CHAPTER THREE
Eva, feeling neighborly, lent Eden her car so her new friend could get back to the B&B in time to set up for afternoon tea. Working from home and living in Gia and Beckett’s backyard in the middle of town meant she did most of her traveling on foot.
With no word on when it would be safe to retrieve her things from the smoky dressing room, Eva changed into her work uniform, cropped leggings, a tank top, and her glasses. Donovan’s gray t-shirt, folded neatly at the foot of her bed caught her eye. She picked it up, smoothing a hand over the fabric worn by countless washings. Sneaking a peek over her shoulder—she never knew when a niece or a nephew would appear—Eva brought the t-shirt to her nose and snuck a sniff.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the dresser mirror and saw a desperate, shirt-sniffing woman with eyes half-closed in dark fantasy. “Crap. I’m pathetic,” she muttered, dumping the shirt back on the bed.
This dry spell needed to end immediately if the scent of laundry detergent and dryer sheets was putting her over the edge.
She bit her lip. Technically she lived alone. There was no one else in the house to judge her for wearing a crush’s t-shirt. Maybe it would help her focus? She strutted downstairs cloaked in Cardona and felt inspired. She’d put in a few hours of work and forget about the whole half-naked in town thing for a while.
Eva fired up her coffee maker, slid on her headphones, and settled in to work.
And, as it happened on good days, she got completely sucked in.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d been at it. Long enough that her knees buckled under her when she jumped out of her chair when a hand settled on her shoulder. She spun around, hands in the only karate position she could remember from the intro classes she’d taken in college.
Sheriff Cardona was standing in her kitchen, his hand hovering instinctively over his stun gun as his eyes scanned the room for the threat.
“Holy mother of God!” Eva screeched, her heart trying to claw its way out of her throat.
His lips moved, but she couldn’t hear the words.
“What?”
He pointed at his ear and then at her. Her headphones. The Black-Eyed Peas were still rocking out in her ears. Eva swept them off her head and tossed them on the table next to her laptop. Shit. Her laptop. She slammed the lid shut on it.
“Uh, hi,” she said, pretending that she hadn’t just freaked out on him.
“‘Uh, hi?’ That’s what you have to say for rupturing my ear drums?” Donovan demanded, righting the chair she’d knocked over in her haste.
“You’re the one who broke into my house and scared the hell out of me!”
“I tried calling. You didn’t answer. And when I got here, I knocked hard enough to rattle the glass.” He was using his law and order voice on her as if she was some outraged citizen in need of talking down.
“My phone is back at the store. I left in a bit of a hurry because of the fire,” she reminded him. “And I was listening to music,” she sniffed.
“I’m amazed you can hear anything at all. You should be deaf from those decibels.”
“Why are you in my kitchen?” she demanded. The man was taking up half the space in her house and making her feel defensive. But at least her tongue was no longer tied.
“Why are you in my t-shirt?” he countered.
Ah, crap. She’d forgotten what she was wearing.
“I, uh. What makes you think this is yours? It’s my ex-boyfriend’s,” she insisted. She was nothing if not creative on her feet.
Donovan grabbed her by the shoulders, his hands a warm shock through the cotton. He spun her around. “Your ex-boyfriend is part of the Blue Moon PD?” he asked, reading the type across her back.
“I need coffee,” Eva said, wiggling out of his grip. She couldn’t think when she was being manhandled by Sheriff Sexy and his big, sexy hands. “Do you want coffee?”
She skirted the tiny island, grateful to have a barrier between them, and sniffed the still-full pot. She’d gotten sucked into work and never bothered to pour the first cup.
“Sure,” he drawled.
Eva looked over her shoulder to shoot him a frown at the tolerant amusement she heard. Unfortunately, she misjudged her distance from the cabinet and opened the door into her face.
“Ouch.” She rubbed absently at her eye and reached for the mugs. But those big hands appeared above her, fishing two mugs out of the cabinet.
“Sit before you dump a full pot of hot coffee all over yourself,” he ordered, hip checking her out of the way.
The good sheriff clearly knew nothing about women. The order to sit made standing a much more appealing position.
Donovan must have read the rebellion in her eyes. “Sit or no coffee,” he said sternly.
“It’s my coffee,” she pointed out.
“And I’ll be happy to share it with you if you sit your ass down and stop making me nervous.”
“I make you nervous?” She laughed at the irony and slid onto a barstool.
“I feel like you’re one second away from swinging a frying pan at me or falling through a window.” He set a mug down in front of her, and she reached for the sugar bowl—a whimsical mermaid—she kept on the island.
While she dumped sugar into her cup, he opened the freezer and plucked out a handful of ice cubes which he wrapped up in her purple dish towel. “Here. Ice your face.”
She did what she was told only because her face did hurt.
“Do you want to file a police report against the cabinet?” he asked, picking up his coffee.
She gave a small laugh. “No. I think I can work things out with it. It didn’t mean it.”
“That’s what all cabinet doors say,” Donovan said, a hint of a smile playing on his gorgeous lips. He looked like a Ken doll come to life. Dirty blond hair cut short for convenience, sharp blue eyes that told her they could peel away lies to get to the truth, and shoulders that would make a linebacker weep. He was big, solid, and oh-so-sexy.
Usually, the guys she ended up dating were leaner, more of the medium height and medium build type. Then again, the guys she usually dated were also usually assholes. Donovan—the opposite of an asshole—was taking up her entire kitchen just standing with his feet planted apart. His uniform fit him so well she wondered if he had it tailored to show off those pecs, those biceps.
Great. Now she was drooling.
Eva cleared her throat. “You may have said it when you came in, but I was busy screaming. Why are you here?” she asked.
He gave her a half smile that had her underwear combusting when the dimple appeared at the side of his mouth. She put her coffee down. She didn’t need a warm up. She needed a cold shower.
“I brought your stuff from the store.” He nodded toward a plastic bag on the floor just inside the door.
On cue, Eva’s phone rang from the depths of the bag.
“Aren’t you gonna get that?” he asked.
“It’s just someone who wants to tell me they saw me almost naked on Facebook today.” He looked away from her and became engrossed studying the pictures plastered all over the front of her fridge. “Please tell me this isn’t the most embarrassing gossip group post in town history.”
“I shouldn’t have to tell you. You’ve lived here long enough to know what catches the eye of Mooners.”
He was right. She was forgetting about Fitz’s unfortunate face-first skid down Lavender Street after the ice cream truck last month.
“Is Mayva okay? Was there much damage to the store?” Eva asked, changing the subject.
“Everyone’s okay,” Donovan assured her. “Mayva’s already planning a cruise when the insurance money comes in and Calvin Finestra and his crew start the reno.”
Eva breathed out a sigh. “I’m glad it wasn’t worse. I can’t believe all that happened over a grilled cheese.”
“I don’t know what got into her. Mayva’s been a vegan for thirty years, and today of all days, she gets a hankering for a grilled cheese.”
“I imagine weird things happen a lot in this town,” Eva predicted.
“You have no idea,” Donovan grinned.
The full wattage nearly killed her. Blinded, she reached for her mug to give her hands something to do and succeeded in sloshing it all over the counter.
Wordlessly, Donovan ripped a paper towel off the roll and mopped up her spill. He looked like he wanted to say something, but his phone rang.
“Cardona,” he answered briskly. She listened to his side of the conversation, a short series of “uh-huhs” and “yeahs.”
“Okay. Thanks, Minnie. I’m on my way.”
“Duty calls?” Eva asked, sliding off her stool and hoping for flirty and casual. It was hard to pull it off with a dishtowel of ice stuck to her head, but she gave it her best shot.
“Yeah, Garcia’s ferrets got out again. Snuck into Mrs. Duphraine’s house and terrorized her pitbull.”
“Poor Willoughby. Thanks for dropping off my things,” she said, escorting Donovan to the door.
He looked down at her, and her toes curled into the floor boards as she looked way, way up to meet his gaze.
“My pleasure,” he said, his voice husky.
He reached for the doorknob.
“Oh! Wait. Your shirt!” Eva grabbed the hem and pulled it over her head.
Donovan was staring at her like she’d just made a repeat performance of this morning. Geez. Hadn’t he ever seen a tank top before? Oh, shit.
She was topless again. The tank top came off with the t-shirt.
She clapped her hands over the lacey pink bralette that hid absolutely nothing from his cop eyes.
“Aunt Eva, why do I hafta wear clothes if you don’t?” Aurora, her niece and seven-year-old wannabe nudist, was standing on her doorstep.
Eva wrestled the tank out of Donovan’s shirt and yanked it over her head. He started to say something, but Eva knew there was nothing he could say that would make this situation less humiliating.
“Just go,” she said, hanging her head and pointing to the door. “Go before my pants fall off and my kitchen sink erupts in a geyser.”
The wise sheriff took his leave.
“Bye, Donovan,” Aurora yelled cheerfully after him.