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“Can’t say I don’t love you in these little outfits, either, AK. They bring out a little rebellious side outta ya.”

“Yeah?” She’s back to smiling again, shoving her hands into her pockets and pushing out the jean material. “It was hot today.”

“It’s even hotter now.” I tip my hat, as her eyes glisten with equal parts shock that I said that out loud and amusement. “Have a good rest of your day, Ms. Adeline.”

“Adeline,” she says. “Just Adeline, Dodger.”

“Woman…if I gotta tell you again about callin’ me⁠—”

“Will you arrest me if I keep sayin’ it?”

“No,” I dredge out. “Callin’ me by a nickname that won’t die isn’t a crime, unfortunately.”

“Damn,” she muses with another one of her breathtaking smiles, lingering a little closer this time, and it does things. It does things it doesn’t do with any other women in this town. “I kinda liked me in handcuffs.”

I liked you in handcuffs, too.

And I haven’t stopped thinking of it.

“Stay outta trouble, AK,” I say only because I’m supposed to as the town sheriff. I’m not supposed to be encouraging crimes so I can throw cuffs on her and slam her chest into a wall so I can feel up on her ass. “You already got off once.”

She pushes her lips out as if contemplating that she had. “And how many times do you get off with those flowers you buy for your secret admirer?”

Oh God.

I’m not even going to mention my mother because this scenario really doesn’t call for that.

Especially with all the innuendos.

“Who said she was a secret admirer? Secrets don’t last long in this town.”

“No,” she muses. “They don’t.”

“Be good,” I remind her before I take off, rounding her body, but not before muttering, “Or don’t. That’s solely up to you and that fantasy about being at my mercy.”

6

ADELINE

“Will ya stop eatin’ all my potato chips and focus?”

Bobbie Jo stops mid-chew, perfectly comfortable in the middle of my small kitchen, perched on the island with her legs crossed and her feet tucked beneath her.

She looks at me, confused, but it should be clear as day why I’ve spent the last five minutes pacing my kitchen like a girl about to go through a nervous breakdown.

“Focus on what?”

I’m going to strangle her.

Not because she doesn’t know how to read the current status of the room right now, but because it may also help relieve some of the anxiety coursing through my veins.

And I’m never anxious or nervous about anything.

Not when I bought this house, which was the biggest investment of my life, not when I have to do charity work and speak in front of the whole town, not with anyone in Magnolia Ridge, nothing.

Nodda.

Zlithch.