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On Wednesdays, he’ll get Layla’s raspberry cinnamon rolls, but the coffee always stays the same.

Black.

Like his stare right now.

“Give a girl a second,” I lightly scold, opening the glass display door to grab his muffin. “No one likes a Karen, Dodger.”

“Sheriff Abbott,” he reminds me under his breath with a hint of aggravation. “Lord, help me.”

“Can’t,” I vouch simply. “He’s too busy helpin’ my brother get outta that charity event y’all are plannin’.”

He rolls his eyes when Layla shows up at my side to give him his large coffee.

“This will kill ya, Dodger,” she claims. “This coffee will eat your insides if you don’t sweeten it up.”

“It ain’t gonna do nuthin’,” he retorts with the same scowl. “And Layla Jean, I will have Maebelle bet on your husband for that lunch date if you don’t stop callin’ me Dodger with this one over here.” He openly points at me. “Give me some respect, my God.”

“I respect ya all the time,” my sister-in-law claims. “I’m the one makin’ all your desserts y’all are gonna sell. For free. For that new playground for the kids and, hopefully, to buy y’all some new cop uniforms because, Dodger, y’all need to do something with the button-up.”

I like the button-up.

I also like how his dark green pants outline his ass.

“Ya want me to roam around town in a wife-beater and jeans?” Dodger pushes back. “Just give me my muffin.”

“Say please first.”

“I stuck up for you in town and literally kept folks from harassin’ you when they found out you were married to Briggs. Muffin.”

“Please.”

He sighs loudly and rolls his head a little to stretch his neck, and I haven’t realized the muscles he has there, too.

God, he’s so sexy.

“Alright, Layla Jean, you win,” he concedes evenly. “Please, may I have my muffin?”

Layla lifts herself up on her tiptoes and hands it over to him. “Have a nice day, Dodge. Be safe.”

“Right. Because it’s pure chaos out there.”

“It will be this weekend for the charity event,” she coos. “That lunch date auction always gets heated.”

“Just tell Briggs to be nice to whoever wins it with him because the last thing I want to hear is some middle-aged woman complainin’ about how dry he was.”

“Sure will.”

Dodger grabs his muffin and looks at me with a furrowed brow. “Anything else?”

Ha.

He’s lucky Layla Jean is here.

“Not unless ya want something else, Sheriff.”

His eyes narrow at the sudden use of his correct name. “Don’t remove that brick from your trash cans. And don’t call me if Mrs. Henderson’s chickens invade your damn yard again. Just shoo them, Adeline. I don’t want another call about how they disrespect your authority. You’re drivin’ me crazy.”

“Yes, Sheriff.”