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The Way We Were Always Meant To Be

Page 8

by K.M. Taylor

“And your ceilin’ ain’t movin’, your house is just creakin’. Turn your TV up.”

“Yes, Sheriff.”

“And stop callin’ me, Sheriff.”

“Alright, Dodger, geez.”

He glowers at me, then at Layla, then back at me again, and mumbles something under his breath that I don’t catch on the way out.

If the front door could slam, he’d slam it.

Layla elbows me lightly. “You really called him for all that?”

“Yes,” I reply without any shame. “Because it all happened.”

She eyes me suspiciously, closing the door to the pastry display. “Yeah? That all?”

“Yep.”

“Said that yep too fast.”

I perk an innocent brow. “I’m not sure whatcha wantin’ from me. I’ve been messin’ with Dodger since I can remember. It brings me joy.”

“Home visits bring you joy, too?”

Rolling my eyes—because I’d rather do that and die on my secret that I have a crush on him—I move toward the back of the kitchen to get back to work. “Layla Jean, if you’re gettin’ bored in this town, I’d suggest ya read a book. Loretta at the library said they got some new smut in the back.”

“And miss ya blushin’ at the sheriff? Not a chance in hell, sis.”

3

DODGER

“Twenty dollars! Who has twenty-five?”

This is a low moment in my life.

I never thought I’d be bid on by a bunch of women and their promises of new casserole recipes that would make me want to come back for more.

Some of them are married, so having to face their husbands in town and the animosity that might dredge up is going to make my next election in a few years fun.

Honestly, I didn’t know about it until the last minute. And, for some reason, I have a feeling Adeline had a mind to put this together and suggest it.

However, I haven’t seen her, and normally she loves to be front and center when she does stupid shit to me, so maybe not.

Regardless, I’m standing on this stage with a bid of forty dollars, and I don’t have time to go to lunch and get propositioned about a new law. Because if Mrs. Dalton gets a hold of me, she’ll take my whole damn day up about one.

“Well, well, sixty-five dollars for our young and dashin’ Sheriff Abbott,” I hear Agnes say in the microphone next to me. “Remember, ladies, he’s not married.”

Mindlessly, I turn my head and give her an exasperated expression.

I don’t need her to announce or bid off a dating life for me because it’s not going to happen that way. I have enough to do around here without getting chased, when I’m supposed to be doing the chasing.

However, Agnes’s comment seems to get the crowd more excited, and I’m ready to wrap it up here.

Taking a small step toward the troublemaker, Agnes covers the microphone with her palm. “Any way we can finish this, Mrs. Campbell? I have things to do.”

“Sheriff,” she scolds. “This is for the children.”