Trust with a Chaser (Rainbow Cove Book 1) by Annabeth Albert

Author:Annabeth Albert [Albert, Annabeth]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
Published: 2017-07-31T16:00:00+00:00

Fifteen

Nash

By ten p.m. on Sunday, July sixth, I was as tired as I’d ever been.

“Quiet?” Candace Holmes asked as she came into the station. “Finally?”

“Finally,” I agreed. “There’s still people at the beach, so you’ll want to keep an eye on fires and fireworks there, but traffic has slowed considerably.”

Sand still clung to my pants leg after a trek down to the beach to talk to some late-night revelers about fire ordinances. The weather had been perfect for the holiday weekend, and it was no wonder that people were reluctant to head back to their everyday lives. The hypnotic crash of the ocean at night and lure of a near-full moon were just too much temptation to resist.

“I’m so ready to be done with fireworks.” She rolled her shoulders. “I had to give Jimmy Hanks a warning about fireworks in Rowdy’s parking lot last night.”

I stifled my wince at that news. Jimmy was not going to be happy about that, which meant that Mason probably had heard an earful on the unfairness of local law enforcement. “You did the right thing there.”

“Same with a noise complaint from Patsy’s B&B—Adam Ringer and a bunch of his friends were doing an impromptu show for guests. I just issued a warning because I figured that was what you’d do.”

“Yup.” I nodded. “Lots of warnings, all weekend long. Hopefully tonight is quieter for you.” Please don’t let Mason have been with them. That was probably a futile wish, but I couldn’t exactly ask Holmes for details as to who all was there, not with Marta five feet away and still up in my business over how often I ate at the tavern.

He’d been nice enough to bring in takeout from the tavern for the whole crew on the Fourth, and that was all I’d seen of him in days. Which should be a relief, frankly. Maybe even a sign that this…whatever we had going was coming to a close. We’d had that lesson on pasta, and then, later that same week, one on mashed potatoes and oven-finished steaks and another on fish. You could almost say we had a routine of cooking and fucking going before the holiday weekend blew it all to hell, and I really should have been relieved because a routine with Mason was not what I wanted.

I finished up the changeover with Holmes and headed out. Right as I pulled into my driveway, my phone chimed with a message. Lord knew I was not up to anything more than a hot shower and bed, but I dutifully checked just the same.

Finally home? I’ve got a massage with your name on it.

Now there was an offer I’d never received before. And if Mason had suggested cooking, I would have declined and not felt too guilty about it—I was simply that exhausted. But something in me hesitated about how to reply to this new offer.

Never had a massage, I finally typed. Not sure I like them. But thanks.

I swore I could hear him laugh from where I stood in the driveway, and sure enough, my phone dinged with a reply.

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