Sam stepped out of his office into the lobby of the police station.
Abby Brighton, who’d started as the receptionist shortly after he’d been hired, looked up from her computer. “I’ll be twenty-eight in the fall.”
“That’s young.”
“Not really,” she answered. “Maggie Betric is twenty-six and Suzanne over at the courthouse in Jefferson just turned twenty-five.”
“Twenty-five?” Sam swallowed. He’d gone out to dinner with both women and had no idea they’d been that much younger than him. When did he become a small-town cradle robber? Jeez. He needed to watch himself.
“Julia’s in her thirties, right?” Abby asked.
“Thirty-two.”
“When’s her birthday?”
“Uh...” Wait, he knew this. “It’s in May.”
Abby turned her chair around to face him. “I still can’t believe I didn’t know you two were dating.”
“No one knew.”
“But I know everything about you.” She looked away. “Not everything, of course. But a lot. Because I make the schedule and we work so closely together.”
He studied Abby another minute. She was cute, in a girl-next-door sort of way. Her short pixie cut framed a small face, her dark eyes as big as saucers. They’d worked together for almost two years now, and he supposed she did know him better than most people. But what did he know about her? What did he know about anyone, outside his dad and brother?
Sure, Sam had friends, a Friday-night poker game, fishing with the boys. He knew who was married and which guys were confirmed bachelors. Did knowing the kind of beer his buddies drank count as being close?
“Do you have a boyfriend, Abby?”
Her eyes widened farther. “Not at the moment.”
“And your only family in town is your granddad?”
She nodded.
Okay, that was good. He knew something about the woman he saw every day at work. He looked around her brightly colored workspace. “I’m guessing your favorite color is yellow.”
She smiled. “Yours is hunter green.”
How did she know that?
“Does Julia make you happy?” she asked after a moment.
“Yes,” he answered automatically. “Why?”
“I just wouldn’t have pictured her as your type.” Abby fidgeted with a paper clip. “She’s beautiful and everything, but I always saw you with someone more...”
“More?”
“Someone nicer, I suppose.”
“You don’t think Julia’s nice? Has she been unkind to you?”
Abby shook her head. “No, but I hear stories from when she was in high school. I’m in a book club with some ladies who knew her then.”
“People change.”
“You deserve someone who will take care of you.”
“I’m a grown man, Abby. I can take care of myself.”
“I know but you need—” She stopped midsentence when the phone rang. She answered and, after a moment, cupped her hand over the receiver. “Someone ran into a telephone pole out at the county line. No injuries but a live wire might be down.”
Sam nodded and headed for the front door. “Call it in to the utility company. I’m on my way.”
He drove toward the edge of town, grateful to get out and clear his head. He’d done more talking about himself and what he needed and felt in the past twenty-four hours than he had in the previous five years. His dad’s fault, for sure.
This engagement was supposed to help Sam dodge his father’s attempts to make him more in touch with his feelings. Hopefully, this dinner would smooth things over enough so life could return to normal. Other than the pretend engagement.
It wouldn’t be as difficult as Julia thought to fool people. They’d hold hands, be seen around town together for a few PDAs and everyone would believe them. Kissing Julia was one of the perks of this arrangement. He loved her moment of surprise each time he leaned in. Sam hadn’t been with a woman for a long time, which must explain why her touch affected him so much.
He understood the importance of making this work. Tonight, they’d come to an understanding of how to get what they both wanted.
* * *
Julia lifted Charlie out of his car seat and turned to face the quaint house tucked onto one of the tree-lined streets near downtown Brevia.
“He even has a picket fence,” she said to her son, who answered her with a hearty laugh and a slew of indecipherable words.
“My sentiments exactly.” She kissed the top of Charlie’s head.
“Do you need a hand?”
Joe Callahan stepped off the porch and headed toward her.
“I’ve got it, Mr. Callahan. Thank you.”
He met her halfway up the walk. “Call me Joe. And you—” he held out his hands for Charlie “—can call me Papa.”
“Pap-y,” Charlie repeated in his singsong voice and leaned forward for Joe to scoop him up. Her son, the extrovert.
“You don’t have to do that.”
Joe was already swinging Charlie above his head, much to the boy’s delight. “What a handsome fellow,” he said. He smiled at Julia. “He favors his beautiful mother.”
Julia couldn’t help but return his grin. “Are you always this charming?”
Joe gave an easy laugh. “For decades I was a real hard—” He lifted Charlie again. “I was hard-nosed. A walking grim reaper. Sam and his brother got the brunt of that. I’ve learned a lot since then.”
“Wisdom you want to impart to your son?”
“If he’ll let me.” Joe tucked Charlie into the crook of his arm and the boy shoved his fist into his mouth, sucking contently. “You’ve already helped him start.”
It was Julia’s turn to laugh. “I don’t have much wisdom to share with anyone.”
Joe started toward the house. “Mothers have inherent wisdom. My late wife was the smartest, most insightful woman I’ve ever met.”
“How old was Sam when she died?”
“Ten and Scott was seven. It was a dark period for our family.”
“Was
