Page 1 of After All

Chapter One

The lifted hot-pink Chevy with black flames painted on the truck bed rounded the corner a block ahead, and Scott’s heart actually thumped a little harder on the next beat. Like a freaking Pavlovian dog.

He was thoroughly and completely screwed.

He’d actually accepted that some time ago. But every once in a while, the realization rose up and hit him right between the eyes. Or right in the chest.

Peyton Wells had him wrapped around her little finger. And she knew it.

He should hate it, he knew. Being enamored with a troublemaker wasn’t a great thing for a cop to be. But this wasn’t just any troublemaker. This was Peyton. And frankly, he’d been done from the moment she’d told him to kiss her lily-white ass—which he had already been a little obsessed with—two years ago.

Besides, most of her troublemaking was B.S.

Scott pulled into the parking lot of the Stop, the gas station/convenience store/pizza place/ice cream shop on Main and First. He parked his patrol car and headed inside.

A minute later, from behind his back, he heard, “He must not know.”

“That’s what I’m thinking.”

He turned from the coffee dispenser and his half-full cup to see two of his best friends, Kyle Ames and Derek Wright, watching him from next to the chip display. They’d clearly meant for him to overhear them, based on the huge grins they were wearing.

Those were let’s-give-him-hell grins.

“What are you two talkin’ about?”

“You just must not have heard the news,” Kyle said.

It wasn’t uncommon for the town doctor and the main bartender at the only bar in town to know things before Scott did. He might be one of only two cops, but when it came to town gossip, the bar was second only to the Bang and Blow, the hair and nail salon. The third best place in town to get news would be Dottie’s Diner. But Kyle’s medical clinic waiting room worked too. As far as secrets in this town—well, there weren’t any.

“Why do you assume I don’t know whatever this is?” he asked, topping off his cup and grabbing four little creamer tubs from the bowl on top of the microwave.

“Because you’re in a good mood,” Kyle said.

“How do you know?” Scott asked.

“You’re whistling and smiling and putting vanilla creamer in your coffee.”

Scott tossed the empty creamer tubs into the trash. “Vanilla creamer means a good mood?” Scott asked, amused. “I didn’t realize you’d been paying such close attention to me. That’s kind of sweet.” He took a sip and watched Kyle roll his eyes.

Derek looked from one to the other. “Seriously? He uses vanilla when he’s in a good mood?”

“I use vanilla when the hazelnut is out,” Scott said. He leaned back on the counter behind him. “What?” he asked when he caught the look Derek was giving him.

“Seems like you should be a black coffee kind of guy,” Derek said.

Scott cocked an eyebrow. “You have an issue with how I take my coffee?”

Derek seemed to be thinking about that. “Maybe.”

Scott gave a short bark of laughter. “Why?”

“Just seems less tough—our town cop drinking coffee with flavored creamer,” Derek said with a shrug. “I might feel less safe now.”

“Youshouldfeel less safe now,” Scott agreed. “Disparaging my coffee means a slower response time when you hit 9-1-1.” He sipped again.

“You would never do that,” Derek said.

Of course not. “Why don’t you just shut up about my coffee and you don’t have to find out?” Scott asked.

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