Holding out his hand, he said, “I guess if I know about Sadie’s appetites, I’d better introduce myself. Cary Hudson.”
“Genevieve Slate,” she replied, shaking his hand.
“Genevieve. Pretty name.”
Her mother had thought so, too. “Actually, I go by Gen. So is that Cary as in Cary Grant?”
“Definitely. My mom was a huge fan of old movie stars. My brother’s name is Dean.”
She was intrigued. “Like Dean Martin?”
“Absolutely.” That infectious grin appeared again. “If you know of Dean Martin, you must be a movie fan, too.”
“I am.” Gen couldn’t believe they had something else besides beagles in common. She had all of Cary Grant’s movies on DVD and had watched the original Ocean’s Eleven just last week.
She was warming to Cary Hudson, the teacher. Cary, like Cary Grant. He was likable and attractive. Open and approachable.
The complete opposite of herself.
At least on the outside.
Cary probably enjoyed walks in the park, hanging out in front of the fire, reading—activities that a lot of the men in her line of work didn’t always admit doing. Sadie would love him.
Gen had the feeling she wouldn’t be too opposed to him, either.
If she was going to be in the market for a relationship.
Breaking the silence, Cary slapped his hands on his jeans. “Well, now that I’ve bored you, I’ll see you around.”
“I wasn’t bored. Thanks again for the help.”
“Anytime. Good luck with your beagle.”
“You, too! And don’t worry—Sadie’s docile as long as she’s well fed.”
“Aren’t we all?”
His comment was so true she burst out laughing. Cary joined in, then walked to his vehicle. Gen knew if she didn’t say a word, she’d never have a reason to speak with him again—unless he needed help from the police for some reason.
To her surprise, hurrying home to Sadie no longer seemed that important, even if Sadie was probably entertaining a thousand ways to make Gen pay for coming home late for dinner. “Hey,” she called out just as he was about to get into his car. “Do you drink coffee?”
“I do. Do you want to go sit down somewhere?”
Cary was obviously too much of a gentleman to make her ask him out. His manners made her regret skipping cotillion classes back in the eighth grade. “Yes. I mean, if you have time.” God, she was so bad at this!
“I have time. Do you know the Corner Café?”
“Sure. I’ll meet you there.”
Situated in an old yellow farmhouse, the café had already become one of Gen’s favorite spots. She liked checking out the antiques there on Sunday mornings. It brought back memories of her mother’s love of handmade crafts—and Gen’s desire to be just like her until it had become apparent that unlike her sister, Gen didn’t have a natural aptitude for anything handmade. After that, Gen had fostered her father’s admiration by trying to be the son he never had. Unfortunately that hadn’t really worked, either. Daddy had wanted a boy, not a girl who behaved like one.
That feeling of rejection still stung.
As Cary’s shiny black SUV pulled out of the parking lot, Genevieve felt yet another jab of awareness. And of isolation.
She was lonely. She was sick of dodging late-night memories of Keaton, her former partner with the Cincinnati police. Keaton had been her first true friend in a long while. So, true, she’d imagined he, too, had felt something special between the two of them. She’d been attracted to him from the moment they’d met, and had spent years waiting for him to notice her in a romantic way.
It had been embarrassing as hell when he’d fallen in love with someone else, never giving her a second thought. The incident had been uncomfortable enough for her to want to start over someplace new.
It had been her good fortune—or misfortune—that Lane’s End had been hiring. By the time she’d picked up and moved, Lane’s End reminded her too much of Beckley for close comfort.
Funny how sometimes even a small town could seem too big.
CARY SHIFTED HIS Explorer into fourth gear and wondered what in the world he was doing meeting Gen for coffee. Even if she did look like a sporty Demi Moore, his instincts told him he had no business even thinking about another relationship after his ex, Kate Daniels, had taken his heart and pulverized it by the time she’d been through with him.
Still, Cary supposed he should thank Kate for opening his eyes. He’d no longer assume anything in a relationship. I love you sometimes only meant “I want to go to bed with you.” I want a relationship didn’t necessarily mean love was on a woman’s mind. No, it might just mean “I want you…until someone better comes along.”
He’d spent the past three months volunteering on too many committees at Lane’s End High, helping his brother’s daughter, Melissa, and trying to forget he’d ever fallen in love with Kate.
So what was he doing meeting Genevieve at a coffee shop?
Because there’d been something in her eyes that broke his heart. She looked as if she needed a friend. That, he could do.
After they both arrived at the café, Cary guided her to an empty table and flagged over the waitress. She quickly took their orders, then disappeared.
As Gen slipped their menus back in the holder at the end of the table, she looked pretty pleased with herself.
Cary was intrigued. “What’s the joke?”
Her smile widened. “Oh, nothing, really. I’m just feeling pretty proud of myself for not ordering any of the pastries on the menu. Ordinarily, I’d have had an éclair or two.”
“You’ve got a sweet tooth?”
“One about the size of Alaska.”
He laughed. “It’s been a while since I’ve been with a woman who wasn’t constantly worried about every morsel she ingested.”
“That sure isn’t me! I tend to worry about other things.” A shadow crossed her face. “Like this. I don’t usually ask men I’ve just met to coffee.”
“Then we’re even. I don’t usually get asked out at the pet store.” When her eyes widened, he added hastily, “Good thing it’s just coffee, huh?”
She relaxed visibly. “Yeah. Good thing.”
Hoping to set her at ease, Cary asked, “So, what do you do for a living?”
“I’m a cop.”
“Yeah?” Taking in her form, Cary had to admit the occupation fit. Tall and athletic, her personality strong and assertive, Gen Slate looked born to the job. “I’ve never known a cop before. I mean, beyond the occasional parking or speeding ticket. What kind of cop are you? Traffic? Vice? Homicide?”
“You’ve been watching too many detective shows,” she said, her dark blue eyes brightening. “In a town like Lane’s End we do everything that’s needed. Luckily there isn’t much need for a homicide unit.”
After the server delivered their drinks, Gen sipped hers delicately. That purely feminine trait intrigued him. “So…” he prodded.
“I just joined the local police department. I was on patrol in Cincinnati for five years.