Double Take (9 page)

It was awareness. Attraction, too. She hadn’t been able to get Mike out of her mind since the moment they’d met.

“Here you go, Chief,” Angie said, handing him a foam cup with a lid. Obviously he was taking his to go.

Lindsey held her breath, wondering if he would leave without a word to her. After everything they’d said on Saturday, about how neither of them was interested in any romantic entanglements, what they should do was continue exchanging nothing more than those polite smiles in public. If he actually sat with her and started a conversation, the gossipers would have them engaged by midnight.

She knew that, knew she should be hoping he’d turn around and leave. But instead, something inside her blossomed and warmed at the idea of him sitting in the empty seat at her table. And within fifteen seconds, he was.

“Is this seat taken?”

“You’ve just taken it,” she pointed out, trying, unsuccessfully, to hide a smile at that fact.

“True.” He sipped his coffee, eyeing her over the cup. “How are you doing, Lindsey?”

“Fine, thanks. No more seasickness.”

“The island doesn’t move quite as much as the ferry did.” There was a twinkle in those brown eyes, and little crinkles beside them. The guy whose very career should make him dour, was quick-to-smile, instead. She liked that about him. Among the many things she liked about him.

His mouth, his hands, his body
.

His kiss. Oh, good lord did the man know how to kiss!

She shook off the thoughts and replied, “That’s good. I doubt I’d survive another sea voyage anytime soon.”

“Are you settling into the cottage okay?”

“It’s a little drafty,” she admitted. “Being close to the lake, those watery winds tend to sift through the eaves. But I’ve got lots of blankets on my bed.”

Shit, Lindsey. Don’t talk about your bed with this man. Because, if you do, the look on your face will make it clear to everyone in the room that you wouldn’t mind if he shared that bed.

Fortunately, Mike didn’t take the opening she’d so stupidly left there. Probably because, unlike Saturday, they were surrounded by curious busybodies.

He leaned over the table, keeping his voice low. “Have you had any more problems with...anybody?”

“Not a one,” she said, knowing he was referring to his obnoxious junior officer.

“Good. I’ve been trying to keep him busy.”

“I appreciate it.”

He nodded and asked, “What about the job? How’s school?”

“It’s okay,” she said, lifting her own cup. “Different.”

“You know, you mentioned that you’re not regularly a teacher, but you never did tell me what your real job is.”

He waited. She didn’t respond, trying to figure out how to answer the unasked question.

Finally, he said, “Okay, state secret.”

“No, it’s not,” she said, feeling stupid.
But yes, it is.
“I’m sort of unemployed right now. That’s why this substitute position worked out so well, for me and for Callie.”

“Where did you work before?”

“In Chicago.” She’d intentionally misinterpreted the question, sticking to geography.

That appeared to surprise him. Obviously he hadn’t read her license very closely last week when he’d pulled her over. “Really? Me, too.”

“Oh!” He’d mentioned he was a recent transplant. Dumb of her to never ask where he’d come from. “Where did you live?”

“Little Italy. Near the university. I worked for the Chicago P.D.”

Now she was one who was surprised. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. I started when I was twenty as a beat cop. Kept going to college at night, worked my way up. After I finished school, I landed my detective shield.”

“You were a Chicago Police detective, and now you’re...”

“Chief of the Tinytown Police Department?” He sighed, sounding rueful. “Yep. And, before you ask, it was my choice. I didn’t get fired for taking bribes or anything of that sort.”

“That thought
never
crossed my mind.” She might not know him well—yet—but she was already sure Mike Santori was one of the good guys. “Are you happy with your decision?”

“I guess. It hasn’t all been chocolate-chip cookies and helping old ladies cross the street, you know.”

“I’ll bet.”

“There are some really big pluses to living here rather than in Chicago, especially in my line of work.”

“Such as?”

“Not getting shot at.”

She winced, hating the idea of it. His tone might be light, but his expression was very serious. He
had
been shot at. Given the crime statistics of her home city, that wasn’t surprising. She even knew a few civilians who’d been shot at and couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be a cop in such a dangerous city. She sent up a mental prayer of thanks that he’d gotten out, and not just because she was glad to have met him.

“That’s always a bonus,” she replied, keeping things light, not asking the questions she was dying to ask—namely, who, what, when, where and why. “Is there anything else you enjoy?”

“Well, although I miss them, I do sort of enjoy being fairly sure I’m not going to run into some member of my family every damn time I leave my house.”

She couldn’t contain a small laugh. “Only fairly sure?”

“A posse of them will show up here one of these days. I’m the first Santori to move further than fifty miles away from Chicago.”

“So you have a big family?”

“Enormous.”

She considered that, wondering what it would be like. Being an only child of pretty screwed-up parents, who’d seldom worried about feeding or clothing the one kid they had, she suspected it was a good thing she didn’t have any siblings. Callie was like a sister to her, and Callie’s family, though almost as poor as her own, had provided her with a lot of the love and warmth she’d missed out on at home.

The lack of money made some people desperate and cold, while it made others far more appreciative of the things—and people—they did have. Thankfully, Callie’s folks had been the grateful sort, with hearts big enough to welcome a kid whose parents were not.

Suddenly thinking about Mike’s last name, and remembering a restaurant she’d gone to a couple of times in the city, she asked, “Are you related to the Santoris who own a pizza joint on Taylor Avenue?”

He nodded. “My Uncle Tony and Aunt Rosa founded it. My cousin Tony runs it now, with his wife, Gloria.”

“Great food.”

“I know.” He shook his head mournfully. “I haven’t had a decent slice of pizza since I moved here. The only Italian place on the island is run by a family named Fitzpatrick.”

“Irish-Italian. That’s a good combination, so I hear.” She immediately told herself to forget the fact that she was about seventy-five percent Irish and he looked about as Italian as the Godfather’s Godfather.

“They have corned-beef-and-cabbage calzone on the menu.”

She snorted. Realizing he wasn’t even smiling—and was, in fact, serious, she thought about it and mused, “Actually, that sounds pretty fantastic.”

“That’s it. You’re banned from Italy for life.”

“Dang. And it’s on my bucket list, too.”

“Maybe you just need to learn how to appreciate real Italian food,” he told her, his brown eyes warming. “I’m a great cook.”

Her heart fluttered. To busy her hands, she reached for her cup and toyed with the handle, scraping the tip of her finger across the smooth edge. “Really?”

“My mom regretted not having a daughter to pass her secret recipes on to, so she taught me and both my brothers a few of her specialties.”

Brothers. Plural. More Mikes in the world? Good grief.

“I could...”

“Chief, there you are!”

Lindsey jerked her attention to the barrel-chested man who suddenly appeared beside their small table. She couldn’t help wondering just what Mike had been about to say before they were interrupted.
I could...cook for you? Teach you? Give you ten kinds of orgasm in twenty minutes?

She’d never know. And that was just as well. Because as she glanced around the shop, she noticed they were being stared at by everyone in it. She’d prefer to believe it had been the loud proclamation of the man who’d interrupted them that had called the patrons’ attention, but she seriously doubted it. If she could go back in time thirty seconds, she’d bet she would still see those same wide-eyed, titillated faces watching their table.

“I have to talk to you about that no-parking zone out in front of my shop.”

Probably about sixty, the stranger had iron-gray hair, cut military close, and a broad face, half-hidden behind a bushy beard. Why he’d chosen to cut the hair off his head only to grow it on his face, she had no idea, but the result was a little jarring.

Mike rose to his feet with a heavy sigh, as if he’d had this conversation before. “Mr. Winpigler, you
know
I can’t change the zoning and let you park vehicles out front, not when there’s a fire hydrant practically right outside your door.”

“That hydrant is in a very inconvenient location!”

“I’ll bet you wouldn’t say that if your shop caught fire.”

Lindsey put her hand over her mouth to hide a chuckle. Mike certainly had the other man there.

“I still want to talk about it. That is, if you can tear yourself away.” The man spared a quick look at Lindsey, a look she didn’t like. It was assessing, a little dismissive, as if she were some bimbo distracting the chief from his oh-so-important job settling parking space disputes.

She got up, grabbing her purse and her laptop case. “I should go.”

Mike glanced at her, and then around the room. Finally noticing they were the center of attention—and not just because the local business owner had a loud mouth—he didn’t try to talk her into staying. “Nice running into you,” he said with an impersonal nod, as if they barely knew each other.

Nice try. She doubted it would help. A ten-minute conversation had landed them on the local radar; people would be talking about their coffee-shop interlude all weekend.

It was ridiculous to think something so innocent could bring about any kind of scandal. But this was a small town. She’d spent part of her childhood in one, and was familiar with how things worked. No, she wasn’t the daughter of a drunk and a drug addict here in Wild Boar, but she
was
an outsider. And considering she was the new teacher—the protector of all the innocent minds of their precious children—and Mike was the chief of police—responsible for their safety—of course she and Mike were going to be living under everyone’s watchful eye.

The last thing she needed right now was to draw any more attention to herself; she’d had quite enough of that in recent months. Nor did she want to reflect badly on Callie, who would have to live amongst these people long after Lindsey was gone, back in her real life and her real career.

There was also Mike’s new job to consider. He had to be on shaky ground this early in his employment. Considering he’d left Chicago to save his very
life,
how could she possibly do anything that would put his new job at risk?

That wasn’t all. This place wasn’t cut off from the rest of the world—she’d just spent an hour on the internet, for heaven’s sake! If people started talking about her and Mike, might somebody not decide they wanted to learn a little more about the new schoolteacher? Luckily Lindsey Smith was a very common name, and it wouldn’t be that easy to find her. Still, somebody who was really determined certainly could, and they’d find a lot of snarky humor and nasty innuendo that she just couldn’t deal with right now. Next she’d get the same treatment from the people on the island—she’d no longer be Callie’s nice friend who was pitching in at the school, she’d be a sex fiend who might warp the minds of their precious little angels.

So yeah, it was time to get out of the café, far away from Mike Santori and his dark, dreamy eyes and soft, sexy mouth. She needed to escape his temptation, the kind that was making her forget she was here to lie low and escape being talked about because of sex and orgasms...even if all she could think about when he was around was having sex and orgasms.

Nodding at Mike and his irate citizen, she hurried past them, mumbling, “Thanks for the information, Chief Santori.”

Right—loads of information. She now knew not to shop at Mr. Loudmouth’s store, and what kind of calzone to order from the local pizzeria. The most important bit of information she’d gotten from Mike, however, was that he was one hell of a great guy.

“Bye, Lindsey!” the woman behind the counter called.

The goodbye was echoed by Lindsey’s students, who, unlike the adults in the place, appeared more interested in their online activities than in her personal ones, thank goodness.

Hurrying outside, she immediately turned toward the municipal parking lot, which was located behind the public school. She’d discovered, just as Mike had warned, that the parking situation at the school was terrible. Not because there were that many cars, but there were simply too few spaces. So she’d taken to leaving her Prius in the town lot. When tourist season started, that might be a problem, but for now, her cute yellow car sat entirely alone in the lot, looking like a sunny-side-up egg in the middle of a cast-iron skillet.

Reaching the driver’s side, she searched for her keys. She remembered she’d dropped them into her laptop bag instead of her purse this morning, and flipped it open. As she dug around in the side pocket, she realized someone was calling her name.

“Lindsey, wait up!”

She glanced over the hood of her car, seeing Mike walking toward her across the parking lot. Damn. So much for a clean getaway. What was he thinking, following her like this? He had to have noticed how much attention they’d been drawing inside.

“What can I do for you, Chief?”

“We didn’t finish our conversation.”

“Yes, we did.”

“I was about to offer you a home-cooked meal.”

“And I was about to decline,” she insisted, still digging for the elusive keys. In fact, she dug so forcefully, the shoulder strap of her laptop case slipped, and she dropped the whole thing onto the ground.

“Damn it,” she said, nervous and irritated, wondering why the man flustered her so. She just prayed the bag’s padding had prevented any damage to the equipment inside.