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“I guess I shouldn’t be complaining too much, huh?” Pulling her ponytail out set the waves of her hair tumbling around her in a tangled mess. She scrubbed her fingers over her scalp and stifled a yawn. “I have a business—well, two, really—that are doing well. It’s crazy that the catering end has taken off as much as it has. I know I should be grateful, but you know what, Eli? I’m not.”
She stilled.Holy shit. Wow.Exhaustion had her spewing things she’d never say to this man otherwise. She needed to shut. Her. Damn. Mouth.
Sitting up, she pasted a smile on her face that she knew only a select few could see through. Eli was not one of those select few. “But enough about me. How are you doing? How are Poppy and the boys?”
“They’re all good. The boys are enjoying their freshman year at UW, and Poppy’s all empty-nest crazy.” With a chuckle, he rolled his eyes. Then his expression sobered. She was surprised by the concern that filled his gaze. “If you don’t mind me saying so, Roxie, I think you work too hard. Have you ever heard of a vacation? Or sleep, for that matter?”
Needing to keep her hands busy, she reached for her mug of now-cold hot chocolate. “What’s that saying? ‘Sleep is for the meek’?”
He laughed. “‘Meek’? Well, that is something you’re definitely not.” He nodded to the opposite corner of her office. “I see you’ve managed to cram that horribly uncomfortable-looking... thing... into your office so you can get at least a little bit of shut-eye. What is that, anyway? A gurney?”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s afuton. I’ll have you know that while it’s uglier than sin, it’s actually quite comfortable and—”
“Sure, you keep telling yourself that.” He grinned. “On a different note, Roxie, you really need to get that lock fixed.”
She frowned. “What lock?”
His jaw dropped, and he gestured toward the kitchen. “The lock to your café’s back door? You know, the lock I’ve been telling you to get fixed for the past two weeks? The lock that doesn’t actually lock? The lock that works so well that I just walked right in at eleven o’clock at night? The lock—”
“Uncle, okay?” Roxie raised her hands in surrender. “I get it, all right? Good god, you’re beginning to sound like Quinn.”
“Who’s beginning to sound like me?” a deep voice asked from outside her office.
Both of their heads turned and, as if on cue, Quinn walked into her overcrowded office.
Rubbing her temples, she grimaced.
“How’s it going, Eli?” Quinn lifted his chin at the other man, then looked at Roxie, annoyance etched on his face. “What have I told you about that door, Roxie?”
“Oh. My. God.” She slumped back into her chair and closed her eyes. “I’m officially in hell. All we need now to make the party complete is for Joe to walk in and start yelling at me.”
“You can close your eyes all you want,” Quinn said, “but how many times do I have to tell you to get that damn door fixed? It’s hanging wide open. Anyone can just waltz on in here and—”
“Okay. Jeez. If I promise to call the locksmith tomorrow, will you please stop nagging me?” It took all her willpower to not bang her head on her desk. She’d truly meant to get the door fixed. But things were so damn hectic, and she kept pushing it to the bottom of her to-do list. If she could only get four more hours added to the day...
Eli rose. “I better get going. I’ll text you that number for the locksmith tomorrow. Again.” He nodded to Quinn. “See you around, Sheriff.”
As the back door closed with a loud thud, silence filled the room.
Quinn stared at her.
“Don’t go all cop mode on me,” she snapped. “What already?”
“What was Eli doing here?”
“I don’t know.” She yawned. “He stops by every now and then to chat. You know, seeing as he’s two doors down.”
“Yeah, but at eleven o’clock at night?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he was working late.”
“Yeah, sure,” Quinn said with a snort.
Excuse me?Her eyes widened, and her annoyance turned to anger. “What exactly are you getting at, Quinn?”
“I just find it strange that he’s hanging around here at eleven o’clock at night when his business closes at six. And when he has a wife waiting for him at home. I just think that it’s—”
“I don’t think I like what you’re implying, Quinn O’Conner. Not one bit.” She rose to her full height—putting her a handful of inches shorter than his six-two—and crossed her arms over her chest. If he was going to insult her, she wasn’t going to take it sitting down, dammit. “Need I point out thatyouhave a wife and kid waiting for you at home? So what areyoudoing here at eleven o’clock at night? Your little nice-cop routine may work with other people, but it doesn’t with me. Just spit out what you’re trying to say. And heads-up? If you’re implying that I’d mess around with a married man, then you can go straight to—”
