Page 13 of Keepsakes and Kismet

And as soon as he fully faces me, I refamiliarize myself with his chin dimple.

He blinks at me incredulously, like he can’t believe I’m real. “You. You’re… here.”

My lips curl into a grin. “Where’s your gadget, Inspector?”

His brows furrow. “My… Are you talking about my thermocouple thermometer?”

I shrug. “Sure. If that’s what we’re calling it.”

His eyes scan the perimeter of Healthtopia. “They don’t sell cooked meat here. This is a smoothie shop inside a gym.”

“Why are you in your health inspecting costume then?”

He glances at his khakis and white polo and back at me. Then, he looks down again, as if to double check I haven’t magically replaced his clothes with a purple Joker suit.

“I’m doing a favor for a family friend. The owner asked my dad if I’d take a look at their operations prior to opening day to make sure nothing’s in violation.”

“Very altruistic of you, Officer.” I can’t resist adding the moniker on, just to see his reaction.

“Not this again,” he mutters, looking so ruffled.

I bite my lip to prevent a smile at his restrained confusion. Sliding into a seat at the first table near the counter, I pull a tablet out of my gym bag.

The inspector sets his keys and wallet down on the edge of my table, but his hazel eyes stay focused on me, quickly roaming over my lavender workout set before darting back up to my face. He attempts to casually lean against the table, but it’s lower than he expected, and the height difference startles him. He straightens and tries to play it off clumsily, while I stifle delight at his general befuddlement.

He awkwardly clears his throat. “Do you work out here?”

“Sure,” I say, nodding slowly.

“Cool. That’s cool,” he stumbles. “I’m Callum, again. What’s your name?”

Callum. That’s right. In the grand scheme of our last interaction, his name got lost within the lengthy title.

I pull my phone out of my leggings’ pocket to call Kevin. “Actually, I’m on the clock, so…”

His head tilts. “So you do work here. I thought you worked at MingHin Kitchen.”

“I don’t work there anymore.”

Callum runs his hand through his hair’s tousled, short waves. It looks positively windswept pushed back from his forehead. “But… They’ve only been open a week. They fired you that fast? Did you rob them or something?”

“Actually, the reason for termination was ‘lack of food safety knowledge.’ Mr. Chung said it was my inability to retain the internal temperature of cooked chicken.” I add a dramatic sigh for emphasis. “After that, I stood no chance. Now, I have no idea how I’ll ever pay my rent.”

I watch almost all the light leave his eyes as his jaw goes slack. “Oh my God. I can call them. I didn’t mean for my assessment to have any impact on your employment with…” He trails off, narrowing his eyes at my smiling face. “You’re messing with me.”

I speak in a high-pitched, innocent tone. “Am I? That does sound… exactly like me. In any case, I can assure you I no longer work there.”

A tiny pinch forms between his thick, auburn brows. Poor, confused, Toledo-Lucas County Health Inspector. Those furrowed brows of his haven’t changed a bit since I saw them last at MingHin Kitchen. If I wasn’t me, I’d almost be tempted to smooth them out with my thumbs.

I’m about to put him out of his misery when Kevin comes into the dining area. “Ah! Peyton, you’re here.”

The inspector’s eyes flash to mine in a moment of personal triumph, like my name is the answer to a century’s old riddle he’s been tasked to solve.

“Kevin. Great to meet you in person. I’m so pleased to be working together. Should we talk business somewhere more private?”

It’s not that I want to keep my job from Callum, though his general bewilderment has been surprisingly fun for me. It’s that clients typically like to avoid any public impression that they’re paying tastemakers. Influencing works best when buyers are under the illusion it’s authentic.

Kevin follows my gaze to the inspector. “Cal! Thanks for doing this favor for me.”