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“It seems you’re burning at both ends, with your new spot opening soon.”
“That’s life.” A lot of burning.
He brushed the back of his neck. “If you need help with anything—”
“You’ve already done enough, Noah,” I stated as Mandy entered the room. She smiled my way, and I tried my best to smile back, but it faltered. Sometimes, being around Mandy made my mind twist because she looked so much like her sister, Catie. I thought Catie was a leading lady in my life story, but she turned out to be only a passing side character.
Maybe she was even a villain.
I blinked and looked away from them both. “I’ve gotta get going. Thanks again for the help, you two.”
“Do you want us to move that box out of the closet?” Mandy asked, gesturing toward the diaries.
“No,” I replied. “Leave it right there. I’ll get to it later.”
* * *
I’d been pied.
Apple, peach, and rhubarb, to be exact.
When I arrived at my new restaurant, Isla Iberia, I stood outside just in time to see some teenagers do a drive-by on their bikes with pies in their left hands.
“Get out of our town!” they shouted before throwing the pies at my display windows, not one missing the target. Five pies. Five messes. One pissed-off Alex.
Out of nowhere, another on a bike came shooting past and shot his pie in my direction, hitting me directly in the face.
The tin slid down my face and shirt before plopping against the sidewalk. Of all the days they could’ve harassed me, they chose the one when I was the most broken.
Livid wasn’t a strong enough word for what I’d felt. My hands formed fists as I tried to keep myself from chasing down the teenagers and whooping their asses.
They all laughed as they sped off, so I did what any respectable, grown thirty-two-year-old would’ve done—I flipped them off.
“Is that how you always interact with kids?” someone asked behind me.
“Only when they’re dicks,” I replied.
“You know what they say. Boys will be boys.”
As if that thought process never led to anything terrible like, oh, you know—nuclear wars.
Turning around, I found the man speaking to me, standing in uniform. I stood a bit taller and nodded once. “Officer.”
“Chief,” he corrected, tipping his hat in my direction. “But people from around here call me Cole.”
“All right, Chief.”
He arched an eyebrow. “I said people around here call me Cole,” he repeated.
“I’m not from around here.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty clear.”
“Shouldn’t you be racing after those kids to get them for doing this to my place?” I yipped.
“This? It’s just a little pie. Think of it as a welcoming gift.” Great. A cop who didn’t do his job. He probably would’ve thrown a pie, too, if he had one.
He gestured toward the building. “I grew up in that place when it was a theater. My grandfather owned it. My wife and I had our first date there. Well, ex-wife. But we’re working on fixing that ex part.”
I hated people who freely overshared their life stories with strangers. I hardly shared my story with people I’d known my whole life. I was almost certain Noah didn’t even know my middle name. It took him hearing it from Catie to discover we’d broken up last year. I had ended a five-year relationship and didn’t even mention it to him.
When he found out, he texted me, “Did Catie and you break up?” I replied, “Yup.” That was where the conversation ended, too. Nothing more, nothing less. I liked to keep my struggles tight against my chest.
Chief Cole seemed to be the opposite of that belief. He kept telling me crap I didn’t care about. “My family owns this town. Before my grandfather passed away, he signed the theater away to some old lady.”
“Teresa,” I said, tensing up from him calling her an old lady. She was so much more than her age. She was vibrant and lively, the kindest, gentlest person I’d ever known. I didn’t find the need to tell the ass that, though. Again, I didn’t overshare.
“Yeah, her. My family was pretty pissed about it, but we didn’t get much say. Grandpa didn’t ask for people’s input. He did whatever he wanted when he wanted.” He scratched at the back of his neck. “We probably would’ve thrown more of a fit if we knew the old broad was gonna sell it to some guy to transform it into an upscale restaurant.”
My hands remained in fists as my pie remained against my skin. “Don’t call her an old broad,” I said through gritted teeth.
He arched an eyebrow. “You knew her personally?”
“She’s my family.”
“Oh.” He narrowed his eyes and shook his head. Clearly, he had more to say, but he took a step back instead. “You have a good day, Mr.…”
“Ramírez. Alex Ramírez.”
“Alex. Welcome to Honey Creek. Don’t worry if your little restaurant fails. Some small towns aren’t meant for big-city visions. You can just pack up your knives and return to where you came from,” he said before wandering off.
