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Darryl winked and then his expression slid back into that of hard cop. “It means I need to show those watching—”
“Which is who?” she interjected, knowing she wasn’t going to like what he said next.
“The mayor, the captain, my fellow cops,” he explained, “that I’m not letting you off with a slap on the hand. That your little skating escapade is not one this town will tolerate from drunk tourists. The last thing we need is for that fountain to become some sort of social media booze challenge.”
Penelope decided she was not a fan of the the strait-laced side of Darryl. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
Terrible things filled her mind. She finally decided the reality couldn’t be worse than getting slapped with an expensive fine she couldn’t afford. “All right, so what’s my punishment? It’s not a fine, is it?”
“There is that possibility.” He cocked his head, examining her. “But that hardly seems very Christmas-y, does it?”
“Nope, not Christmas-y at all,” she said in relief. She was barely able to pay her bills, living paycheck to paycheck. During the high tourist season, she was rolling in cash, but all the traveling and relocating and finding new places to crash for a few weeks or months made all her money bleed out.
He gave her a long look then settled into his seat. “Here’s where we’re at: It’s either a thousand-dollar fine and possible 180 days in jail for drunk and disorderly.” She died a little, and by the slight amusement glistening in his eyes, he knew it. “Or you’re going to be my helper elf during the police station events over the holidays, ending with a barn da
nce on Christmas Eve.”
“But I leave the day after Christmas,” she reminded him. “Being your elf will take up all my free time before I go.”
He grinned back. “But you’ll leave with a clear record.”
She pondered her next steps. There wasn’t a way out of this. Besides, maybe spending more time with Darryl wasn’t such a bad thing. That could lead to more sex. Right? “Okay, so what’s the plan, then?”
“I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning at nine o’clock.”
“Perfect,” she said with a bite of sarcasm. “I’ll go find my Christmas spirit and see you tomorrow.”
She went to move away when he grabbed her chin, and somehow, that hold made her freeze. She stared into his eyes, lost in them. She was flighty. He was not. And that tight hold made her body awaken just like that, almost as if he could ground her. Darryl was this big, warm spot that she wanted to mold into. Hang on to, even. More than anything, every time he touched her, she felt like that teenage girl who didn’t know the dark ways life could be. She wanted to be that girl again.
“I enjoyed last night.” His lips twitched. “And this morning.” Then his mouth dropped to hers, and she forgot she was in his cruiser. It became only about the way she felt when his lips glided against hers. How in this second, they got their moment back, and they were taking it.
When he broke the kiss, she smiled, attempting to hide the heat he brought. Needing to get away, considering she was tempted to rip that uniform off him to get to all those hard muscles underneath, and to get his hands on her again because those hands knew what they were doing and then some, she opened the car door and hurried out. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” she said, leaning her head back into the cruiser.
“You will.” He grinned.
The last thing she saw was his captivating eyes promising so many hot things. Then she shut the door, carefully holding the apple pie. She trotted up the front porch, the old wood creaking under her high heels.
Before she could even reach for her keys, the dark cherry-painted front door opened. Clara, the oldest Carter sister, stood in the doorway. Her reddish brown hair was pulled into a tight ponytail. She wore skinny jeans and a long sweater, covering her legs that went on and on. Her deep blue eyes were narrowed, a frown on her oval face. “You seduced the local law enforcement?”
“What’s seduced, Mommy?”
Clara’s eyes widened before she spun around, staring at her six-year-old son, Mason. He was cute as a button, with huge light green eyes and light brown hair. Both of those traits belonged to Mason’s father, who had always been a mystery. Clara never said who Mason’s father was, only that he wasn’t in their lives and didn’t want to be.
As cool and calm as she always was, Clara took the pie from Penelope then handed it to Mason. “Here, honey, take this into the kitchen for Mommy. Don’t drop it.”
Mason yanked the pie away then ran into the kitchen. A bang and some shuffling of feet, and Clara shook her head. “He totally dropped it.” She sighed, glancing back at Penelope, her frown sliding back into place. “You promised you’d be good.”
“I was good.” She smiled, shutting the door behind her. “Very good, in fact.” And so was Darryl. In bed. God, he was so good; she still tingled in all the places he’d touched. Maybe it was their history. Her longing for the guy who gave her that hot kiss, the guy who made her heart sing by saying he wanted to kiss her like that every day. That man had gifts and he knew how to use them.
Footsteps thundered along the hallway, then Maisie appeared on the top of the staircase. Her dirty blond hair was swept into a side braid, her pink Converse moved quick as she hurried down the staircase, her dark round blue eyes locked onto Penelope. “Oh, my God, tell me everything.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“Liar.” Maisie pointed to Penelope’s face. “I saw Darryl kissing you in his cruiser. That’s a kiss from a man who got some.”
“I need more coffee for this conversation,” Penelope said, moving into the small farmhouse kitchen with the old worn white cabinets and black countertop. She grabbed a mug and made herself another coffee. The one at Darryl’s house wasn’t going to cut it today.
