The Deputy's Perfect Match

“Ow!” She massaged her temples. “You’ve got a hard head, Deputy Pruitt.”

“I’m not the only one.” He frowned. “And I thought we’d moved past Deputy.” His eyes brightened at the sight of the refreshment table. “You didn’t tell me there’d be food.”

He loped past Evy. “I skipped dinner for the club tonight. Can I go ahead and eat, or should I wait for the others?” His eyes scanned the room. “Where are the other ladies?”

She handed him a plate. “They’re on their way with more food. Be my guest, though. Go ahead.”

“How...dainty.” He held a small cake square between his thumb and forefinger. “What’s this? Cake for a baby?”

“Mrs. Davenport dropped those off this afternoon.” Evy fanned the paper napkins on the table. “It’s called a petit four, Charlie. It’s meant to be small.”

“French.” He grinned. “I’m quick like that, huh?”

“You’re quick like something, all right...”

Heels clicked against the hardwood floor of the library foyer.

“Yoo-hoo!” Dixie, the waitress from the Sandpiper Café, tottered into the room bearing a platter of sandwich triangles. She stuttered to a stop. “Am I interrupting something, sugar?”

Evy took a step back. She’d not realized how close she’d been standing to the deputy. “You’re interrupting nothing, Dixie.”

Charlie winked at Evy. “You assume Dixie was talking to you.”

And he rested his gun-clad hip against the edge of the table. As if implying that he—as if they... Did the man never stand up straight?

She took the tray from Dixie. “Deputy Pruitt wanted to join our book club tonight.”

Dixie clapped her hands together. “How fun! I had no idea the book club was going coed. Can I bring Bernie next time?”

Bernie was Dixie’s husband. “Doesn’t his reading tend to favor spy thrillers?”

“True. He probably wouldn’t care for Jane Austen.” Dixie sighed. “Because of his work with NASA at Wallop’s Island, his literary tastes run toward the cloak-and-dagger stuff.”

Charlie snagged a pimento cheese sandwich off the platter. “It takes a special man like moi to truly enjoy the classics of literature.”

He helped himself to another sandwich as the other ladies arrived with additional refreshments. Evy made sure to give a special welcome to Ashley, a stay-at-home mom with three energetic children. The book club and church on Wednesday were her only nights out with grown-ups. Yet when Charlie’s shoulder brushed against hers, Evy quivered.

“I caught your attempt at French, Deputy. My, my, you are quick-witted.”

He pretended to tip his imaginary hat. “We deputies aim to please.”

Why did Charlie Pruitt make her want to laugh?

She moved beyond him, careful not to make further contact. “Welcome, everyone.”

Evy couldn’t help noticing how Charlie worked the room. He greeted every lady, who ranged in age from ninety-year-old Mrs. Evans to a thirtysomething Coastie wife. And he let them know he’d skipped supper. Evy hid her smile as she helped Reverend Parks’s wife serve the punch.

The women—young and old—fell over themselves plying Charlie with food. She needn’t have worried about how the ladies would receive his male intrusion into their girls’ club. He was like a rooster in the proverbial henhouse. And they were loving every minute of it.

“And the petits fours?” Charlie made sure he had Evy’s attention as he lifted the cake square off the plate, pinkie finger extended. “You’ve outdone yourself, Mrs. Davenport.”

Evy almost choked on her chicken-salad sandwich. He’d mimicked the French pronunciation exactly.

“You dear boy.” Mrs. Davenport fluttered her bejeweled hands like a schoolgirl. “How wonderful you know what a petit four is.”

“I guess I’m just smart like that. And what they are is delicious.” Charlie popped the bite-size square into his mouth.

“Let me get you another, Deputy.” Mrs. Davenport, also known as the grapevine of Kiptohanock, scurried toward the table.

Charlie waggled his eyebrows at Evy. She glared. Was the man never serious? Surely a deputy sheriff had to be more sober-minded than the likes of Charlie Pruitt.

But a smile played on her lips. He did know his way around a food table, she’d give him that. Around the ladies, too. Mr. Charming. Not her type at all. Not that Evy had a type to speak of.

At that not-so-happy thought, she took her customary armchair.

“Why don’t you sit close to Evy?” Dixie hovered at Charlie’s elbow. “Being a newcomer and all.”

Evy’s cheeks burned. She hoped no one was getting the wrong idea about her and the deputy.

“So you can see better?” Mrs. Davenport coaxed.

It wouldn’t do for the ladies—or the town—to get the wrong idea. This was getting out of hand.

He slipped into a chair directly across the circle.

“No worries.” Charlie leaned the chair on its back legs. “I like the view right fine from here.” He sent Evy a winsome smile.

Evy peered down the length of her nose at him. “Suit yourself.” She fretted at the cameo pinned to her blouse. “Shall we begin?”

Her lips might say one thing, but her heart? She didn’t like what Deputy Pruitt did to her equilibrium. Not one bit.

Evy didn’t have time for this...this inconvenient attraction. It went against her plan. She schooled her features. The plan must come first.

“Shall we, indeed.” Charlie grinned. As if somehow he knew the effect he had on her. Raising her chin, she decided to ignore him.

He took a deep breath, which broadened his chest. As if daring her to try.

* * *

Those remarkable eyes of hers.

Charlie decided he could munch petits fours and stare at Evy Shaw all day. This club thing was turning out to be a real pleasure.

But across the circle, those eyes of hers were shooting daggers at him at this moment. Smirking, he took another bite and chewed. He loved pushing her buttons.

She reminded him of a character in the musical the drama class performed his senior year at Nandua High. In her long-sleeved peach blouse and beige pencil skirt, she looked so Marian the Librarian. So uptight and upright.

It was kind of fun to wind her up and set her off—like watching a jewelry box ballerina go all dashboard hula girl.