Page 17 of Keeping You
Chapter Six
Luke
My intention was not to move back home and sponge off Mom at thirty-six years old. I know she enjoys having me here, fuck. She’s been spoiling me by making all my favorites, and I’ve been assuaging my guilt by doing house repairs.
Anna and Harper aren’t much better. They drop off baked treats at the station each morning, being nicer to me than they ever were when we were growing up. I can’t tell if they’ve matured, or if they’re plying me with sweet talk and sugar-filled pastries to keep me in town. Thankfully, my receptionist slash office manager and the two deputies I have working for me enjoy the treats. Otherwise, my jogs around town would turn into full-out runs.
It’s taking time to adjust to this new role as boss. Back in Chicago, moving up the chain of command wasn’t on my to-do list. I loved my job. I’d made detective fourteen months ago and enjoyed the change. Everything was going well. Until one bad call changed everything. I haven’t decided yet if the quieter lifestyle here is helping me process the guilt of losing my partner when he was counting on me most, or if it’s just giving me more time to dwell on how I failed him.
I also haven’t been on a date in, God, it feels like years. The whole idea of “fake dating” sounds like something out of a movie or one of those silly romance novels I once caught Anna reading. I teased her relentlessly for days, loving the fact I could make her so red in the face I couldn’t tell if she was angry or embarrassed. But if it helps drive business to the bakery, bridges the gap between Callie and Harper, and gets Mom’s spirits up, then fine, I’ll play along. Mom hasn’t said it outright, but I’ve seen the books and the way Anna stretches ingredients to make them last longer. Clearly, Mom has dipped into the money Dad left her to help pay the bills. One more month like this, and they might have to close the door Grams opened decades ago. So yeah, if playing boyfriend to Callie Cooper might get a few more nosy locals into the shop, I’ll do it. Even if it means confronting feelings I’ve spent years running from. In the meantime, I’ll tackle some of those bills myself.
In the mirror, I’m not sure I recognize the man looking back at me. New sheriff, town fixer, fake boyfriend? Fuck. More like the town screw up and piss a poor partner. I’ve got scars now that weren’t there when my father sent me to live with an uncle I barely knew. A knife wound across my ribs from a domestic call gone wrong. A bullet graze on my left shoulder that throbs like a sonofabitch when storms roll in. And the invisible ones that cut deeper: the memory of Stu’s blood pooling on pavement, the sound of his wife screaming when they told her, the weight of his badge in my palm at the funeral. Some days I’m not sure which scars are healing, and which are still fresh.
Mayor Aldridge never even asked about my job or my experience and didn’t request references. She simply handed me my father’s badge and said, ‘The job’s yours.” If they’d bothered to check, to ask any questions at all, they’d probably give me a ride to the edge of town and tell me to never come back. But Dad’s badge was barely cold when Mayor Aldridge called me,desperate to fill the position as quickly as possible. “Your father would have wanted you to have it,” she’d said, like she knew anything about what he wanted for me. We hadn’t spoken much in the months before he died, and now here I am, wearing his star, sleeping in my childhood bedroom, and pretending to date the girl I left behind fifteen years ago. If this isn’t rock bottom, it’s got a hell of a view of it.
Far cry from the boy who got shipped out of town when Dad discovered I’d been the one hotwiring cars, taking them for a joyride, and ditching them in nearby towns. Nobody ever suspected the sheriff’s son. Until the sheriff caught me red-handed on the way back from taking Callie’s virginity in the back of my latest heist. The one time I planned to return the vehicle to its owner, unharmed, and with only a few extra miles on it.
She never even questioned me, even though she knew damn well I didn’t own a truck. Not once did she ask where it came from or why we were in it. And once I had her under me, all soft skin and softer mewls, hell, even I forgot I was technically committing a felony. The adrenaline from the theft melted into something else entirely, something that made me forget everything except the way she whispered my name in the darkness. The old Miller place was abandoned, so no one would stumble upon us. It was remote, so the owner wouldn’t spot his missing vehicle. And it was just creepy enough with its broken windows and sagging porch that other teenagers stayed away. The only moaning that night came from Callie, not from any ghosts that kids swore haunted the property.
“Damn it,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair. This is insane. We’re both adults now. I know it’s Callie’s plan, but I’d much rather have a simple dinner without it turning into some elaborate charade for the town busybodies. But even as I think it, I know I’m lying to myself. There’s nothing simple about Callie Cooper.
“Luke!” Mom calls from downstairs. “Callie just pulled into the driveway.”
I head down to find Mom standing in the living room, a confused expression on her face. “What’s Callie doing here? She hasn’t been around the house for months. “
“We’re going out.”
“You and Callie?”
“Yes, Mom, me and Callie.”
“Aren’t you a little old for her? And what will Harper think?”
I’m still not sure this will turn out as Callie wants. “We’re not kids, Mom.”
“I suppose not.”
I open the door, and Callie’s standing on the porch in a little sleek black dress covered in tiny white and pink flowers that hugs every curve I remember, and some I don’t. Her hair is clipped up with a few curly tendrils loose around her face, and she’s wearing just enough makeup to highlight eyes that have haunted my dreams for over a decade.
“Hi,” she says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach those pretty eyes. “Ready for our big performance?”
No matter how my dick gets at the sight of her, I have to remember that this isn’t real. “I am. Let me grab my wallet and keys.”
“I meant what I said yesterday,” she interrupts, “there’s no way I’m risking helmet hair on a motorcycle.” She gestures to her car—a sensible white Honda that screams responsible librarian.
“Don’t worry. I don’t think you’d be comfortable on the back of my bike in that dress anyway.”
“Hello, Callie. I haven’t seen you in some time.”
Callie steps further into the house, a house she practically grew up in. “Oh, hi, Mrs. Caldwell. I didn’t see you there. How are you?”
“I’m fine, dear. You look very pretty tonight.”
“Thank you.” She drops her gaze and shifts from one foot to the other.
“We should go,” I say, probably a little too abruptly. Both women stare at me with raised eyebrows.
“Right,” Callie says smoothly. “Don’t want to be late for our reservation.”
