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“You don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I would really appreciate it, then. And you could stay for dinner. It won’t be anything fancy, but it’s the least I can do if you’re making another special trip out here.” She paused for a half second as her good sense caught up to her words. “I’m sorry. You’re probably busy or have other plans. I blurted it out without thinking. Just ignore that—”

“Allye. Hold up.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “I do have a lot to do with these cases piling up, but I still have to eat.”

“Would you like to stay, then?” She could kick herself for how hopeful she sounded. After all, she was just offering him dinner as a thank-you.

“I’d be honored.”

“It’s a—” She bit her tongue before the worddatecame out of her mouth. “A plan, then.”

“Be there at five.” He ended the call, and Allye dropped the phone from her ear.

Had she really just invited Eric Thornton to dinner? And he’d accepted? Eight or ten years ago, she’d have been ecstatic. She’d been a hopeless romantic back in high school, but even now, the thought excited her more than it should. Of course, she reminded herself, itwasn’ta date, and she was in no position to start a relationshipanyway. This was a thank-you dinner following official police business. Nothing romantic about it.

She snorted at the ridiculous image of the two of them sitting catty-corner at her kitchen table, candles burning as she and Eric bent their heads over an album of mug shots. Yeah, she’d leave the candles in the drawer.

But she did need to get dinner started and straighten the kitchen before he arrived. It was still a mess, and she didn’t have the slightest idea what to make. She stifled another groan and reached for the door handle. An hour. She had an hour. She’d whipped up a meal in less.

Back inside, she eyed the disarray of her kitchen. No time to put everything in order, but she could prioritize. And cheat if necessary. She cleared out the dishwasher first, then placed anything dirty inside—including the hand-wash-only pots and pans that she would have to pull back out before running it. No time to fully clear the table, but she relocated the piles of mail and receipts to her desk and moved everything else to one end. It would have to do.

Ignoring the urge to sit for a few moments, she instead made a quick decision about tonight’s menu. She pulled out a gallon bag of frozen broth and transferred it to a large pot. She added extra water and a few spices, then placed the pot on the stove. The broth would thaw in a matter of minutes, and with a few carrots, some leftover rotisserie chicken, and her grandma’s measured-with-the-heart dumpling recipe, she’d have a comfort meal ready in no time. She leaned against the counter and glanced at the time. Might even be able to get a pan of brownies in the oven before Eric arrived. If not, there was always ice cream.

Promptly at five, her doorbell rang. She slid the brownie batter into the oven and set a timer. She knew better than to answer the door first and hope she’d remember when she returned to the kitchen. That done, she hurried to let Eric in.

She greeted him with a smile, noting the tablet tucked under his arm in lieu of the photo album she’d been expecting. Of course mug shots would be electronic now—even more of a blow to her silly romantic dinner imaginings from earlier. She returned her gaze to his face, and she found him grinning.

“What?” She tucked an escaped curl behind her ear.

He bit his cheek like he was trying not to laugh. “You’ve been baking.”

“Yes?” She sniffed the air. The brownies hadn’t been in the oven long enough to spread their aroma throughout the house, but the chicken and dumplings smelled delicious.

He grazed her hairline, then held up his finger. Brownie batter.

Her hand flew to her hair. Just as she made contact, she realized she still had batter on her fingers and had probably just added another glob to her curls.Floor, swallow me up now.

It didn’t. Unfortunately. Heat rose in her cheeks as she rushed to wipe the remaining batter on her apron. Which was covered in flour. That was probably what Eric had originally been referring to.Oops.She raised her eyes to meet his, an apology on her lips.

But his lips were twitching, and there was a glint of merriment in his eyes she’d rarely seen from him. He was obviously trying to hide his amusement, not willing to embarrass her further. The gesture put her at ease.

“I, uh, hope you like brownies. Baked and sans hair?” She couldn’t help it. She burst into laughter, and Eric joined her. “Come on in.”

She ushered him into the kitchen and pointed to the cleared side of the table. “Have a seat. I’m going to make myself presentable.”

“You look fine.”

“I’m floured. And chocolate-covered, apparently.”

“A chocolate-covered hostess isn’t the worst thing I could have arrived to,” he said.

She laughed. “Maybe not, but I still don’t want it in my hair.I’ll only be a moment.” She fled to the bathroom and almost cracked up again at her reflection. Besides the batter smeared in her hair and flour covering her apron, she had cocoa powder and more flour streaked on her cheeks and forehead. How had she managed that? Better question, how had Eric managed to keep an almost-straight face?

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“That was absolutely delicious. Thank you.”Eric polished off the last of his ice-cream-topped, double-fudge brownie. He was so stuffed.