He held up a hand. “Nell, don’t do that. It pisses me off.” His voice was thick with sleep, and despite herself dread curled in her stomach as he stepped toward her.

“There’s one thing I’m going to ask you.” He picked up her mug, drank to clear his mind and voice. “Don’t ever mix me up with him. If you’d waked me up and it annoyed me, I would say so. But the fact is I woke up because you weren’t there and I missed you.”

“Some habits are hard to break, no matter how much you try.”

“Well, keep trying.” He said it lightly, moved over to the stove to pour a full mug for himself. “You got something baking already?” He sniffed the air. “Mother of God.” He breathed it, reverently. “Cinnamon buns?”

Her dimples flickered. “And if they are?”

“I’ll be your slave.”

“You’re so easy, Sheriff.” She got a hot mitt out of the drawer. “Why don’t you sit down? I’ll give you breakfast, and we can discuss what I expect from my slave.”

On Monday morning Nell breezed into Café Book loaded with boxes of baked goods, called out a cheery hello, and swung upstairs.

At the front counter, Lulu stopped ringing up weekend mail orders, her lips twitching as Mia turned from stocking shelves.

“Somebody,” Mia said, “got lucky this weekend.”

“You going up to squeeze her for details?”

“Please.” Mia tucked in another book, brushed lint from her skirt. “Do dryads dance in the woods?”

Amused, Lulu cackled. “Well, don’t forget to fill me in.”

Mia walked into the café, and through the homey, irresistible scent of cinnamon buns. “Busy weekend,” she commented, scanning the morning’s offerings.

“You bet.”

“And a terrific party Saturday night. Hell of a job, little sister.”

“Thanks.” Nell lined up her muffins before pouring the first of the morning coffee for Mia. “I’ve got several meetings this week with potential clients that came out of it.”

“Congratulations. But . . .” Mia drew in the scent of her coffee. “I don’t think future catering jobs are what has you glowing today. Let me try one of those buns there.”

Casually, she walked around to the rear of the counter while Nell selected the bun. “You definitely have the look of a woman who spent her weekend doing more than baking.”

“I did some gardening. My tomato plants are coming right along.”

“Mmm-hmm.” She brought the fragrant bun to her lips, took a neat bite. “I’m imagining Sheriff Todd was just as tasty as this. Give. We open in ten.”

“I shouldn’t talk about it. It’s rude, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely not. It’s required and expected. Have a little sympathy, will you? I haven’t engaged in sexual activities for a considerable time, so I’m entitled to a few vicarious thrills. You look so damn happy.”