Travis (Pelion Lake) by Mia Sheridan

Were we going to pretend we hadn’t kissed?

We stared at each other for a moment longer.

“Okay, then, goodnight, Travis.”

He paused, but then gave me a tight-lipped smile. “Goodnight, Haven.”

We shouldn’t.

I walked slowly up the stairs. I could feel his eyes on me as I ascended, and once I almost turned back just to see the look on his face, to see if it might tell me anything at all, but in the end, I didn’t. I whispered a quiet word of encouragement to the plant I’d first found limp and root-bound at the back of the nursery, that now resided at the top of the stairs, my hand trailing over its lush, green leaves. It’d grown twice the size it was when I first brought it here, and a small burst of pride lit inside. I’d done that. I’d saved it.

Even if I hadn’t saved her.

I headed to my room, closing the door behind me and leaning against it, my palms flat against the wood. Outside, I heard Travis’s footsteps, heard them pause at the top of the stairs, and then head to his own room in the opposite direction.

I pushed off the door when I heard the quiet click of his closing, wondering how on earth I was supposed to come back from . . . whatever tonight was.





CHAPTER ELEVEN




Travis



“Did I hear that right?” Deb Bryant, the Pelion Police Department dispatcher asked. “You put out an APB on a number of house plants that went missing from the side of the road?”

“Yup,” I said. “They were stolen.”

“From the side of the road. Where someone left them.”

“Yes.”

“And flyers were hung in town? About the . . . stolen plants. Left on the side of the road.”

I leaned on the counter. “Perhaps this person didn’t know that they belonged to someone else. I’m not looking to convict, only to recover the property.”

“Travis Hale. Sometimes you concern me.” She smiled affectionately. “And surprise me.” I’d take that as a compliment. I smiled back.

“This is for a woman, I presume?”

I grinned. “How’d you know?”

“I didn’t know. That’s where the surprise comes in. This is very unlike you.” She paused. “I like it.”

“She’s just a friend.” I laughed, pushing off the counter and walking back to my office.

Spencer walked in a few minutes later. “You won’t believe the information I’ve found on Easton Torres from California.”

I set the phone messages I’d been going through back down on my desk, removed my reading glasses, and looked up at him. “Warrants?”

“No. But—”

“A call just came in about the missing plants!” Deb said, bursting into my office.

“Really?” I stood. “Who called?”

“Marc Hobbs out on Lark Lane.”

“Travis, before you leave, I had an important question!” Spencer said urgently.

“What is it?”

“Well, conducting this research got me thinking . . .”

Uh-oh. Spencer doing any sort of in-depth “thinking” never seemed to bode well for . . . pretty much, anyone. He was an excellent rule follower, but I wished he’d leave the “thinking” to others more suited for cerebral pursuits.

“You know, about our community and all the decent, upstanding people who live here in Pelion.”

“Uh-huh.” I made a gesture of impatience that he should speed this up. I had plants to rescue.

“And I thought, what if we formed a community relations group that might help inform our office about infractions?”

Infractions? That sounded a little bit like asking the public to snitch on their neighbors over minor offenses that the police department didn’t need to be involved with. But Pelion citizens weren’t like that. We’d only grown closer over the years, and especially since the . . . drama that had ensued eight years ago. People looked out for each other, more than anything. Good had come from the shock of events involving the Hale family. But Spencer was standing there, looking so eager, and hell, maybe it would be a good thing for the community and those who wanted to get more involved. “Listen, Spencer, if this community relations group focuses more on neighbors looking out for one another, and reporting on situations that might result in someone getting hurt, you have my approval.”

Spencer looked mildly shocked. “Really? Great! Thanks, bo—Travis.”

“Think small budget, though.”

“Absolutely. I asked, and Birdie Ellis has already volunteered to be on the committee and to donate any printing we might need.”

Birdie Ellis. One of the biggest gossips in town, with a penchant toward dictatorship. She was always volunteering for one church or community-focused group so she could boss people around and generally assert her will. But if she was offering free printing from the company she and her husband ran, why not? I moved around Spencer. “You’re in charge of this, Spencer. I don’t need to be consulted unless necessary. And . . . keep up the good work,” I said, patting him on the shoulder and rushing out of the room, glad he had something to occupy him so he wasn’t tagging along behind me on runs we both didn’t need to be involved in. Namely, this one.

“Good luck!” Deb called with the amount of joyful enthusiasm she usually reserved for cat-in-tree rescue runs. I shot her a smile as the front door swung closed behind me.