LITMIR.BIZ

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Chapter 3

      “Welcome back, Officer.”

      Jamie stopped, the open door still pressed against his shoulder. Sure enough, Ted, the same diner owner who’d cashed him out less than twelve hours before, waved at him through a crush of customers waiting to be seated. Didn’t the guy ever go home? And why were there so many kids there on a school day?

      Not for the first time, Jamie wondered what he was doing there, even if the mingling scents of cinnamon rolls and bacon already had his mouth watering. He waved back as he realized that his plan might have a hole in it. If Sarah had worked last night, she probably wouldn’t be there to answer his questions this morning. And, in the unlikely case that she was there, what would he say to her? That they’d exchanged a few strange looks? And a note? And pie?

      Despite the line of waiting guests, Ted sidled over and spoke in a quiet voice. “Everything all right last night?”

      Jamie lifted a brow. Was it obvious that he was there to scope out a woman? But when Ted squared his shoulders as if bracing himself for a complaint, Jamie suddenly understood.

      “Just couldn’t stay away.” Those words were truer than the guy would ever know.

      “We love hearing that.” Ted grinned and nodded several times. “We’re slammed because the kids are off from school, but we’ll get you seated as soon as we can. And don’t worry about the cinnamon rolls. Sarah made extra...”

      Jamie wasn’t sure what Ted said after that. At the mention of Sarah’s name, he couldn’t help scanning the room, looking for her again.

      “Order up, table 21,” a feminine voice called out, somehow rising above the din of conversations.

      He didn’t need the pounding of his pulse in his ears and the weightless feeling inside him to tell him the voice was Sarah’s. Sure enough, her head peeked out through the opening where waitresses collected their orders.

      Her head was bent at first, but suddenly those pretty blue eyes were staring back at him and widening with something closer to uneasiness than surprise. Then, just like last night, she disappeared into the kitchen.

      Well, that was one time too many. He wasn’t the one who’d written that note or cut that pie. She’d created all the questions, so it was about time for her to offer some answers.

      Jamie squeezed through the line of customers and strode across the dining room, not stopping until he reached the kitchen’s swinging door. Before he could talk himself out of it, he rapped on it.

      For several seconds, he waited. Through the window, he caught sight of several waitresses zipping past.

      When her face appeared in the circle, his breath caught. Only she wasn’t smiling the way she usually did when she took his burger order. As the door opened a few inches, he backed out of the way.

      “May I help you, sir? I mean... Officer?”

      “Jamie,” he croaked.

      She lifted a brow, but her flour-covered hands were gripped together. Though he’d dreamed of someday being this close to Sarah, he’d never imagined the event with anxiety pouring off her in waves.

      “I’m, um, off duty,” he said.

      “I can see that.”

      “Right.”

      As he brushed his sweaty palms on his jeans, he mined his memory for that list of questions that had been lining up like a troop formation. The waitress who appeared behind Sarah gave him a reprieve.

      “Behind you, sweetie.”

      “Sorry, Belinda.”

      Sarah pushed through the doorway and held the door for the other waitress. Once the woman had passed, Sarah slid into the opening again.

      “As you can see, Officer, we’re a little busy this morning, so...” She stepped back, allowing the space to narrow.

      Jamie could feel the answers he craved and his first opportunity to have a real conversation with her slipping away with the incremental closing of the door.

      “Wait.”

      Her gaze lowered to his hand, which seemed to have shot out on its own to grip the door. Immediately, he released it, but when Sarah’s gaze lifted, that look was in her eyes again. Was it fear? Of him?

      “Sorry. That’s not—” He cut off his words and took an obvious step back. “Look, I’m doing this all wrong. Can we talk? Just for a minute?”

      She shot a glance over her shoulder, as if she would welcome any excuse to say no, but turned back to him and nodded. With a wave for him to follow, she stepped out from behind the counter and led him to the hall where the customer restrooms were located. At least there wasn’t a line. He was nervous enough without an audience.

      Halfway down the hall, she wheeled around so quickly that Jamie had to jerk to a stop to avoid running into her.

      “I didn’t mean anything by it,” she said.

      “I don’t know what you mean.” He did, and that was the hell of it. Those small things he’d built up to Mount Everest proportions meant nothing at all to her.

      She shrugged, watching the toe of her shoe as it tapped the industrial tile floor.

      “You know. The note.”

      “So, it really was for me.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

      “Of course, it—” She stopped herself and gripped her crossed arms over her chest.

      “There wasn’t a name at the top.”

      “I just wanted to say thank-you. You know. For your work in the community.”

      “Oh.” Well, she hadn’t announced that she found him irresistible, but it wasn’t the worst thing she could have said.

      “Because I’d kind of overheard about your rough night.”

      “Thanks,” he said, because there wasn’t much else he could say to that.

      “I just wanted you to know that your work is appreciated. That’s all,” she rushed to add.

      “And I appreciate your saying so.”

      He would also be grateful for a graceful exit. Or an escape route of any kind. Everything made sense now. Her strange look when he’d arrived the night before. Charity, not a come-on. And the pie? She and Trevor had been in cahoots on that one. What kind of police officer added those measly clues up to a sum of romance?

      “Well, thanks for clearing that up, but you probably need to get back to your tables.” His gaze lowered to the jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt she wore beneath her apron rather than a uniform, and then to the dusting of flour on her sleeve.

      “Oh. You’re baking.”

      “I do that in the mornings.” She cleared her throat. “And I should get back to it. Everyone seems to want cinnamon rolls instead of pancakes this morning.”

      That she shuffled her feet then didn’t surprise him. He’d mentioned her baking again. But the way she wrung her hands and kept looking over her shoulder toward the restrooms and side kitchen door seemed excessive. How could she expect scrumptious desserts like hers to remain a secret?

      “Can you blame them? They smell great.”

      Her cheeks deepened to a pretty pink. “Do you want me to pack some up for you?”

      Again, she glanced over her shoulder. Why she was so anxious for him to leave? Was she hiding something?

      Then a door squeaked, and the answer to those questions ran out with a burst of energy and a mop of sandy blond hair he would have recognized anywhere. Aiden?

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