Shannon finally interrupted. “I’m sorry, but you were hurt today? Your arm got hurt and I was giving you grief about noodle arms? Why didn’t you say anything?” Yes, her voice had risen, and yes, her accent was back in full force.
Looking increasingly uncomfortable, Dylan shrugged off her questions as he walked to her side. “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”
He’d spoken soft. Sweet. Shannon looked into his eyes. “I can’t believe you let me give you a hard time about being late.”
“You didn’t know.”
If they’d been alone, she knew she would have reached out to him. Maybe pressed a palm to his chest. Maybe ran her fingers across his cheek. Anything to let him know that she cared.
Which had kind of just come from nowhere.
Traci cleared her throat, bringing them back to the present. “It was his right arm.”
“You’re right?” She moaned. “And here I’ve been telling you to hold it out steadier.”
Dylan lowered his head so his mouth was just inches from her ear. “I promise that I’m fine. Don’t worry.”
“As long as that graze doesn’t get infected,” Traci said. “Since, you know, you refused to get checked out.”
Dylan looked back at his partner. “Stop. You’re scaring Shannon.”
Traci looked from him to her. After a couple of seconds, she held up a sack of fast food that Shannon hadn’t even noticed in her hand. “All right then. Changing subjects, I brought home burgers, Shannon.”
“That’s so nice of you. Thanks, I’ll be right up.”
“’Kay.” After taking a few steps, she looked over her shoulder. “See you tomorrow, Dylan.”
“Yeah. See you at eight, Lucky.”
When Traci was out of sight, Dylan pulled out his wallet. “Traci was right, this is something, huh? Talk about a small world.”
“I guess so.”
“I can’t believe you two are sisters,” he continued as he handed her two twenties. “You don’t look anything alike.”
“We both have brown hair and brown eyes.” Traci was also persistent and loyal—two qualities she knew she had in spades.
“That might be it, though. You’re such a little thing.”
“I’m five foot three.”
He grinned. “Little.”
“For the record, I can’t believe you’re my sister’s partner on the force either. I was just as caught off guard as the two of you.”
“Crazy, huh?” Stuffing his wallet back into his back pocket, he said, “Seriously, Traci is a good cop. She’s got quite the reputation back in Cleveland. Bridgeport is lucky to have her.”
“Wow. I guess I better ask her for some stories.”
“If she gives you more than a couple of shrugs and ‘I was part of a good squad,’ I’ll be surprised. She’s pretty closed off.” He winked. “My mother would call her a little prickly.”
“My momma would have called that gumption.” Thinking back to the way she’d greeted him when he’d first arrived, Shannon frowned. “Prickliness might be a genetic thing, I’m afraid. I’m sorry about giving you so much grief when you got here.”
Dylan’s eyes warmed. “You had reason. Being late is rude. I could have called or texted.”
Yeah, when he wasn’t getting shot at or avoiding the hospital. “Maybe, but I still feel bad. I could’ve been nicer.”
“Hell, I could’ve been a little less honest during our first lesson. I didn’t need to put that bet out there like an unwanted gift.” Gazing down at her, the corners of his lips turned up. “So, any suggestions for getting into Traci’s good graces?”
“I don’t really know her all that well. But so far, food always helps.” She smiled, hoping her little joke would encourage him to ignore her statement. But it didn’t.
“Do I want to know how it is you don’t know her well?”
“It’s not a secret, but it’s going to take a while to explain. Traci might want to do that.”
“That sounds cryptic.”
She smiled. “And you sound like a policeman: so suspicious.” When he studied her carefully, she said, “So, class number three next Friday night?”
After a pause, he nodded. “Yeah. I’ll be here.”
“Have a good week, Dylan,” she said as she opened the door for him.
Just as he was about to step out, he turned to her. “You know what? This dancing thing has been a lot more fun than I thought it would be.”
She laughed. “Those are words to warm a girl’s heart. I’ll see you in a week, officer.”
After he gave her another searching look, he walked through the door.
She locked it behind him but couldn’t help but watch him leave. He’d been right. Their session had been a lot more fun than she’d expected, too. And the feel of being in his arms? Well, there’d been something there between them.
It seemed that old adage was true. Nothing really was what it seemed to be. Not the situation and not people.
CHAPTER 6
“Those who can’t dance say the music is no good.”
—Jamaican Proverb
Saturday
She wasn’t sure if she was going to be able to finally do it.
Gazing at the front door of Backdoor Books through her windshield, Jennifer Lange sighed. Backdoor Books was simply the cutest place. Well, she thought it was—she’d only seen pictures of it online.
The quaint bookstore was housed in a remodeled three story building right off Broadway in Montgomery, the next town over. There was a fireplace on the first floor where visiting authors did talks and signings. The children’s area in the basement looked like a scene from “Hansel and Gretel.” Wooden cutouts of trees and bushes and houses were everywhere. They looked perfect for six-year-olds to hide behind. There were also three little playhouses that the managers had outfitted with books, stools, and lots of windows for kids to peek out of.
The second floor was divided into fiction and nonfiction sections. Each genre section was large and filled to the brim with hardcovers and new paperbacks.
But the third floor was what interested Jennifer the most. It housed the self-improvement, crafts, travel, and cookbooks. Lots and lots of wonderful small-town cookbooks. Her hands practically itched to get hold of them.