Page 1 of Better Late Than Never

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paisley

“Ooh, they’ll love that, Mrs. M,” I said into the phone, my heels clicking as I power-walked down Main Street. “Just make sure you don’t use onions. Everett hates them.”

Mrs. McClusky’s disapproving sigh echoed through the phone. I could imagine her furrowed brow and tight-lipped smile, one that always held a hint of kindness. “That boy just doesn’t understand the beauty of onions. You understand, though, right?”

I sauntered to the door of the Caffeinated Squirrel, beaming at an elderly couple on their way out. Mr. and Mrs. Granger owned the hardware store down the street, and every time I saw them around town, I couldn’t help but chuckle at their shameless displays of affection. Even after all these years, they still had that googly-eyed look like they were fresh off the Ferris wheel at the country fair.

But as I graciously held the door for them, none of that love was in their eyes today. Instead, the Grangers gave me the kind of look I’d deserve if I’d sneezed on them instead of smiling. Then—faster than I thought they could move—they skirted around me like I had a sign around my neck warning them to maintain a six-foot distance. Holding hands, they bolted away.

“Sorry,” I mumbled into the phone as I stepped into the bustling cafe. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods filled the air, but it wasn’t as sweet thanks to that run-in with the fairly odd couple. “What was that about the beauty of onions, Mrs. M?”

“Well, you know most people wouldn’t take a bite out of a raw onion like they would an apple,” she explained, her retired-teacher voice in full swing, “but I’ll tell ya, a good onion can bring a dish from average to downright finger-lickin’. Cook it up just right, mix it in with the rest of your ingredients...heaven.”

I couldn’t help but adore this eccentric old woman, but right now, my job wasn’t to adore her. My job was to organize a meal plan for a pair of new parents that I cared deeply for, and I was nothing if not a problem-solver. And Mrs. M insisting on serving onions to Everett Wilson? That was a big problem.

“All the same, Mrs. M, the point of Everett and Laney’s meal train is to make them meals they’ll enjoy while settlin’ in with their new baby. If you put onions in there, Everett’s just gonna go out for a burger instead of eatin’ it.”

I hoped the sound of chatter and clinking cups muffled my laughter as I got in line at the counter. I scanned the room for anyone I knew, finding a group of old men at a corner table, sipping their coffees while playing a game of chess. In another corner, a mother with two young children sat with her hands full of sippy cups and coloring books.

But then my eyes landed on two of my favorite people. I waved to Riley and Aubree, mouthing, “Mrs. M,” while pointing to the phone.

“Fine,” the woman in question bit out as Aubree gave me a knowing smile. “I won’t put the onions, but Iamincludin’ a note that says he doesn’t know what he’s missin’.”

A chuckle bubbled up in my chest, but it died in my throat when I took in the figure before me. Dressed head to toe in thatsharp Charlotte Oaks Police Department getup and standing tall as an old oak, there stood the very last soul I wanted to tangle with today.

Or any day, for that matter.

In fact, I’d rather chomp into a raw onion and call it an apple.

Remembering that I was still on the phone with Mrs. McClusky, I averted my gaze from the back of Adam Wilson’s head. “You should definitely include a note.”

“I will.”

“In fact, maybe you could add a little somethin’ like ‘Congrats on the new baby,’ too,” I teased.

Mrs. M laughed. “Uh-huh. But just so you know, when it comes time for Jackson and Bailey’s meal train, I’m leavin’ in the onions.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied, then rolled my eyes when I heard the massive order Officer Awful had just placed.

Clearly, Adam was the gofer for the rest of the department today, and that meant I’d have to wait even longer for my third coffee of the day.

The nerve.

Adam peered over his annoyingly broad shoulder, giving me a wry look. “I heard that.”

I hastily finished up my goodbyes with Mrs. M. The last thing I needed was for her to recognize Adam’s voice and report this encounter to the gossip mill.

Focusing on Adam, I squared my shoulders. “Heard what?”

He slid to the side so I could step forward, and then he leaned against the counter, an infuriatingly smug smile on his face. “I heard that eye roll.”

“You can’thearan eye roll.”

“I can when it’s paired with that huffy little noise you always make when you do it.”

As if my eyes had a will of their own, they rolled. “What?—”

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