Kiss Me, Sheriff!

“Baos. They’re Chinese dumplings filled with meat. Sometimes beans.”

“I know what they are.” She’d once taught a class on Asian fusion cuisine.

“Good. How about eating some with me?” he invited. “Have you ever been to The Twin Dragon in Zig Zag? Best baos this side of Shanghai.”

“Have you been to Shanghai?”

“Only in my dreams.”

“Well, maybe someday you’ll really go,” she murmured. She had been to China. It had been a wonderful trip.

“I’ve been waiting for the right time,” Derek said.

Her head rose at that. “You shouldn’t. If you want to travel, you should just do it. Don’t wait.”

He gazed at her curiously, and she realized she’d sounded emphatic. “I’ll take that under advisement,” he said. He gestured toward the street beyond the window. “It’s a big world out there. I’d like to see it with someone. That enhances the view, don’t you think?”

“Yes.” Uncomfortably aware that she hadn’t responded to his dinner invitation, she clasped her hands in front of her. “I’d really rather not pursue finding that boy,” she said, glancing everywhere but at Derek. “I think he was just...impulsive. I don’t think he’s a criminal.”

“He’ll be impulsive again.”

“Still—”

“I’m not going to send him to juvenile hall. I want to talk to him and to his family. See if they’re aware of what he’s up to. Assuming he’s never done something like this before, I’d like to make sure he doesn’t do it again.”

Reasonable. Derek was being very reasonable. She couldn’t argue without explaining her reluctance. “All right. After I close up here, I’ll go over to your office to file a report and then head home.”

The arch of his brow, the flare of awareness in his eyes and the near-imperceptible quirk at the corners of his masculine lips told her he got the message. No baos; just business. And no explanations, either.

“My deputy, Russell, is on duty all night. I’ll text and let him know he should expect you.”

She wanted to assure him that her rejection of his dinner invitation was not personal, but he was already on his way to the door. His broad, relaxed shoulders gave no indication that his feelings were wounded. Pausing with his hand on the door handle, he turned to consider her. “Maybe I should have been a detective. I like puzzles. Here’s one I’m working on—beautiful woman—young, intelligent, capable of running her own business—moves to a small town in Oregon where she didn’t know anybody and doesn’t seem to want to. She takes a job working as a waitress in a deli. What would her motivation be?”

“For taking a job as a waitress? That’s a rather elitist attitude.”

“You have to consider the question in context,” he said pleasantly enough. “The woman is clearly overqualified.”

“Maybe she thought waitressing would turn out to be an upwardly mobile position.”

“Could be.” He nodded. “I doubt she would have assumed that at the start, though. There was no evidence that it would be.”

“Well, it’s hardly a mystery. Plenty of people move to Oregon because they want less stress and a pretty place to live. As for not socializing constantly, some people are naturally introverts.”

“Maybe.” Derek considered her for a long time. “Then again, maybe she’s afraid.”

“Of what?” Willa shook her head. “Never mind.” She wagged her finger, trying to keep the moment light. “This is annoying, Sheriff. You’re talking about me in the third person.”

“I apologize. I had to repeat Language Arts in high school. Let me try it again. When I look at you, Willa, I see someone who wants to reach out, but won’t. Or can’t. I see something behind your eyes. Something you want to say or do, but wouldn’t dare. And I can’t help but wonder what it is. And why it’s so hard.” He opened the door, admitting a blast of cold air, and gave her one last look. “I’m not the enemy.”

With that, Derek headed out onto the streets that were his to serve and protect.

Willa remained alone in the shop, shivering even after the door closed. The image of his searching dark eyes lasted long after he had disappeared.

Chapter Three (#u5c0aa684-b2a7-5121-9d37-16948672bda5)

“You need to leave my employee alone, let her concentrate on her work, and go find a woman who actually wants you, because right now you are barking up the wrong tree.” Izzy took a bite out of her pastrami and coleslaw on rye then spoke with her mouth full. “Gosh, I hope that didn’t sound harsh.”

“Gosh, it did.” Derek unwrapped the deli sandwich Izzy had brought him. Once a week when the weather was decent, and often when it wasn’t, he and Izzy met in Doc Howard Memorial Park. She supplied lunch from the deli, he supplied the appetite, and they sat by the river, talked and ate. Today he wasn’t in the mood for food. “Is there mustard on this?”

“Of course.”

“What about mayo?”

“Derek, please—” she sounded offended “—you’ve been eating the same sandwich for—what?—ten years? I know how you like it, and I respect your condiment selections.” She poked at her own mammoth concoction, adding, “Even though I think they’re misguided.”

Brisket on challah had been his go-to sandwich since he’d had his first meal at The Pickle Jar. He liked it with mayo, spicy mustard, and—Izzy’s main objection—ketchup.

“Since I can see that you are not ready to stop obsessing about the manager of my bakery, let’s return to our regularly scheduled programming.” Extending her legs and crossing her ankles, Izzy flexed her feet inside fuzzy faux fur–lined boots. “Recap. Willa turned you down for baos, which is too bad, but at least you asked, which is progress over last year when you were so afraid to be rejected you barely spoke to her.”

“I was not afraid to be rejected. What the—” Sitting up straight, he glared at his best friend. “I didn’t want to pressure her or put us both in an uncomfortable situation.”

“Ooh. Good thinking, Dr. Phil.”

“I didn’t want to come off like a stalker. Okay?”

“Mmm. And now?”

“Now it’s different. At the tavern, I saw that she is interested.”

Lowering her sandwich, Izzy gazed at him, her sparkling eyes turning serious and more sensitive. “Derek, was she interested in you? Or was she interested in, you know, a man in general?” Obviously trying not to hurt him or to see him hurt himself, she rushed on. “Willa has been alone here for over a year. She doesn’t really socialize with anyone at work. Maybe she’s lonely and it was just...time.” Placing a hand on his arm, she said, “I wouldn’t hurt you for all the world, you know that. I know how much you have to give, and I want to see you happy. You said you weren’t going to date unavailable women, anymore. Remember? You said you were going to be sane about your relationships. Unlike me.” She grinned.

She can afford to grin about it, Derek thought, gratitude for his friend’s happiness softening his mood somewhat. On Izzy’s left ring finger were an engagement ring, the wedding band Nate Thayer knew he should have given her fourteen years earlier and an eternity band to signify Nate’s commitment never to leave her again.

To say Derek had disliked Izzy’s now-husband when he’d first met the man...well, that was an understatement. Nate Thayer had hurt Izzy once, before Izzy and Derek had met. After hearing the story and being Izzy’s best friend for all these years, Derek had given Nate as hard a time as he could when the other man had shown up again, suddenly, last year. But Nate had turned out to be a good guy—hard to intimidate, too—and Izzy was nuts about him. Eventually, despite the trust issues born from his own past, Derek had given the pair his blessing, and they seemed to be doing fine. Great, in fact.

So, yeah, Izzy could afford to smile about it all now.

“That night in the tavern,” he said slowly, looking at the river, “I sensed from Willa what I’ve been feeling all along. Some of what I’ve been feeling,” he amended, figuring honestly that Willa wasn’t as invested as he. “It was more than physical.”

Izzy shook her head. “Even after a year of working together, I hardly know anything about her, beyond the fact that she has a strong work ethic and is completely reliable.” She reached for a dill pickle. “You know, if I got a dollar every time someone asked me to set you up with them—or with their daughter or their cousin or their cousin’s daughter’s cousin—over the years, I could retire. So why this woman, this time? I mean, yes, she’s lovely and I know you’ve had the hots for her, but, really, why Willa?”

The stretch of Long River where they sat flowed quietly, with little fanfare, but it was beautiful, mysterious and multifaceted as any white water Derek had ever seen. It reminded him of Willa. Her silvery eyes were soft, keenly observant, kind, sad—it all depended on the hour and the day. He could study her endlessly and still not see everything he knew there was to see.

“When we were in the tavern, I told her a joke. A really silly one.”

“One of Henry’s?”

“Yeah.” Izzy’s former boss, Henry Bernstein, used to offer his customers “A joke and a pickle for only a nickel.” Derek had heard plenty of them (and had eaten a lot of pickles) over the years. “Willa liked it. She laughed. Really laughed. For the first time, her smile was in her eyes, too, and I could see...” He held up a hand as Izzy gaped at him. “Don’t say anything. No wisecracks.” He waited until Izzy nodded before he continued. “I could see what the future might be with her. And, yeah, there was something kind of desperate about the way she was behaving, but for a moment there, I think she was wondering what a future might be like, too.” Izzy was looking at him seriously, as seriously as she ever had. He took a deep breath. “My gut’s been telling me for a long time that this is different. This is special. So even when I took her home, I knew we weren’t going to do anything more than kiss.”