“You can’t just look it up with your cop connections?”
He hesitated.
“I’m joking.”
We exchanged information and a half an hour later, I was inviting him into my home.
How the hell did this happen? I was so confused.
We unloaded the groceries and shared some idle chat. I wondered if he was as nervous as I was. He seemed right at home in my apartment, but his presence in the room just made the space feel even smaller than usual. Once all the groceries were put away, Officer Langley smiled at me.
“All right, where are these bookshelves?” He clapped his hands and rubbed them together like he was ready.
I was grateful I’d gathered all my laundry in the morning, and the dirty underwear and bras were in the dryer. The bed was unmade, but nothing too disastrous. Other than that, the room was filled with boxes, including the bookshelves. Had I really been living in this much clutter? It seemed like my stuff had multiplied while I was at the grocery store.
He pulled the first one out and went to work. I moved some of the other boxes, making room for him. When I turned around, he was right behind me. His hands shot out and grabbed my upper arms to steady me.
“I’m sorry. That was a big box, and I wanted to make sure you had it. I would hate for you to hurt yourself. I figure you need your body in good working order to run that bakery of yours, and I need those donuts to get through life.”
“You know, you’re a walking cliché,” I laughed. “A cop who eats donuts every day; though, with your body, it’s not like anyone actually can tell.” I slapped my hand over my mouth. Where the hell had that come from?
I certainly hadn’t been watching him bend over or lift. Or admiring the way his arms bulged. I definitely hadn’t found myself wanting to run my fingers over them.
I was lying to myself. The man was sculpted.
I’d kept myself busy organizing my boxes better and making room for the bookshelves, trying to not let my eyes wander too long.
“You’ve noticed my body?” he asked with a big smirk on his face. It made me want to reach over and knock that cocky grin right off.
“It’s obvious you work out.” I gestured at him from chest to feet. “It’s not difficult to see. Just like you can tell, I don’t.”
“I don’t know about that. Your arms look like they’re rock hard. And there’s nothing wrong with curves on a woman.”
“The arms are from kneading dough and stirring. The curves are from sampling way too much of my own product.”
He grinned, his eyes drifting down my body in slow appreciation. It should’ve made me uncomfortable. I should’ve wanted to push him out the door, but instead, I wanted him to find something better to do with his hands.
We went back to work, flirting on and off as we worked together. Until the first bookshelf was up, most of my help involved handing him tools and parts from the kit. When I started unpacking books, I finally felt like I was doing something useful.
Damon didn’t skip a beat once the second bookcase was up. He crossed the tiny apartment in a few steps, washing his hands as if it were the most natural thing in the world, then insisted on making lunch.
He moved around my dinky kitchen like it didn’t bother him in the slightest it was hardly bigger than a shoebox. In my perfect kitchen, there would be enough room for at least two people to work comfortably, double ovens powered by gas, and a huge island I could cover in baked goods, hot from the oven. Maybe even a highchair in the corner with little legs kicking with excitement every time I brought out another batch, and Damon wrapping his arms around me as I mixed up the batter.
Wait, why was Damon suddenly starring in my perfect kitchen fantasy? Sure, the man looked good chopping up veggies, his arms flexing with the motion of the blade. And the way he moved around my kitchen as if he was meant to be there. But that didn’t give him the right to impose on my fantasies.
“What made you decide to be a police officer?” I asked, sitting at the table, itching to get up and help.
Damon glanced back at me. He didn’t seem too sure if he was going to answer the question. With a flourish, he added oil to the hot skillet on the stove, then tossed in the chopped vegetables.
“I had a rough childhood. Bounced around from foster family to foster family, never giving them a reason to want to keep me.” He stirred food in the pan and grabbed another skillet to start the chicken. “I made a lot of mistakes. Didn’t see the good in anything because no one bothered to see the good in me. And when most people would’ve locked me up and thrown away the key, I had a team of people who were fighting hard for me to overcome my obstacles and do something better with my life. It took too many years to get my head out of my ass, but by sixteen, I realized I needed to do better, or I would end up dead or in jail somewhere. I cleaned up my act. Got into college.” He paused again, but his movements at my stove never stopped. It was like watching a dance.
“I still didn’t know what I wanted to do, but I was trying. Then one night, just before graduation, I was out with some friends. We got carjacked at gunpoint. The cop who stopped the guys almost got shot, but he saved a lot of people in the process. It became a way to give back. To try to make up for the time I spent terrorizing the community. I know I’ll never be able to make up for the things I did as a kid, but I’m at least trying to make other people’s lives better in the process.”
“Wow.” I stared at him for a few seconds, surprised he’d been so up front with me. “That’s quite the story. Did you have trouble convincing people you’d changed?”
“There are always people who don’t want to forgive, and that’s their prerogative. And there are people I wanted to convince who will probably never believe I changed. They think I’m a criminal cop and probably dirty. It sucks, but I have no one to blame but myself.”
“Do you feel like you’ve truly changed?”
He turned around and rested his rump against the counter while he surveyed me.
“I’m not going to hurt you or steal from you if that’s what you’re concerned about.”
“Oh God, no, that’s not what I meant at all.” I chewed on my lower lip. “My ex-boyfriend’s tried calling me a couple of times, telling me he’s changed. I don’t want to believe him. I don’t trust him enough to give him the ability to prove me wrong. But I also don’t want to hurt someone by not giving him another chance.”
“Do you want him back?”
“Definitely not.” I shook my head vehemently. “I just don’t want to be one of those people who doesn’t have enough character in them to forgive or to believe someone has changed. I really don’t think he has, and I don’t know if I care he has. I don’t want him in my life.”
“That’s a perfectly fair reaction. You don’t owe him anything. He had his chance with you, and he blew it. It’s his incredible loss.”
“You know, you don’t really know anything about me, Officer Langley.”
“I know enough. Plus, I’m a police officer. I’m trained to size people up pretty quickly. I know you’re honest, kind, intelligent, and have a big heart. Everyone around town knows Poppy, and her energy is one in a million, but there you are, training her to be a baker, helping her change. Her life is better because you’re in it. You’re allowing her to grow, and you’re teaching her. That sort of ability is priceless, and not everyone has it.”
“Poppy’s hyper, but she’s good in the kitchen. Once she finds her rhythm and learns to trust herself a bit, she’s going to be an amazing baker. She’ll run circles around me. I’m lucky to have her as an apprentice.”
“That’s what I’m talking about. You’re pretty amazing, Ms. Maraschino.”
“So formal.”
“You keep calling me Officer Langley. I can’t decide if you’re mocking me, trying to keep me at a distance, or just unsure of us.”
When he said “us,” my insides fluttered with excitement. The more time I spent with him in such close quarters, the more I
really wanted to spend, but in a better fashion than building furniture. I felt so frumpy in my jeans and camisole. My hair was always pulled up in a ponytail. Now, I wish I’d put on makeup and left my hair down before I left for the store this morning.
“I’m unsure, but it’s also just fun to call you Officer Langley.”
He smiled and set a plate of food in front of me. It smelled amazing.
“Wow. Where you’d learn how to cook?”
“My foster mom taught me. The one who got me across that stage at graduation.” He smiled as if his memories of her were some of the best he had. “She didn’t want me to be the type of bachelor who ate out every day. I cook most nights, but I’m not a morning person.”
“So, you come to me for coffee and donuts?”
“That’s definitely one of the reasons why I come into the bakery.” There was that poignant eye contact again like he was trying to tell me something. “Cherry, may I ask you a very personal question?”
My mouth went dry, and I tried to swallow around the lump bobbing up and down in my throat. “Um, sure.”
“Would you go out with me? On a real date?”
His wording threw me off, and my comment flew out of my mouth before I had a chance to really think it through. “Are you insinuating this is a fake date?”
The corners of his mouth curved up again, making me want to sass him even more. “I wanted to see if there was something really here or if I’d just imagined all of it.”
“All of what?” My heart was beating so fast, I was sure it was just going to give up from the exertion.
“All the chemistry between us. The more time I spend with you, the more time I want to spend with you. I’m going to have to leave soon for a session with my little brother, so I didn’t want to leave here without asking.” He watched me for a moment. “This is your house, and if I’ve made you uncomfortable, I’m happy to leave. I don’t want you to feel cornered in your own home, but I didn’t want time to get away either.”
I wrung my hands together. I wanted to tell him “yes,” but everything inside of me was panicking. And I didn’t want to give him an answer too quickly. I needed time to think about it.
“I’ll tell you what. Let’s finish our lunch. I’ll clean up, then I’ll be out of your hair. When I come in for my coffee and donut tomorrow, you can let me know your answer. That way, it’ll be quick and painless for you whatever you decide. There’s no pressure. I’m not going to stop buying donuts.” He grinned. “I can’t let the best baker in town go under.”
I managed a smile. “Okay, we’ll talk about it tomorrow morning.”
“Okay.”
We finished our meal talking, and he kept the conversation moving, from stalling out and becoming awkward. I was grateful because all I could think about was what it would be like if he kissed me. If he kept showing me just how much our chemistry was going to give us pleasure. My bed was twenty feet across the room. It would be so easy to have fun, then he could leave, just like that. But I didn’t want that either, not really. I hadn’t been with anyone since Michael, but the sex with him had never been that pleasurable, anyway. In fact, I gave myself the best orgasms of my life. Even if it seemed to be more common than not, I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be with a guy who put my pleasure before his own. Damon Langley seemed like he’d be that sort of guy.
“Thank you for all your help. Lunch was incredible, and the bookshelves are actually level,” I smiled, walking him to the door. “Thank you again, Officer Langley.”
“Ms. Maraschino, it was my pleasure.” Leaning down, he kissed my cheek. “And I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”
The kiss zinged all the way to my core. My cheeks heated, and I wished I could blame the warmth in my apartment. But it was all him.
“You too, Damon.” I was surprised to hear how husky my voice was as I said his first name.
He headed out and looked back before disappearing down the stairwell. I headed back into my apartment and closed the door, leaning back against it, trying to catch my breath. It was a freaking kiss on the cheek, and already, he had my panties in a twist and damp. Could it really be so easy with someone? Or was tragedy and disaster waiting around the corner like it was every time I dated someone?
I gathered my wits and went back to work on my apartment. I needed to not think about Damon Langley for five minutes… Instead, I thought about him for the next seventy-two minutes while I set up my movie collection and hung a couple of prints on the wall.
4
Damon
Jamal actually showed up for our basketball game this time.
I kept my smile to myself as I checked the ball to him.
“How was working with Coach today?” The baseball coach for Jubilee Falls was a washed-up, minor-league player, but he knew talent when he saw it, and it hadn’t taken me long to convince him to let Jamal work with him over the summer, crunching stats. I suspected it was because Coach Traeger hadn’t made it to the majors, so instead, he wanted to see if he could get an up-and-comer in.
“Man, Coach don’t know what he got on that team.” He dribbled the ball a couple times before he checked it to me. “He had his best pitcher playin’ short stop.”
I checked the ball back to him. “I hope you told him that.”
“Coach got me lookin’ at the whole line up. It ain’t right yet, but them boys gonna win more games this season.”
I smirked a little as I blocked him from getting to the basket. The way he was talking, he had no idea he’d actually found something he was passionate about, something he could use his math genius and his love of sports to succeed.
“You think you might want to keep working with him on other sports?” I asked, instead of pointing it out.
He dodged out of my way and sunk the ball in the hoop. “Somebody gotta help him. Coach is hopeless, yo.”
I chuckled and grabbed the ball. “You think you might want to play ball next year for the school?”
He rolled his eyes. “I ain’t got the money for that.” He stole the ball back and spun out, to put in an easy lay-up.
“Is that the only thing holding you back?” I had a feeling there was more than just money keeping him from signing up, but I needed him to see it. Just like I had needed to realize on my own, it was up to me to accept help, to see the people who really cared for me.
Jamal dribbled the ball, not making a move for the basket again. It was like the rhythmic thud of the orange ball smacking against the concrete of the court mimicked his mind, churning through things.
“I ain’t signing up for nothin’ when I don’t even know if I’m gonna be in this town next year.”
And there it was.
I moved forward and stole the ball from him. “What’s going on at the Jones’s?”
Jamal frowned and walked to the sidelines, sinking down on the bench. “They ain’t gonna wanna keep me. No one ever wanna keep me, man.”
I sat next to him and dropped the ball between my feet. “I felt the same way when I was your age.”
“Yeah, right.” Jamal rolled his eyes. “You probably had the perfect family, just like everyone in Jubilee Falls.”
I turned and looked at him. “Eventually, I did. But it took twelve foster families and a couple of almost trips to juvie before I found it.” I hadn’t shared much of my history with Jamal because I didn’t want to tarnish our bonding, but maybe I was looking at it all wrong. “I know what it’s like to feel unwanted, what it’s like to not have a family.”
“You do?”
I nodded.
Jamal stared at me like I was an alien, someone he didn’t recognize anymore. “You were a foster kid?”
I spent the rest of our evening talking to him about when I was a teenager. I didn’t sugarcoat it, and I didn’t try to hide who I was then. With Jamal only seeing who I was now, he was missing half the picture. I wasn’t always a cop. I wasn’t always in control. And he needed to hear it was possible to
turn his life around, move beyond being a street kid or a teenager with a temper. Even if that temper put someone in the hospital.
By the time I drove him back to the Jones’, Jamal was quiet. He stared out of the car window, tapping his fingers on his thigh to a beat only he heard.
When I pulled up to the curb in front of his foster house, I threw the car into park.
“You know, Dan and Jenny are good people. I bet if you talked to them, showed them you wanted to stick around for a while, they’d work with you.”
“Whatever, man,” Jamal shrugged “We playin’ ball again next week?”
“You got it.”
I watched as he headed into the house. For the first time in weeks, I had hope he really was going to turn it around.
Another sleeplessness night. Between worrying about Jamal and thinking about Cherry, sleep was more elusive than a unicorn under a full moon.
I needed coffee more than ever.
When I remembered I was supposed to see Cherry, I perked up. I wondered if she would give me an answer or if she would avoid it. She seemed apprehensive, but at the same time, when I kissed her cheek, I saw the flames of heat hit her cheeks. It didn’t look like her embarrassed expression, but I was still learning a lot about Cherry.
After a shower, I grabbed my bag and headed to the station. Karina was already there—she was always beat me there. I met her in the squad car, and we headed out.
“I need to make a stop…”
“I figured as much,” Karina chuckled. “I saw the two of you at the grocery store, falling in love in the pasta aisle.”
“You’re such an asshole.”
“Maybe. But it was good to see you smiling. You don’t do that a lot. Not really. And the last six months especially I feel like you’ve been avoiding. Why did you finally decide to go back in there?”
“I don’t know. I hated not seeing her, and I just couldn’t take it anymore. But I thought I was being a crazy person. She doesn’t know anything about me, not really.” I sighed. “I tried to show her a little more of myself yesterday while I was helping her build bookshelves. She’s definitely on guard though.”
For Love and Donuts Page 4