by Shari Hearn
I pointed to the cake, which by now had been whittled into half a cake. “Have a piece. It’s what Celia’s birthday cake would have tasted like if it hadn’t blown up.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” He took out a paper plate from a package of plates sitting on the table and, using the knife sitting next to the cake, cut off a slice and dumped it on his plate.
I held my fork up. “You can share mine.”
He slid one of the chaise lounges over until it lined up right next to mine and sat. I handed him the fork and he took a bite then smiled. He was in cake heaven.
“This is one of Ally’s best.”
“Yeah, too bad Celia didn’t get a chance to taste it.”
“And they say crime doesn’t pay,” he said. “Because I’d pay to see that look on her face again.”
“Why, Deputy LeBlanc, I never thought I’d hear you say a kind word about something illegal.”
Our eyes met.
“I’m sorry I lied to you.”
“I’m sorry I acted so harsh to you.”
Our words came out simultaneously and we stopped, and then laughed.
I sat up and turned toward him. “Okay, I admit it. I was dressed as Cookie. But just because I knew nobody at the bar would talk in front of you. Hell, I knew they wouldn’t talk in front of me. That’s why I spent two hours getting made up to look like her.”
He pointed his finger at me. “And do you admit to stealing her wheelchair?”
“Was that hers? Because I saw this empty wheelchair rolling down the street and just assumed God answered my prayers and sent it to me.” I looked upward to the heavens. “You coulda told me it was stolen.”
“They’re not pressing charges, so technically no crime occurred.” He forked another piece of cake.
“So it all worked out,” I said.
He held the fork out to me. I wasn’t used to a guy feeding me cake, but what the heck, I had gotten used to so much since I came to Sinful, having a hot guy feeding me cake was probably the least weird. I opened my mouth and he slipped the cake inside my mouth and slowly slid out the fork.
Not weird at all. In fact, I kinda liked it.
“But what if it hadn’t?” he said, pursing his lips. “I know I can sound harsh at times, but… it’s just… I care about you. I don’t want to see you get hurt and I don’t want to arrest you. I appreciate you want to help me catch the bad buys, but you have to stop doing this.”
“I will.”
He shook his head. “No you won’t.”
I took the fork from his hand, cut off a bite of cake, and held it out to him. He smiled as I slipped the cake in his mouth. He savored it.
“Oh, I saw a video of your eulogy,” he said after swallowing.
“What there was of it. I’d just said a few words when Gertie told me about the bomb.”
“Yeah, but what you said was sweet. About not wanting to see her go.” He took another bite of cake and leaned back on his chaise. “I know exactly how you feel.”
I leaned back as well. He set his cake plate on his chest and reached his hand over to me. I set my plate of cake on the grass and took his hand in mine, enjoying his touch as well as the warm breeze brushing over my body.
Something compelled me to look over to my left at a cypress tree along the banks of the bayou. It could have been the warm breeze, or maybe the beer. Or maybe something else entirely. But I saw her. Her beautiful young face beaming at me. And I heard something.
“That one’s a keeper.”
It was her voice. My mom’s. A voice I heard from time to time when I least expected it.
She taught me how to fish before I even started school. And when I’d catch something worth taking home, she’d always say, “That one’s a keeper.”
I kept my gaze on her image until she winked at me and was gone, and all that was left was the Spanish moss blowing in the wind.
“Did I ever tell you about my mom?” I asked.
“No. But I bet she was a beautiful lady.”
“She was,” I said. “Hey, wanna go fishing?”
He shrugged. “Why not?”
I stood and held my hand down to help him up. “Who knows, maybe we’ll find a few keepers.”
THE END
