Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
After talking her off the cliff, I ended the call and texted my dads.
Crisis averted. I talked her into asking Lisette for help.
Papa
Oh right. She’s friends with people who sew.
Dad
Don’t act like this is the first you’re hearing this. I’ve been saying it all night. She’s the *wardrobe* coordinator. Jesus fuck, Blue.
See you next week. Love you.
Papa
My baby’s coming home!
Dad
Can’t wait to see you.
As I slid the phone in my pocket and turned to go back inside, a red light swept across the back of the building. I spun around immediately… and found the fire chief was using his lights to flirt with me.
He pulled into the lot and rolled down the window. “It’s too cold out here for you to be standing around soliciting people,” he teased.
I put my hand on my hip and canted it out, striking a sultry pose in my black twill pants and Timber fleece. “I’m too expensive for you, boy.”
He looked around to make sure the lot was empty before crooking his finger at me. I approached his open window and leaned in, enjoying the waft of Judd-scented heat.
“Come home with me,” he said in a sultry rumble.
“How much you got, sailor?”
He moved his hand down between his legs and rubbed himself suggestively. “Just enough to make you let out that little sound that drives me up a wall.”
I thought back to the restaurant and mentally checked in with the status of everyone’s roles before I stepped out to make the call. The orders had died down, and my assistant manager already knew she was handling closing tonight.
Judd put his warm hand on mine where it clutched the rim of his door. “Get in the car, Marian,” he said softly. “Please.”
I moved around the truck quickly and got in. “What the chief wants, the chief gets,” I said, reaching for my seat belt.
On the way to his house, I texted everyone I needed to at Timber, ignored a text from Ella asking me why I was suddenly Mattie’s favorite sibling, and allowed the heat vents to thaw me out.
“Will you tell me about Tavo?” Kincaid finally asked.
The question was gentle. I didn’t feel like he was prying for any nefarious reason, and after what he’d overheard at the farmer’s market, he’d probably figured most of it out already. But I still owed it to Tavo to protect his identity. “How come you never believed me when I said the two of us were together?”
He reached over and took my hand. “Baby, you’re about as good a liar as Pinocchio. Besides, poor Tavo’s eyes about popped out of his head when you claimed him.”
The endearment hit me right in the chest. This moment was everything I’d always wanted. Normal. Steady. Almost domestic.
“He’s hiding from a possessive lover. A married, possessive lover who doesn’t like the word no and has the power to make Tavo’s life difficult.”
“A judge.” He nodded like he was remembering what the guy at the farmer’s market said. “In San Francisco.”
“Yeah. So you can imagine the kind of resources the man has. If Tavo’s name turns up on any tax form or banking transaction—”
“Or fire investigation report,” he muttered, finally understanding.
“Yeah,” I sighed. “The judge might find him.”
Judd parked the truck in his driveway and turned off the ignition. “What’s the plan, though? Because he’s been in Legacy for months.”
“I have an uncle in the security business,” I explained. “He’s trying to dig up dirt on the judge or find someone else he’s done this to. Otherwise, the plan is to wait him out. Uncle Joel says there are still people asking around about Tavo, which means the judge has definitely not given up yet. But eventually, he’s going to have to move on. Hopefully, Joel will get evidence of a new love interest, and Tavo will be off the hook. I don’t think he’ll go back to San Francisco at this point, but he could at least get a real job. Right now, he’s too afraid of pinging something in a government database.”
We hopped out of the truck and made our way into his house. I loved his place. It was homey and snug, unlike my drafty rabbit warren above Timber.
“Come in. I made cookies,” Judd said, shocking the hell out of me.
“You? You made cookies?”
His eyebrows dipped together. “Why do you sound so shocked? Yes, I made cookies. Sugar cookies, actually.”
“I would have been less surprised if you’d said you changed the oil on your truck.”
“My truck doesn’t need an oil change for another three thousand miles,” he said, still obviously confused. “Why would I change the oil on my truck when it doesn’t need it?”
“You know how to change the oil on your truck?”
He let out a breath. “Is this like the Costco run thing? Is making cookies a euphemism? Or changing the oil?”