By four, she realized she couldn’t take up a table while continuing to nurse one cup of coffee, so she began to pack up her stuff to leave. She unzipped her laptop case and slid her computer into it, paying no attention to the ringing of the bell over the coffee shop door.
At least, not at first.
Then she heard Angie greet the newcomer. And she could do nothing else but pay attention as the dark-haired, dark-eyed man in khaki walked in and headed to the counter.
“Howya doin’, Chief?” asked Angie.
It was the very person she’d been unable to stop thinking about. The very one she’d had those wild and wicked dreams about.
The very one she needed to avoid.
“Good, thanks.” Mike Santori offered the woman a slight smile and a nod, looking around and giving the same casual greeting to everyone else.
Until his eyes landed on Lindsey. With her he didn’t smile, nod and move on. Instead, his eyes widened and his mouth parted on a quick inhalation that she could almost hear.
Her heart thudded and her stomach churned. She realized her hand was shaking when her nearly empty coffee mug rattled enough to splash a small amount of lukewarm coffee against her fingers. Lowering it, she forced herself to take a steadying breath. She was going to be here for weeks; she needed to get used to running into him. She simply couldn’t afford to be embarrassed about what had happened between them on Saturday.
It’s not embarrassment.
She tried to hush the voice in her head, even as she acknowledged it was right. Yes, there was some embarrassment about the things he’d witnessed, and the fact that she’d fallen into his arms so soon after they’d met. But mostly what she felt when she saw Mike Santori was this strange, urgent tension. Currently her blood was gushing and a sort of electric energy surged through her, making the hairs on her arms stand up. Her foot was tapping on the floor, her fingers doing the same on the table, as if she just needed to move.
It was awareness. Attraction, too. She hadn’t been able to get Mike out of her mind since the moment they’d met.
“Here you go, Chief,” Angie said, handing him a foam cup with a lid. Obviously he was taking his to go.
Lindsey held her breath, wondering if he would leave without a word to her. After everything they’d said on Saturday, about how neither of them was interested in any romantic entanglements, what they should do was continue exchanging nothing more than those polite smiles in public. If he actually sat with her and started a conversation, the gossipers would have them engaged by midnight.
She knew that, knew she should be hoping he’d turn around and leave. But instead, something inside her blossomed and warmed at the idea of him sitting in the empty seat at her table. And within fifteen seconds, he was.
“Is this seat taken?”
“You’ve just taken it,” she pointed out, trying, unsuccessfully, to hide a smile at that fact.
“True.” He sipped his coffee, eyeing her over the cup. “How are you doing, Lindsey?”
“Fine, thanks. No more seasickness.”
“The island doesn’t move quite as much as the ferry did.” There was a twinkle in those brown eyes, and little crinkles beside them. The guy whose very career should make him dour, was quick-to-smile, instead. She liked that about him. Among the many things she liked about him.
His mouth, his hands, his body.
His kiss. Oh, good lord did the man know how to kiss!
She shook off the thoughts and replied, “That’s good. I doubt I’d survive another sea voyage anytime soon.”
“Are you settling into the cottage okay?”
“It’s a little drafty,” she admitted. “Being close to the lake, those watery winds tend to sift through the eaves. But I’ve got lots of blankets on my bed.”
Shit, Lindsey. Don’t talk about your bed with this man. Because, if you do, the look on your face will make it clear to everyone in the room that you wouldn’t mind if he shared that bed.
Fortunately, Mike didn’t take the opening she’d so stupidly left there. Probably because, unlike Saturday, they were surrounded by curious busybodies.
He leaned over the table, keeping his voice low. “Have you had any more problems with...anybody?”
“Not a one,” she said, knowing he was referring to his obnoxious junior officer.
“Good. I’ve been trying to keep him busy.”
“I appreciate it.”
He nodded and asked, “What about the job? How’s school?”
“It’s okay,” she said, lifting her own cup. “Different.”
“You know, you mentioned that you’re not regularly a teacher, but you never did tell me what your real job is.”
He waited. She didn’t respond, trying to figure out how to answer the unasked question.
Finally, he said, “Okay, state secret.”
“No, it’s not,” she said, feeling stupid. But yes, it is. “I’m sort of unemployed right now. That’s why this substitute position worked out so well, for me and for Callie.”
“Where did you work before?”
“In Chicago.” She’d intentionally misinterpreted the question, sticking to geography.
That appeared to surprise him. Obviously he hadn’t read her license very closely last week when he’d pulled her over. “Really? Me, too.”
“Oh!” He’d mentioned he was a recent transplant. Dumb of her to never ask where he’d come from. “Where did you live?”
“Little Italy. Near the university. I worked for the Chicago P.D.”
Now she was one who was surprised. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. I started when I was twenty as a beat cop. Kept going to college at night, worked my way up. After I finished school, I landed my detective shield.”
“You were a Chicago Police detective, and now you’re...”
“Chief of the Tinytown Police Department?” He sighed, sounding rueful. “Yep. And, before you ask, it was my choice. I didn’t get fired for taking bribes or anything of that sort.”
“That thought never crossed my mind.” She might not know him well—yet—but she was already sure Mike Santori was one of the good guys. “Are you happy with your decision?”
“I guess. It hasn’t all been chocolate-chip cookies and helping old ladies cross the street, you know.”
“I’ll bet.”
“There are some really big pluses to living here rather than in Chicago, especially in my line of work.”
“Such as?”
“Not getting shot at.”
She winced, hating the idea of it. His tone might be light, but his expression was very serious. He had been shot at. Given the crime statistics of her home city, that wasn’t surprising. She even knew a few civilians who’d been shot at and couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be a cop in such a dangerous city. She sent up a mental prayer of thanks that he’d gotten out, and not just because she was glad to have met him.
“That’s always a bonus,” she replied, keeping things light, not asking the questions she was dying to ask—namely, who, what, when, where and why. “Is there anything else you enjoy?”
“Well,