kind of man women noticed. The second thing that had caught her attention had been his voice, which was rich and deep and rolling with that distinctive Maine accent, but still easy to understand. It was like the sea, she’d thought, calming and soothing and powerful, with hidden depths that could drag you down if you weren’t careful.
But then they’d talked—a little light flirting at first, followed by an abortive lunch and then a few other attempts to get together—and she’d discovered that there was a whole lot more to Dylan than just his looks and his voice. He was smart, for one thing. But he was also funny. He wasn’t a comedian or a joker, but he had a wry sense of humor she definitely appreciated. It was as understated as the rest of him, but once you got to know him a little, it fit perfectly with the rest of his calm, sharp-eyed, friendly nature, with just a little edge.
“I’ll manage,” she answered, turning her attention to the menu to hopefully hide her blush. She’d been to the Salty Dog numerous times—it was actually the only decent restaurant on the island—but their specialty was their lobster rolls. And while Cookie loved those, she didn’t think it would be the best choice for breakfast. Fortunately they also had more traditional morning fare, and she quickly settled on the three-cheese omelet so that she could turn her full attention back to the man sitting across from her.
“So,” she started then realized she wasn’t quite sure what else to say. “How’s business?” she finally said, which sounded a little inane even to herself but it was the best she could come up with.
Fortunately, Dylan didn’t seem to mind. “Business is good,” he replied easily, leaning back in his chair and waving a hand at the waitress, who quickly headed toward them. “Everybody’s got a tree they want up, or lights they need hung, or a walk they want shoveled. I’m up to my ears in it.” Dylan was the island’s resident all-purpose handyman. Which suited him, as Cookie had noted before. It gave him a wide variety of tasks, all physical, and kept him on the go, in demand, and never bored.
“You did a beautiful job with our lights,” she said just before the waitress reached them. They placed their orders, and then Cookie continued, “I’m amazed you got them up so fast.”
“Glad you like them,” Dylan replied with that smile that always lit Cookie up from the inside out. “Your mom thought it would be fun to surprise you with them.”
“It definitely did,” she agreed. “I got back and just stopped and stared. I might’ve even drooled.”
“Oh, I got drool?” Dylan joked. “Excellent.”
They both laughed. The waitress brought over a carafe of coffee, and Dylan poured a cup for Cookie before taking any himself. That was just the way he was, Cookie knew, but it was utterly charming. The last of the old-school gentlemen, she thought. Albeit in jeans and a flannel shirt.
She took a sip of her coffee, and sighed contentedly as the piping hot liquid warmed her insides. Then she asked, “Have you heard what my mother’s up to now?”
Dylan grinned in response. “You mean the Holiday Revue she and Winter have planned?” he asked, taking a sip himself. “Who do you think is setting up the lights and the sound system?”
“Oh, I see, you’re playing it safe by working backstage,” Cookie accused. She affected a pout but quickly spoiled it by grinning. “Can’t say I blame you, really.”
“Yeah, she asked, of course,” Dylan admitted, sitting back a little as the waitress brought their food.
Dylan shrugged. “I’m just not all that comfortable being up on a stage,” he said good- naturedly, digging into his omelet—he’d ordered the same thing she had. “Not unless I’m cleaning it or building it or attaching lights to it.”
“Gee, you don’t want to parade around in front of most of the women on the island, and maybe some of the men too, showing off your goods?” Cookie quipped, cutting a piece of her own omelet. “Shame on you.” She smiled at him as she forked the bite into her mouth.
“I know,” he said, nodding, his expression chagrinned. “Where’s my sense of civic duty?”
“Or your pride in your own appearance?” she shot back. “If you’re happy with the way you look, you should be prepared to show it. All of it.”
He speared her with a sharp glance. “Would you like that?” he asked, his voice husky. And for a second Cookie froze, another bite of food already halfway to her mouth, unable to think or breathe or look away from the question in his gray eyes. Then he smirked, letting her off the hook, and the moment passed. “I already know Rain would. She told me so.”
“Yeah, Mom’s always been good about being direct,” Cookie agreed with a snort. She shuddered a little. “Like at
my senior dance when she asked my date if he was hoping to get into my pants. And then when he was too tongue-tied to answer, she asked if he wanted to get into hers instead.”
“Ha! Wow.” Dylan shook his head. “Your mom is definitely one of a kind. I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like, growing up with her. But I like her,” he added, turning serious for a second. “And you have to know that she loves you and would do anything for you.”
Cookie’s fork clattered as she set it down to grab her mug. “I do know that,” she admitted quietly and took a sip of her coffee. “I love her, too. And to be honest, I don’t know that I’d really want her to change. If she did, she wouldn’t be her anymore, you know?” She sighed. “I do wish, sometimes, that she’d just… tone it down a little, though. Just a smidge.”
Dylan laughed. “Yeah, a smidge wouldn’t be a bad thing.”
They ate in silence for a minute or two after that. It was nice, though. That was the thing about being with Dylan, Cookie had discovered. She didn’t have to fill the air with talk, because the silence wasn’t awkward. It was comforting. It was knowing that he was there, ready to listen, but perfectly content to just be around without all the words.
After they’d both finished their breakfast and were sitting back enjoying a second cup of coffee, Cookie started the conversation going again. “Any plans for Christmas?” she asked. She frowned, eyeing the man across from her. “You’ve never said, but I’m guessing you don’t have any family close by?”
He shook his head. “No, both my parents passed years ago, and I was an only child. I’ve got some cousins scattered along the coast, a bit farther south in North Carolina and Georgia, but we’re not really close.” He smiled. “I’ll probably be busy right up to Christmas Eve, carrying last-minute deliveries to people, helping fix any holiday emergencies, things like that. Christmas Day I’ll just sleep in, make myself something to eat, maybe watch an old cheesy movie on TV.”
Cookie nodded. “It’s always just been Mom and me, no close family either, so our holiday isn’t usually much different from that. Though this time Scarlett’s here, so that’ll be nice.” She deliberately didn’t mention Hunter. Obviously Dylan knew his rival was back in town, but she didn’t see any reason to stir up trouble. Especially since she didn’t know how long this case was going to take, and there was a chance they’d have it solved and Hunter would be back in Philly before the holiday.
“I can see that,” Dylan said, nodding. “She’s great. And I’m sure you love having her here.”
Dylan thought Scarlett was great? For just a second Cookie felt a stab of jealousy, but she quickly shook it off. For one thing, her best friend was great. Just look at her taste in friends. For another, she wanted Dylan to like Scarlett and vice-versa. But the big thing was he hadn’t said it like he was interested in her. It hadn’t been a lust-filled “she’s great,” just a friendly one. And that was exactly what Cookie wanted to hear from him, at least as far as Scarlett was concerned. So why had she instantly gone into jealousy mode? What was wrong with her?
“So Dylan, what did you ask Santa to bring you for Christmas?” she asked, changing the subject.
He swept his gaze over her, his eyes heated in a way that made her mouth go dry. And suddenly she guessed she knew exactly what he wanted for Christmas. Clearing her throat, she raised one eyebrow and asked, “A new boat?”
Dylan laughed, just as she’d intended. “No, I think I’ll keep her around a while yet,” he replied easily, the sexual tension tucked away for another time. His boat was a small, simple thing, nothing fancy, but it was solid and it ran well and handled beautifully. A lot like its owner, Cookie couldn’t help noticing. “I hadn’t really thought about it,” he admitted after a second. “I don’t really do the whole gift thing with anyone anymore, haven’t in years. If I need something, I get it.” He shrugged. “If I want it, I ask myself if I really need it. If the answer is yes—”
“You get it,” Cookie cut in. “Seriously, though, there’s nothing you’d want? A new shirt? A new razor? Some exotic cheese you can only find in one particular shop in Amish country, Pennsylvania? Nothing at all?”
“The cheese does sound good,” Dylan replied with a chuckle. “I never turn down good food. Other than that?” he shrugged again. “Nah, I’m good.”
Then he leaned forward and took her hands in his. “What about you, though?” he asked softly. “What do you want for Christmas, Cookie?”
Again his eyes and his voice combined to render her momentarily speechless. When she recovered, though, she gave the question real thought. She didn’t think it would be fair to give a glib answer, not when he was obviously so sincere about wanting to know.
Finally she replied, “You know what I want for Christmas? French toast, bacon, and hot chocolate. That’s all.”
Dylan tilted his head to the side and studied her. “You want breakfast? That’s going to be tough to ship,” he joked. It was clear he didn’t quite get what she meant. So she explained.
“I just want a nice, quiet morning,” Cookie said. “Warm and cozy, with good food.” She sighed. “And one where nobody turns up dead and nobody winds up staring at my mother’s rack.”
That got a laugh out of him, but it was a warm, sympathetic one. “Ah,” he said slowly, stroking her hands. “Yeah, I can see where that’d have some definite appeal.”
Sitting there with him, talking and laughing and revealing details she didn’t share with too many people outside Rain and Scarlett, Cookie thought that the idea of a quiet, calm morning wasn’t the only thing around here that appealed to her. Then she realized that was exactly what she was getting now—only it was with a gorgeous man who was hanging on her every word.
Maybe for her, she pondered, Christmas had come a little early this year.
7
Eventually Dylan sighed. “I guess I need to let you go, huh?”
With a start Cookie realized that they were still holding hands. How long had they been like that, she wondered. She couldn’t recall. But it felt right—warm and safe and close—and without stopping to think she blurted out, “Don’t you dare.”
His lips twitched into an amused smile. “I thought you had to work,” he reminded her with a soft, raspy chuckle that made her smile all over. “Something about a dead body?”
“Oh. Yeah, that. I guess.” Reluctantly Cookie pulled her hands from his. He let her, but not before stroking the backs of her fingers one more time. She tried to hide the shiver that rippled through her, but from the way his smile widened, she suspected he’d noticed.
“I wouldn’t want to keep you from… ah, doing your job,” Dylan said as they both rose to their feet. And because this was a date, Cookie didn’t feel at all bad when he scooped up the check. She’d never objected to handsome men spending money on her. Well, handsome, single, likeable men without a criminal record. Now who’s being picky? She could practically hear Scarlett crowing in her ear.
But the truth was, no matter how high she’d set her standards, Cookie knew that Dylan would have cleared the bar. Easily. He was that kind of guy.
“What about you?” she asked, matching strides with Dylan as he led them toward the cashier at the end of bar. “Any excitement planned?”
“Absolutely,” he answered, handing the bartender their bill and some cash. “Let’s see, I’ve got to go bail out Mrs. Ledger’s basement. Again.”
“That woman needs a renovation,” Cookie said as they turned and headed toward the door. “Or a canoe.” She smirked at him. “Or maybe this is just her excuse to get you to come over.”
“Yep, she pokes holes in her pipes every time she’s lonely,” Dylan agreed. He held the door for her to step outside first then followed. “So I think it’s safe to say,” he continued once they were both outside, “that this will wind up being the highlight of my day.”
Cookie laughed then sobered. “Mine too,” she told him seriously. Then, before she could think too much about it, she leaned over
and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks.”
She pulled back, still feeling the gruffness of his stubble against her lips, and resisted the urge to lift a hand to her mouth to lock in the sensation.
Judging by the way Dylan’s eyes were sparkling, he had appreciated the gesture as well. “Okay,” he muttered, rubbing gently at that spot, “this is the high point.” Then he grinned. “Unless Mrs. Ledger kisses me, too. For an old lady, she’s got a wicked—”
“Don’t put that visual in my head!” Cookie cried, and she waved goodbye as she hurried away. His laughter followed her, and when she glanced back he was still standing there watching her go.
She smiled all the way back to the inn.
“Somebody’s in a good mood,” Hunter observed when Cookie strolled into her dining room. He was sitting at the table, the newspaper in front of him and a cup of coffee in his hand, but Cookie noted that the cup was empty and that the paper was still folded and untouched. He’d also placed himself so he had a perfect vantage through the living room and toward the hall. He’d been waiting for her to come back.
She wasn’t going to let his sour tone, or his obvious jealousy, bring her down, though. “Yes, I am,” she replied airily, striding forward and stopping at the chair opposite him. “I had a lovely breakfast, thank you for asking.”
“That good, huh? What’d he do? Dazzle you with his busy day of shoveling sidewalks?”
Cookie’s mouth fell open at his impressive display of pettiness. “Feel better?” she asked.
“No.” Hunter set his cup down and dropped all pretenses. “Not until you tell me he kept his hands off you. Did you let him kiss you?”
Cookie took a step back and held up her hand. “Oh, no,” she informed him. “You do not get to interrogate me like I’m a suspect or something. What happened on my date with Dylan is none of your business, just like any date I go on with you is none of his.” She glared at him, daring him to argue with her.