Page 20 of Redeeming Melodies

"Speaking from experience?" His voice had lost its edge, genuine curiosity replacing the earlier challenge.

I met his gaze steadily. "Maybe. Or maybe I just don't want to explain to Clara why I let some city boy in a Porsche drive himself into trouble when I could've prevented it."

Another laugh, softer this time. "You always this pushy with strangers, Sheriff Thompson?"

"Only the ones who look like they're one bad decision away from doing something stupid." The words came out more honest than I'd intended.

He flinched slightly, like I'd hit closer to home than he wanted to admit. "That obvious, huh?"

"Let's just say I recognize the signs." I pulled out my notepad, scribbling down directions. "Clara's is two blocks past the diner. Tell her Jake sent you - she'll give you the local rate."

He took the paper, his fingers brushing mine for a fraction of a second. The contact sent an unexpected jolt through my arm that I firmly ignored.

"Jake?" His eyebrow raised. "Not Sheriff Thompson?"

"Don't push it, Mr. Blue." But there was no heat in my words.

"Elliot," he corrected. "If we're dropping titles."

The night air felt different suddenly, charged with something I wasn't ready to name. His eyes held mine, and for a moment, the professional distance I'd maintained cracked slightly.

"Right." I stepped back, needing space from whatever was happening here. "Well, Elliot, the offer stands. But if I catch you speeding again-"

"You'll throw the book at me?" The challenge was back in his voice, but playful now rather than angry.

"Something like that." I tapped his car door lightly. "Drive safe. Town's pretty at night, but the roads can be tricky if you don't know them."

He nodded, something shifting in his expression. "Thanks. For the warning and the... recommendation."

"Don't mention it." I meant it literally, but it came out softer than intended.

The change in Elliot's posture was subtle but unmistakable - a slight lowering of his shoulders, a loosening of his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. Like someone who'd been running full throttle finally easing off the gas.

"Clara's Place," he repeated, glancing at my hastily scribbled directions. His voice carried a mix of resignation and relief that seemed to surprise even him. "And she won't ask questions?"

"Not her style." I kept my tone matter-of-fact, professional. "But she does make breakfast for her guests. Better than Sarah's, but don't tell Sarah I said that."

A ghost of a smile crossed his face, softening those sharp edges. "Your secret's safe with me, Sheriff."

"Just remember what I said about the speed limit." I tapped his car door one last time, letting my badge catch the streetlight. "I won't be so understanding next time."

"That a promise?" The challenge was still there, but lighter now, almost playful despite his obvious exhaustion.

"Consider it a friendly warning from Oakwood Grove's one and only sheriff." I stepped back, giving him space to pull away. "Drive careful."

He nodded, that expensive car purring to life beneath him. This time, he kept his speed reasonable as he headed toward town, like maybe he'd finally heard something in my words beyond just authority.

I shouldn't follow him. Had no reason to make sure one lost stranger found his way to Clara's. But something about his bruised knuckles and haunted eyes nagged at me. Besides, it was my job to keep the peace in this town, wasn't it?

My cruiser stayed well back as he navigated Main Street, his brake lights reflecting off the empty storefronts. He drove like someone used to faster speeds, more open roads, but he was trying to behave. Had to give him credit for that.

The car slowed near Sarah's Diner, probably noting it for tomorrow's coffee run. Then past Nina's bar, where the fairy lights still twinkled invitingly. Finally, he turned onto Oak Street where Clara's Place sat waiting, its porch light a welcoming beacon in the night.

I parked in the shadows, watching as he sat in his car for a long moment. Whatever battle he was fighting played out in the tense line of his shoulders, visible even from this distance. Then, like he'd made some decision he couldn't take back, he grabbed a bag from his trunk and headed for Clara's door.

Clara must have been waiting up - the door opened before he could knock, spilling warm light onto the porch. I couldn't hear their conversation, but I saw her welcoming gesture, the way she ushered him inside like a lost lamb finding shelter.

Something in my chest loosened. Clara would look after him, in that no-nonsense way of hers that somehow made everyone feel at home without making a fuss about it.

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