by Devney Perry
Molly paced back and forth by my prep table for a few moments, fidgeting with her hands. When she stopped walking, she planted both hands on the table. “Okay. I can see how that would be weird, but the fact still stands. You like him.”
I shrugged. “He’s cute. But I don’t like him.”
“Cute?”
“Smoking hot. Whatever. None of that matters. I am in no place to be liking a man.”
She sighed and left the table, coming to stand right in front of me. Then she placed her hands on my shoulders. “Okay. I’ve been saving this speech for a day like today.”
“I’m scared right now.”
“Shush and listen up.” She took a breath and started reciting something she’d clearly practiced a time or twelve. “You are my best friend and I love you. I want you to be happy and have love in your life. Jamie would have wanted you to be happy and have love in your life. And I think it’s time for you to open your heart again to that possibility.”
“It’s too soon.” I shook my head. Even thinking about being with another man made my heart hurt. I couldn’t do that to Jamie. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
“Poppy,” Molly whispered, “at some point, a man was going to come along and catch your eye. There’s nothing wrong with that. There’s nothing wrong with you exploring something with that guy. It’s not a betrayal to Jamie.”
The lump in the back of my throat started to choke. “It feels like it though. I can’t do that to him.”
“I understand. I really do. We all loved Jamie. We all miss Jamie. But it’s been five years. You’re going through his list to try and move on, right?”
I nodded.
“The list is a good thing, you know I support you in that. But just marking off all Jamie’s check boxes isn’t going to be enough. At some point, you have to live for you too. That’s how you’re going to move on.”
“But I . . .” I wanted to move on, but I was scared to move on. As much as I wanted to be happy and let go of the past, I was terrified that I’d lose the piece of Jamie still in my heart.
“But what?”
I took a deep breath and confessed the worries that had kept me from sleeping last night. “What if I fall in love with another man and forget Jamie?”
She gave me a sad smile. “Do you really think that would ever happen?”
“No,” I sighed. “Not really. I’m just scared.”
“I get that. But I’m not saying jump into bed with Cole or have his babies. I’m just saying, you think he’s cute. From the look in his eye, he thinks you’re cute too. You two should spend some time being cute together.”
“Okay. I officially hate the word cute.”
“Me too.” She laughed. “So what do you say? Have dinner with him. Do it for me. Pleeeeease?”
I groaned. “Stop that. Now you sound like Kali.”
“Where do you think I learned it? She says ‘please’ so long and loud I always give in. Do you want me to do it again? I’ll do it again. Pleeeee—”
“Okay! Since I’m already making myself a sandwich, I’ll make him one too.”
“Yes!” she cheered before pulling me into her arms. “Love you, Poppy-bear.”
I smiled at the nickname she’d given me my freshman year in college. “Love you too, Molly-moo.”
“How about I finish up out there and close up? Then you guys can eat back here.”
I let her go. “All right. Will you give me a minute before you send him back?”
“I’ll give you two.”
As she disappeared from the kitchen, my hands came to my cheeks and I took a few long breaths.
Dinner. This was just dinner.
Dinner with an acquaintance at my new restaurant. Cole and I could chat and make small talk while we ate. Then he’d leave and I could get back to work. Dinner didn’t mean anything. I was still Jamie’s wife. I’d always be Jamie’s wife, and there was nothing wrong with me cooking a meal for Cole.
This is just dinner.
My affirmations helped ease my anxiety but didn’t erase it entirely. So I did the next best thing to settle my racing heart—I started cooking.
I dropped my hands and went to the large, stainless-steel refrigerator. Then I pulled out the ingredients for grilled cheese sandwiches, piling food on the prep table. I’d gathered all of my supplies when the door swung open and Cole stepped into the kitchen.
“I was told to get out of her dining room if I wanted food.”
I giggled. “She has a way with customers, that one.”
He smiled and stepped up to the prep table. “I can go if this is a pain in the ass. I really did just want to say hi and check out your place.”
“You’re hungry. I’m hungry. Making you dinner is not a pain in the ass. How about a grilled cheese? They aren’t on the menu, but I’ve been told they don’t suck.”
“Considering I haven’t eaten since ten this morning, I’d eat just about anything.”
“Busy day?”
He sighed. “Busy year. Bozeman’s growing so fast that we’re a little understaffed with senior officers. I made detective last summer and it’s been hectic ever since.”
“Is that why you don’t have to wear a uniform anymore?” I waved at his casual clothes. When I’d seen him five years ago, he’d been in uniform.
“Yeah.”
I nodded and started slicing a tomato.
“Can I help?”
“I’ve got this. You can just relax.” I pointed to the stools next to the table.
Cole took his seat and rested his elbows on the table. As I cut slices off a block of cheese, his tan, sinewy forearms were right in my line of sight. On one wrist sat a watch with a huge silver face. I bet my fingers wouldn’t touch if they took the place of his watch.
My eyes wandered up from his wrists and forearms to his biceps. Cole’s arms were big but not bulky. The muscles were just perfectly defined, even underneath the cotton of his shirt. My hand would look tiny resting on his arm. My cheeks flushed when I realized I’d been staring for a moment too long.
I blinked and looked down at the table, then up at Cole’s face.
Damn. He’d caught me staring. The smirk in his eyes was unmistakable, but I didn’t look away. His eyes were too . . . fascinating.
I’d never seen green eyes like Cole’s before. The color reminded me of dried sage, and his dark, thick lashes made them even more dramatic. His face drew you in with his chiseled jaw and straight nose, but those eyes were what made you stay.
My heart was pounding as I set down the knife, but I couldn’t break away from Cole’s eyes.
And he stared right back.
Molly came bursting through the kitchen door, making me jump. “All clean and locked up.”
I scrambled to pick up my knife, then blinked a few times before cutting a slice of bread. “Thank you. Would you like something to eat? I’m making your favorite sandwich.”
Stay. Molly, stay. I willed her to come to my rescue, to take the stool next to Cole and be my buffer, but she kept on walking toward the office.
“Can’t do it. My bathtub is calling my name. I’ll see you in the morning. Cole, nice meeting you.”
He waved. “Nice to meet you too.”
She disappeared into the office, then came back with her purse slung over a shoulder. “Bye!”
“Night.” The minute the back door slammed shut, a new rush of jitters hit. I was alone with a handsome man who was not my husband.
My kitchen, something I’d designed to be large and spacious, was suddenly too small. The air conditioning that I kept running on high must have just quit working because my entire body was on fire. And I had forgotten how to make a grilled cheese sandwich as the knife sat motionless in my hand.
“What did you think of karate last night?” Cole asked, breaking the silence.
Dinner. This is just dinner. Breathe.
I forced some air into my lungs, then pushed away from the table to turn on the flat-iron grill. “
It was interesting but I’m already getting sore. Especially my arms. I imagine by tomorrow my entire body will be on strike.”
He chuckled. “Yeah. It’s a tough workout. Are you sure you won’t try it again?”
“I’m sure.” I went back to the table and brushed four slices of bread with some olive oil, then spread on a thin layer of homemade pesto before adding the cheese and tomato. “To be honest, I only came for a one-time deal. I hope that doesn’t offend your instructor.”
“Nah, he doesn’t care. But why only the one time? Was it a dare or something?”
“It’s, um . . . from this list.”
“A list?”
Explaining Jamie’s birthday list was so personal that only a few people knew about it. Even fewer knew I was going through it myself. Yet, for some reason, I wanted to tell Cole. “My husband, Jamie, he put together this birthday list. It was like his bucket list, except he separated out everything to do by year before certain birthdays. Taking a karate class was something he wanted to do before he turned twenty-six.”
Cole nodded. “And you’re going through his list.”
“I am.” I was ready to defend the list and why I was going through it, but his eyes weren’t full of concern or judgment or questions. They just . . . understood.
He understood without a word.
“Interesting idea. What else is on this list, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Not at all.” I resumed sandwich assembly. “Jamie put twenty-two things on the list. Most of them are silly, but totally him. He added some things he found on the internet he thought sounded cool. Others were goofy things he dreamed up or things he didn’t get to do as a kid. Jump in green Jell-O. Have a paint fight. Things like that. Some were more serious, like buying me this restaurant.”
Cole leaned over to pluck three oranges out of the fruit bowl on the table. “Have you done many of them yet?”
“No, not even close.” I smiled as he started juggling the oranges. “I’ve only marked off three. The restaurant. The karate class. And skydiving.”
Cole dropped an orange and it rolled across the table. “Skydiving?”
I laughed at the shock on his face. “You’re not the only one surprised I did it. But yeah. I went last month.”
While Cole picked up the fallen orange and resumed juggling, I took the sandwiches to the grill, setting them down on the hot metal. Then I rushed out of the kitchen and into the dining room, where all of the lights were off and the sign on the door had been flipped to Closed. With two sets of silverware and a couple of plates, I hustled back into the kitchen to set down the place settings and flip the sandwiches. Then I went to the fridge and got out a jar of salad.
“Here.” I handed the jar to Cole. “Use those muscles and shake this up.”
He grinned and put back his oranges before he started shaking. “Okay. Back to skydiving. You left me with a cliffhanger.”
I smiled. “It was the one item on the list that scared me, so I decided to just get it over with before I chickened out.”
He slid the salad jar across the table. The dressing that had been underneath a layer of vegetables and lettuce was now coating the glass. “And what did you think?”
“I actually loved it. The pilot said something before I jumped that really clicked. He said, ‘If you want to go swimming, you get out of the boat. Same is true with flying. You have to get out of the plane.’ So I did. I was strapped to this hippy with dreadlocks and bad breath, but he was so cool. The whole crew made it fun.”
“Would you ever go again?”
“Nope.” I popped the p to emphasize my point. “I had fun, but once was enough. Have you ever been?”
He shook his head. “No, but now I want to.”
I smiled and went back to the sandwiches, taking them off the grill. Then I dumped half of the salad on Cole’s plate and half on mine, sliding him his plate before taking the stool at his side. “Dig in.”
“This looks great. Thank you for doing this.”
“You’re welcome.”
We ate in silence, both of us concentrating on the food and listening to the hum of my kitchen appliances. But our meal didn’t take long since both of us had been so hungry.
Cole swallowed the last bite of his sandwich. “So. Jars?”
“Jars.”
“I like it. I’ll have to come back and try your desserts.”
I smiled. “I recommend the apple pie.”
His eyes, locked on mine, darkened a shade. “I’ll take whatever you’ll give me.”
27th Birthday: Go an entire day without technology
Cole
Two weeks had passed since the night I’d spent in Poppy’s kitchen, and she’d been on my mind the entire time. One meal with her and I was completely under her spell.
After we’d finished our sandwiches, she’d set aside our dishes and filled the table with jars and baking ingredients. And I’d stayed in her kitchen, watching her cook until one in the morning.
When she had asked if I needed to get home, I’d said no. When she’d thanked me for coming in, I’d said you’re welcome and kept my ass on that stool.
She’d never asked me to leave, and I’d never offered.
So while she’d made trays of pies, crumbles and quiches, I’d assumed dishwasher duty. I had done my best to focus on the sink rather than on the way her jeans stretched tight over her ass. I’d scrubbed pots to ignore the inch of her flat stomach she exposed whenever she reached for the top shelf of her storage rack. And when she’d licked apple-pie filling from a spoon, I’d scoured a pan until my knuckles were raw to resist the urge to kiss her pink mouth. When she’d declared she was done for the night, finally putting me out of my misery, I’d walked her outside and stood by the building while she’d gotten in her car and driven away.
Then I’d gone home to take a shower and relieve my aching dick. I’d come hard in my fist, thinking of the way Poppy’s breath hitched whenever I’d gotten close.
My attraction to her was stronger than I’d ever felt toward a woman, which is why I’d backed off these last two weeks.
As much as I wanted to spend every night in her restaurant, it would only scare her away.
Poppy was attracted to me. She felt the chemistry between us.
And it terrified her.
If my intuitions were right—and they usually were—I was the first man she’d been attracted to since her husband, and if I wanted the chance to explore things with her, I couldn’t spook her by moving too fast.
I didn’t know where we’d end up. Maybe she’d be a clean freak and drive me crazy. Maybe she’d want to cuddle at night when I just wanted some space. Maybe she’d smack her gum too loud, something I couldn’t fucking stand. I didn’t know.
But I wanted the chance to find out.
“Hey, Cole.”
I looked up from my desk—where I’d been daydreaming about Poppy and ignoring my paperwork—and nodded to Detective Matt Hernandez. “Hey, Matt. What’s happening today?”
He dropped into the seat behind his desk adjacent to mine. “Not much.” He slapped down a thick file on top of a stack five deep. “I’ve gotta get through all these today. You?”
“Same.” I patted my own stack of files. “I’ve been procrastinating.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, me too. I spent all morning running down some leads on a theft case assigned to Simmons.”
I looked over my shoulder and frowned at Derek Simmons, who was sitting five desks down. When I turned back to Matt, he was frowning at Simmons too.
“That theft case might actually get solved if you’re looking into it.”
He huffed. “At least I’m trying.”
I spun and glanced at Simmons again. He was shoving a donut—a fucking maple bar of all things—into his mouth. The arms of his desk chair were digging into his sides and his ass was ballooning through the small space between the seat and the backrest.
Simmons didn’t have stacks of paperwork on h
is desk, just donut crumbles, because he was the only detective that put a priority on paperwork over fieldwork. It was no wonder his closed-case rate was the lowest in the department. He never left that desk to actually ask any fucking questions.
But he wasn’t going anywhere, no matter how much the rest of us bitched. Simmons had been on the force for nearly thirty years. He’d die sitting in that chair while the rest of us busted our asses solving our own cases and picking up the slack on the ones assigned to him.
“Lazy,” I muttered, turning back around.
“Uh-huh,” Matt agreed, then jerked his chin at my files. “What do you have?”
“I’ve got one theft and six drug busts we caught last week on the task force.”
“Nice. Sounds like you guys are off to a good start.”
“Hell yeah, we are.” I grinned. “I’ve got six busts, Higgins has four, Smith has five, and Colton two. I’m telling you, having an ex-dealer on our side has been gold. Now that we know what kinds of things to look out for, it’s been a fuck of a lot easier to find out where deals are going down.”
“That was a smart move on your part—getting that ex-dealer to come on board.”
I nodded. “Without him, we’d be at square one.”
I’d gotten lucky when we’d been planning the drug task force last year. Our focus was solely on the meth trade in Bozeman, and I’d known an ex-junkie/dealer who’d been needing some encouragement to get clean. I’d gone out on a limb and personally paid for his rehab. He’d cleaned up and come back a new man.
He’d also come back as my teacher.
I’d spent months with him, learning all about the meth trade and getting names of top producers and dealers. He’d taught me the clues. What to watch for on social media. Street lingo to listen for. Common places for quick exchanges.
Because of his help, my task force was finally starting to put a dent in the meth trade that had gone crazy in Bozeman over the last decade.
My dad had been begging the powers that be for years to get funding to start this task force. It hadn’t been until a middle-school kid—a fucking eighth grader—had overdosed last year that the town had gone into hysterics and Dad had finally gotten some money to kick us off.