From Scratch Read Free

with a soft clink. Yanking off her splattered apron and well-worn chef’s coat, she dusted her hands down the front of her sweater and jeans, sweeping off any stray flour or powdered sugar. She tossed the apron and coat into a plastic clothes basket on top of the day’s used towels. With a quick scan of her reflection in a drying cookie sheet, she shrugged her shoulders with a sigh. Guess it’ll have to do.
    She lifted one hand to the door and the other hand to her head, releasing her heavy curls from the makeshift bun she’d erected earlier in the morning. As she walked through the doorway, a soft sigh melted through her body with the wave of tingles rolling over her scalp. For sheer mass, her hair deserved its own zip code. She wasn’t always the prettiest girl in the room, but her hair definitely made a statement: Beware Trespassers.
    She wasn’t too concerned that her curls would frighten the good chief. Despite what she was loathe to call a “moment” earlier today, Sean barely noticed her beyond her rent check, or lack thereof, and she was fairly certain he’d never think of mixing business with pleasure. Not the perfect police chief.
    Shaking the weighty bulk with her fingers, she took one additional step into the café to avoid the door tweaking her in the back, and gave herself a pep talk. Remember, he’s your landlord. Not your friend. He’s…come on! Think of a reason. There were a thousand this morning. He’s mean. Well, except for his kindness to sweet Mr. Thompson. And, renting this building to someone with cash, but no credit history. No. No. No. He’s mean. He’s a bully. He’s the landlord. Tonight is business. Stay on the offensive. He’s a cop. You can’t trust anyone—not even cops.
    The chief walked into the café and her heart dropped to her stomach, crushing all of her arguments with a thud.
    ~*~
    Sean pushed open the front door. The jingling bell announced his arrival. His gaze shifted to the connecting door and he froze. Reflexively, he tightened his grip on the handle of his toolbox. The vision of Maggie, hair down and no apron, hit him like a prize fighter in an opening round. Swiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he couldn’t tear his gaze from her.
    She was catch-your-breath stunning, but her saucy mouth usually curbed her appeal. In the six months he’d known her, he had not experienced the full force of the waterfall of tresses framing her gorgeous face. Seeing her hair flowing around her shoulders made him yearn to tangle his fingers in her curls. He said a silent prayer for God’s strength and willpower. Tonight would be a challenge.
    A sweet twist of her lips matched the twinkle of welcome in her eyes. She stopped just inside the narrow walkway connecting the dining area and the sales counter. The smile seemed genuine, free from her typical nasty bite.
    Maybe they’d made a breakthrough this morning as they’d bonded over Mr. Thompson?
    “I really appreciate you coming,” she said.
    “Well, I’d like to pay the mortgage on the building…”
    Her smile bent to a snarl. Pivoting on her heel, she said, “Oh, yes...the rent.” She rammed open the door and let it swing back, nearly slamming into his face.
    He sucked in a deep breath and then released air slowly through tight lips. He slid his hand up the smooth wood and pushed the door forward with the barest touch of his fingers. Thanks, Lord. That helps.
    She waited for him by the first of three prep tables, her arms crossed. Her foot tapped to an impatient rhythm. “I have my checkbook handy. As soon as you finish up, I’ll write you a check for three months’ rent. How’ll that be?”
    “No need to give me more than the two months’ rent.”
    She turned toward the back of the kitchen.
    He followed as she expertly wove through a delicate obstacle course laid out in the shoebox-sized kitchen, stopping just to the left of the back door. Memories of running through the door to sneak a warm cookie off of