“Were you asleep?” She glanced at the beer-can-shaped, neon-rimmed clock above the bar. Her sister was a night owl, so she hadn’t thought twice about calling after ten.
“No. I’m going over some testimonies for court tomorrow, what’s up?”
Cam was a prosecuting attorney for the DA’s office in New York and often brought her work home with her. Heather marveled over her sister’s ability to juggle her important, high-powered career with being a wife and mom. Cameron had inherited their parents’ work ethic and ambition, but had somehow gone above that and developed a work-life balance. Tonight she sounded stressed, though, and Heather almost hesitated before saying, “You gave me the wrong email address for Mike Ainsley.”
“No, I didn’t. You must have written it down wrong.” This was exactly why her sister was so great at her job. She was never wrong and had a way of wording things that made people question their own arguments.
“Maybe,” Heather mumbled. “Either way, the résumé I sent today bounced back.”
“Come on, Heather. One sec...” She heard the sound of shuffling papers. “Okay, write this down...”
After Heather copied the insane email address for the second time, she tucked the paper into her apron pocket. “It’s a wonder any of his emails actually reach him. What’s with this crazy email address anyway? I doubt M Ainsley at Highstone Acquisitions was taken,” she mumbled.
“I don’t know,” Cameron said distractedly. It sounded more like I don’t care. “Send it again now.”
“I can’t. I’m at work. I just checked the email on my phone.”
“Well, leave work and go send it. This is more important.”
Her sister didn’t get that she had responsibilities here that she couldn’t just abandon. “Cam, I’ll send it again in the morning. I have to get back to work. Talk soon,” she said, disconnecting the call as the front door opened and Sheriff Matthews entered.
If I was going to eat with someone, it would be you. Not exactly a charmer, but his earlier words in the diner seemed to almost mean more, coming from him, than the most flowery compliment from anyone else. Niceness was obviously not his forte. “Hello again,” she said as he took his usual seat at the bar.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Do you put stuff in my drinks?” He removed his leather jacket and pushed up the sleeves of his dark blue crew neck sweater as he sat, revealing several scars on his left forearm. They only enhanced his rugged, manly attractiveness.
He was a great-looking guy. If he could work on his game a little bit, he wouldn’t have any trouble attracting women around town. “Like what—roofies?” She’d never had that much trouble securing a date, she mused.
“No, like spit.”
She laughed so hard her sides hurt, and she bent at the waist. When she looked at him again, his unamused expression made her laugh even harder. “I’m sorry...” She struggled to catch her breath. “Tina and Joey are actually tampering with your food at the diner?” Wow, they must really not like this guy. She almost pitied him. Sure, he was rude, and arrogant, and condescending... Wait—where was she going with that thought?
“Can I get a beer, please?”
She nodded, suppressing another laugh. Reaching into the mini-fridge, she took out a bottle of the brand he usually ordered, twisted off the cap and handed it to him. “Want to start a tab?”
He usually paid cash, and it annoyed her, as she had to constantly ring in his drinks and cash him out each time. But still, she always asked, and that evening, he surprised her.
“Sure.”
She smiled. “Great. ID, please.”
“Really? I’m sitting right here. And I’m a police officer. I’m not going to skip out on the bill.”
“Rules are rules. Aren’t you always going around trying to enforce the rules?” she said, hands on her hips.
Jacob reached into his pocket and retrieved his wallet, then hesitated for a second before handing her his driver’s license.
She took it and glanced at the photo. Then glanced at him. Then back at the photo.
“I was a little heavier then,” he said, gulping his beer.
“A little?” she asked. “And what’s with the bushman’s beard?” The guy in the picture was hardly recognizable as the man sitting in front of her. His brown hair was longer, and his expression was dark, making him look more like a criminal than a cop.
“Do you always criticize people’s ID photos?” he asked, as she tucked it away with the others behind the register.
“Usually not in front of them,” she said with a grin.
She went to grab a food order from the kitchen, and when she returned to gather cutlery and condiments from the bar, she asked, “Is the station entering a float into the Christmas parade?”
“Christmas parade? Really? The only street long enough to accommodate a parade around here is Main Street, and how many floats could a parade here possibly have?” He shrugged before answering her question. “I have no idea.”
“Doesn’t matter,” she said, adding glasses of beer to the tray. “Our float is going to win anyway. Melody Myers and Brad Monroe are back in town for the holidays, and I’ve convinced them to perform Christmas songs all along the parade route.” She wasn’t sure if Jake had ever heard of the country music stars, but whether he had or not, he nodded.
“What theme are you going with?”
Heather shook her head. “Uh-uh, you’re not getting any more information from me about our entry.”
He sighed. “I was just trying to be polite. It seemed as though you wanted to talk...as usual.”
“I was just wondering if you guys were competing. The float designs every year are a big deal and kept under wraps. We don’t want people stealing each other’s ideas.” She reached for extra napkins and picked up the loaded tray.
“Seriously? It’s a parade float.”
She shot him a look. “Well, our team is not disclosing any information—we know we have a winning design.”
“Team?”
“Yeah. Each float is only allowed to have four people working on it, and their names have to be submitted before construction starts.”
“Wow, this thing is pretty regulated...more than anything else in town.”
Heather laughed. “Christmas is a big deal around here, in case you haven’t noticed,” she said, coming around the side of the bar.
“The house across the street from me looks like it was decorated by Santa’s elves on crack—believe
