Page 4 of Dining for Love

He narrows his eyes. “No goats, either?”

“Definitely no goats.” I pick up my fork.

He snaps and points. “Ah. Rabbits.”

I grimace as Jack hoots across the table. “Goats before rabbits.”

Matty looks thoughtful. “Okay, well, I have time to sort you out.”

I hold my hands up. “No pets. I’m only here for three months.” After I explain the situation, using the storyline we’ve discussed—I’m in town on a break and covering for Jessica while I’m at it—Matty grins.

“Police dog it is.”

“You’re relentless.” But I have to smile. This guy is just as charming as the rest of the town, if a little pushy.

After breakfast, I follow Jack to my new place, a fully-furnished two-bedroom with more space than I know what to do with, and a massive backyard and fire pit just begging for me to sit out there with my guitar. And bonus: The price is ridiculously low. I scan the property, noting the places I’ll need to install security cameras. I may only be here for three months, and I’m certain I’m out of the Bunnies’ range and off their radar, but I’m not stupid. Lucky for me, the owner was thrilled with my request for a three-month lease, and he was even more delighted when he found out I was a cop. I got the feeling he was used to the standard week-long vacation renters.

“Great place,” I tell Jack. “Thank you for everything.”

He pulls me into a hug and slaps my back a little harder than necessary. “Anything for my brother’s baby boy.”

I groan. “Keep it up and I’ll tell him about all the times you let me drink Mountain Dew when I was a toddler.”

His eyes are bright with mirth. “You would never.”

“Try me, old man,” I retort with a wink.

Laughing, he jerks his thumb to my truck. “Let’s get you settled.”

It doesn’t take much. The only things I brought were clothes, so it takes all of five minutes before my bags are sitting in the middle of the living room floor, a pile of black amidst the oceanside chic that decorates the room.

“That’s it?” Jack eyes my paltry set of possessions.

“I’m only here for three months,Chief Mac.” I make sure to emphasize the name.

He exhales, the movement making his graying mustache puff out. It’s a rare man that can truly pull off a mustache—I don’t care what the college kids are doing these days—and Uncle Jack is up there with Magnum, PI. Dude can flex the facial hair. “Wish you’d stay longer, kiddo.”

My chest squeezes at the affection. “You know I’m not cut out for the small-town life, Uncle Jack. I need the bright lights and the glitz. Does this place have any good dance clubs?”

He makes a face. “Do you even know how to dance?”

“Who says I’m going to clubs to dance?” When his expression gets even more sour, I hoot with laughter. “I’mkidding, Uncle Jack.”

He grunts. “Maybe you are, maybe you’re not. But I’ll tell you, this place has a way of working its way into your heart. I’ll ask you to stay again in a month.”

Yeah, I doubt that. But I don’t argue as I walk him to the door. “See you for my first shift tomorrow, Chief.”

Later that afternoon,after running some due diligence on the houses surrounding me—like I said, I may be temporary, but I’m not stupid—I’ve cracked open a beer and have made friends with one of the Adirondack chairs in the backyard. The house behind me has a couple in it, no kids, and a yippy Schnauzer named Mr. Tink. The one on the left has a retired couple and no visible pets. To my right is a two-story with only a widow in it; her daughter Betty is the station’s receptionist and general office manager. Something tells me I’ll meet the woman before too long. There’s a smaller, one-story place behind the main house, too; I think it’s called an in-law suite or something like that. Carriage house? I don’t know what it’s called. “Smallhouse” works. It’s closer to where I sit in the backyard than to the bigger house that Betty’s mother is in. No records on a tenant, but based on the grass pattern leading to and from it, someone definitely lives there.

I’m on beer number two and have pulled out my guitar when the tenant herself shows up, and it’s the waitress from this morning. Willa. I stop strumming, figuring she’ll see me and at least say hello, but she blazes right past, the twenty yards of distance enough to make me invisible.

She opens her door and walks right in. The light goes on, and two seconds later, she’s visible through the open kitchen window once more.

Oh.

She’s a littlemorethan visible, because she’s in the process of removing her shirt. I watch as she peels it off to reveal a black bra, and then she takes her pants off. I can’tseethat part, but the motions she’s going through make it pretty obvious.

Suddenly, she turns her head and meets my gaze through the window. She freezes as I smile and hold a hand up in greeting, then she ducks, and I hear a muffled yelp. A few seconds later, the light goes out.

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