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“He still thinks Iama kid,” I said a little bitterly.

“He’s only three years older than us.” Dax added slyly, “You know he’s not seeing that coach anymore.”

I grunted, but Dax grinned. “You don’t fool me. Your face is the color of your hair.”

My hair is brown with some reddish glints, so nope. I offered my middle finger in the hope he could still make out shapes.

But I can’t deny that the news Raleigh was no longer seeing Muskies football coach Harbin Folke cheered me up no end. So, when Dax eventually left with his girl du jour, I didn’t phone for an Uber.

I didn’t phone anybody. I sat there nursing my third lemon drop, watching out of the corner of my eye as Raleigh ate his loaded potato skins and chatted with the bartender.

When he finally pushed his plate away, my pulse picked up, because it was liable to look like I was waiting—hoping—

Because I was.

Raleigh half-turned on his stool, scanned the room casually, caught my gaze. We stared at each other. He glanced away, ordered a second beer, and when it came, he picked it up and wandered over to my booth.

So. Raleigh. Think of the boy next door in a 1950s rom com. His dad was chief of police and becoming a cop was all Raleigh wanted to be growing up. He was popular, he played quarterback three out of his four years in high school, and yep, right after college he became a cop. Also, he was tall, broad-shouldered, and long-legged. He had straight dark hair, light gray eyes, and a handsome, serious face. He did not look like someone who smiled much, and that was true, but he had a great laugh. His nose wrinkled just a bit, the corners of his eyes crinkled, and his chuckle came out all husky and boyish. It was one of my favorite sounds way back when making Raleigh laugh had been one of my goals in life.

I gazed up at him, and my heart was in my throat.

“Waiting for someone?” He looked very serious, so maybe hewasjust concerned with me driving while over the legal limit.

But Dax was right. It was now or never. So, I smiled. “I hope so.”

Raleigh tipped his head, like he was trying to see me better, then he gave a half-smile and slid into the booth across from me.

“It’s been a long time, Caz,” he said. “How’ve you been?”

“Great.” I shrugged. “Busy.”

“They make you vice president over at Bredahl Cookies and Cakes yet?”

“Nope. But there’s no escape.”

“You can run but you can’t hide?”

“Exactly. I can’t even run very far since I live in my sister’s backyard.”

Raleigh laughed that soft, husky laugh, and I got that warm, funny feeling in the pit of my stomach. There was a little twinkle in his pale eyes as he said in seeming commiseration, “Family business.”

“Yeah. Speaking of which. Have you made detective yet?” I mean, I knew he hadn’t. For one thing he still wore that snazzy navy-blue uniform that hugged his shoulders, thighs, and ass. For another, I’d have heard aboutthat. The whole town would have heard about that.

Raleigh grimaced. “Still working on it. Pop says, the problem is nothing happens in Little Copenhagen that requires detecting.”

I grinned. Not only was Raleigh’s pop chief of police,hisfather before him, and his father beforehimhad also been Little Copenhagen’s chief of police. There had never been any question of what Raleigh was going to be when he grew up. Just like there had never been any question of me eventually running Bredahl Cookies and Cakes.

The difference was, Raleigh loved being a cop. I couldn’t think of anything I wanted to dolessthan become a corporate executive for a cookie company. Even some of the most delicious cookies in the world cookie company.

Raleigh glanced at my empty martini glass, said lightly, “If you want another drink, I’ll drive you home.”

I gazed into his eyes, smiled. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Raleigh held my gaze, slowly smiled.

Chapter One

You get used to it.