“Oh, Mrs. Tifton,” Molly said, giving John a comical look of mock horror as she answered the call. “No, I’m sorry, we’re on our way back now. It just took me a little longer than I—yes, I can certainly pick that up on my way. No, it’s no trouble at all. Of course, I understand. No, we’ll be happy to. We’ll be right there. Okay. Bye.”
She hung up and gave John an owl-eyed look. “Mrs. Tifton wants to know if we can bring her some whiskey. She’s all out and she thinks a little of it in her tea will help calm her nerves after what’s happened.”
John took a steadying breath. He felt as if he could use a little whiskey himself. “We can certainly accommodate her.”
“Yes.” Molly tucked a wayward strand of dark hair behind one ear. “We have plenty of whiskey here at the bar, as a matter of fact. I can borrow a bottle and replace it in the morning. I doubt there’s any place open where I can buy some now.”
“No.” John didn’t want to correct her, because he most certainly didn’t think it appropriate to take the town’s children’s librarian to Ron’s Place, a bar that was open twenty-two hours a day and also sold liquor, and at which he had broken up more than a few fights and even several attempted murders.
“I’ll just go grab a bottle,” Molly said. She was looking flushed in the light from the kidney-shaped pool—flushed, and more beautiful than any woman he’d ever seen. “Then we should probably—”
“Go,” he finished for her, though the thought of having to say good-bye to this woman was killing him.
She smiled—a little ruefully, it seemed to him. Was she thinking the same thing? “Yes. But maybe—”
“We could do this again sometime? Another . . . dance lesson?”
The smile widened. “Yes. That would be lovely.”
He felt as if his heart might burst with joy.
Unfortunately, the feeling didn’t last.
Chapter Fifteen
Molly
Molly had a hard time sleeping that night. It wasn’t because she was in a strange bed—Mrs. Tifton’s guest room was one of the most luxurious Molly had ever stayed in, with its own en suite bathroom, wide-screen television, and sheets the widow said she’d picked up on a trip to Egypt, the thread count dizzyingly high and soft as cashmere.
Molly wasn’t worried about the High School Thief’s return, either. She knew the alarm was on and that it was unlikely the thief would come back, especially while there was a law enforcement officer sitting in a sheriff’s cruiser right outside the house.
It was that law enforcement officer who was keeping her awake, and the memory of his lips on hers—not to mention those lean, hard hands on her body.
Her attraction to him surprised her. She wasn’t even sure she liked him. Except . . . well, she liked the way he’d donated the money he’d won to Baby Aphrodite. And she liked how willing he was to learn that dance for his daughter. And of course she liked how good he looked in his uniform. And how very, very good his body felt against hers in that uniform.
Okay. She liked him. A lot.
She thought about slipping out of bed and creeping downstairs to visit him in the cruiser. When she peeked through the curtains of her guest-room windows, she could see him sitting behind the wheel of the parked car, bathed in the streetlight, sipping coffee, and evidently listening to something on the radio, since he was tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. What was he listening to? she wondered. She of course listened to true crime podcasts, but she highly doubted that’s what law enforcement officers listened to. You didn’t tap your fingers to a podcast.
She was dying to find out—and not just about what he was listening to, either. She could come up with some excuse about why she had go down and see him—bring him a refill, maybe, or a book to read from Mrs. Tifton’s vast romance library—and get an answer to all her many questions, most of which were about what lay beneath that dress uniform.
But that felt wrong. He’d know she was only coming out there for one thing, and he’d be exactly right. She didn’t want to seem thirsty, as Elijah would call it, even though she was.
Besides, creeping out of the house to quench her thirst wouldn’t be right, especially with Mrs. Tifton sleeping down the hall, depending on her for protection (not to mention the fact that she might wake Daisy, Mrs. Tifton’s dog, who was alert to the slightest movement). Molly was an adult, not one of the teenagers in the books she loaned out every day. She decided she wasn’t going to act like one.
And John had assured her during the ride back to Mrs. Tifton’s that they were going to get together for a proper date—for some reason he seemed fixated on taking her for a “steak dinner”—soon. Just as soon as they could coordinate their schedules. Which, John had kept saying, wasn’t going to be that difficult.
“Unless you have a lot on your plate right now.” He’d looked—and sounded—sweetly nervous as he gripped the steering wheel. “I just have to get through Boat Safety Day. But then I’m free.”
“And learning ‘Single Ladies’ for the Snappettes,” Molly hadn’t been able to resist gently teasing him. “And solving a few crimes.”
“Well, uh, sure, those things, too.” He’d thrown her a surprisingly shy smile. “But then it’s the two of us at Island Steak House. They make the best rib eye you’ve ever tasted. You like steak, don’t you? You’re not vegan or anything, are you?”
“I am not. I like steak.” She didn’t want to point out to him that she came from a state that was known for having some of the best beef in the country. She thought it was cute that he seemed to have forgotten that. “I try not to eat it every day, but—”
“No, no. Same here. I mean, they say it’s not that great for you, or the environment. But a little every now and then for a special occasion is okay.”
Molly hadn’t been able to keep from smiling at the fact that he considered the two of them going out for a meal together a special occasion. In fact, she felt as if she’d been doing nothing but smiling since they’d kissed. Her cheek muscles were beginning to feel a little sore.
But he was just so sweet, in a gruff, manly sort of way. So she agreed to join him for a steak dinner at some as-yet-to-be determined date in the future.
And instead of sneaking out to visit him in his cruiser, she climbed into her soft-as-feathers bed, leaving it only once to peek out at him, wondering if he was thinking about her, too. She finally managed to fall asleep by watching a baking show on Mrs. Tifton’s giant guest-room television.
She didn’t wake until close to eight, when she heard Daisy’s excited barking, and Mrs. Tifton shushing her—she was taking the dog out for her first walk of the day and didn’t want to disturb Molly.
But Molly was already up and rushing to the window, only to find that John had disappeared, probably to return to his own home and get some sleep. Or at least that’s where she hoped he’d gone. When did sheriffs sleep, when crimes were committed twenty-four hours a day? This wasn’t something she’d ever bothered asking herself, but now she couldn’t help wondering. It didn’t seem fair. Poor John. No wonder he was so grumpy most of the time.
Of course, the fact that she was at the library a few hours later, as she’d been nearly every day since she’d arrived on Little Bridge, was different. The library was closed at night. She wasn’t there because people were committing crimes, but because they needed her to help find books or information they were looking for.
And, of course, in the case of Sunday Story Time, they needed her to set up the puppet theater and train table, and make sure none of the dads spilled the coffee they’d brought into the building. Food and drink as well as pets were allowed in the Little Bridge Public Library (mainly because it was impossible to stop people from bringing them in), but that didn’t mean they didn’t make messes, which Molly and her colleagues then had to clean up.
It was as Molly was busy sopping up one such spill by a particularly incompetent dad (who seemed to have added bourbon to his coffee and was lamely murmuring, “I’m sorry, Miss Molly”) that Elijah appeared and said, “Hey. Miss Molly, look what I’ve got.”
Molly wasn’t exactly in the mood for any of Elijah’s shenanigans, especially since she herself hadn’t gotten much sleep, the guests at checkout at the hotel that morning had been particularly unruly, and the volunteer puppeteer was late.
But she still had a bit of a flutter in her heart because of what had happened the night before with the sheriff. Nothing could really be all that bad when a man who was that kind and that good-looking and that talented with his hands—and lips—was interested in her. The world had a slightly rosier tinge to it this morning, so even Elijah’s antics and the coffee and bourbon spilled all over Six-Dinner Sid couldn’t bother her too much.
Until she turned to see what Elijah had in his hands.
“It’s a Leica,” Elijah said, proudly showing off his new camera. “Now I can start filming my acts. I mean, I could do that before, on my phone, but this is classier. I thought I could pick up some photography assignments, you know, with the school paper. Maybe shoot headshots for the Snappettes, or whatever.”