I almost laughed but held it back, disguising the sound rising from my throat with a cough, amusement warring with annoyance, and a dash of astonishment.
I removed my sunglasses slowly and hung them on my shirt pocket so I could take my time considering her. “Have you had run-ins with the police before, Haven from California? Experiences that make you hostile toward law enforcement?”
“No. Check my record. I’ve never so much as received a speeding ticket. If, in your wise and professional opinion, you deem that I deserve one for my crime, it would be my first. I have no negative personal impressions of the police, other than I think it must be difficult having a job where you constantly think the worst of people. You yourself must be perfect, Officer”—she squinted her eyes at my nametag—“Hale.”
“Chief.”
“Chief,” she repeated. Several more riotous curls escaped and fell around her face as if in protest of this entire interaction. I couldn’t decide if she was pretty or not. Definitely not the sort I usually went for. Not that it mattered anyway. I was swearing off women for the foreseeable future. What I did know was that she looked as wild as the tangle of leaves and vines fighting for space in her car. For several beats we simply looked at each other and I had the strange urge to smile at this insolent woman. I recognized her sarcasm and sardonic comments. I’d written the book on interactions like these. I knew exactly how to manipulate with words. But this girl was doing it in a way that wasn’t cutting but . . . challenging.
And interesting.
I’d only ever managed cutting.
Then again, I’d learned from the very best.
I stood straight. In any case, why was I tolerating this? “You’re going to have to offload a few of those plants,” I instructed.
Her eyes went wide, expression stricken. “I can’t just leave them on the side of the road! I have to go to work. I won’t be able to come back and retrieve them until late tonight.”
“They’re plants. You most definitely can leave them on the side of the road if it means being able to see out your side and back windows. Per the law.”
She turned her head slightly, crooning something into the backseat.
I halted, turning back. “Did you just say something? To the plants?”
She sighed. “Living things feed off energy. I’m sure they feel my distress. I want them to flourish and live, not inhale my anxiety. Especially considering they have to wait here on the side of the road, all alone, until I return.”
“Inhale—” I leaned toward her. “Have you been inhaling something? Should I give you a sobriety test?”
“I don’t do drugs.” She glanced into the backseat again and then her shoulders dropped. For a moment she looked like she’d argue with me about removing the plants, but then she slowly exited her vehicle, looking dejected. I felt oddly sympathetic until I remembered that they were free plants that—frankly—looked like they were at death’s doorstep. “It’s supposed to rain tonight,” I said, illogically.
She glanced at me as she extricated one of the pots from the back seat. “I’m going to drive back and get them later,” she said, handing me the pot and turning around for another. It only took a couple of minutes to transfer enough of them—five—for her side and rearview windows to be unimpeded.
I handed her cards over. “Consider this a warning. Drive safely, Haven from California.”
“Oh I will, Chief Hale from Pelion. Thank you for your mercy.” The side of my lip felt like it was connected to an invisible string and someone gave it one strong yank. I brought my hand up, coughing into my fist again until the spasm stopped. And with that, I nodded and walked back to my cruiser.
CHAPTER FOUR
Haven
Gage Buchanan is the best. The best, I thought dreamily, watching as he raised one perfectly muscled arm, his honed body taut as he paused long enough for me to engrave the picture into my brain, forever available to bring forth when I was in the mood to fantasize.
“He’s perfect,” someone sighed just as Gage shot into action, delivering a serve that whizzed toward the player on the opposite side of the tennis court. A perfect serve, of course, because well, he was perfect. His opponent dove for the ball, swung wildly, and missed.
I pulled myself straight from the counter where I’d been resting my face on my palm as I’d gazed at Gage playing singles across from the smoothie bar at the club where I worked.
“Sorry,” I said, heading toward the two girls I hadn’t notice sit down at the bar, hearing another whack as the game continued.
“No problem,” the blonde said, turning her head from the tennis court to me.
The other girl, a brunette, didn’t bother to look my way, her head going back and forth, obviously following the tennis ball from Gage and the good-looking blond guy he was playing against. “Peach mango flax seed,” she said distractedly.
I gave the back of her head a charming smile. “Of course. My pleasure. And for you?” I asked, turning my attention to the blonde.
“An açaí bowl. But make sure to leave the strawberries off. They make me break out in hives.” She lowered her Chanel sunglasses, eyeing me over the top of the tortoise frames. “Last time I think you missed one. I felt itchy later.”
Sounds like a personal problem, likely unrelated to strawberries, I didn’t say.
She glared at me accusingly as if I’d deliberately planted said strawberry in the middle of her açaí bowl in a calculated effort to sabotage her flawless skin with an unsightly rash. My smile tightened as I worked to hold on to it. “I am so sorry,” I said sweetly. “I’ll double-, triple-check that there are no strawberries on or near your order.”
“Good,” she said, turning away as Gage shook his perfect dark hair, sweat flying out around him as he ran toward the net to shake his partner’s hand. He’d won. Of course he’d won.
He was the best.
I sighed, turning away, and began gathering the ingredients for the two orders. I heard the girls whispering animatedly to each other, the inflection in their tones telling me they were gossiping. I didn’t bother to attempt to listen in. I didn’t care what they were talking about. This club was filled with a hundred more just like them. Rich, entitled brats who thought those who worked here were solely valuable for their ability to meet their every demand.
That was the thing about Gage Buchanan. He was different. He wasn’t only gorgeous. Perfect. The best. He was kind. He had impeccable manners, his smile was sincere. He looked everyone in the eye when they spoke to him, and didn’t talk down to anyone. Even me, the out-of-towner working at the smoothie bar. I didn’t know too much else about him—other than he was a member of the exclusive golf and tennis club where I was working for the summer—but that was enough.
I set the smoothie and strawberry-free açaí bowl in front of the girls, added the orders to their tabs, and began wiping down the counter I’d just used, when the brunette said, “This summer is going to be awesome. Especially since Gage is single.”
Okay, now this I wanted to hear. My heart fluttered. Single. I moved the cleaning cloth slowly along the counter, craning my ears to listen in. Gage was single. Hmm. I paused in my cleaning. Even if he noticed me, it wasn’t like he and I could be anything long-term—I was only passing through this lake town—but what was wrong with a summer fling? What was wrong with finding happiness—even temporarily—with a gorgeous, kind, single man?