“I can’t get anyone on the phone. I’ll head down and deal with it.”
I scrubbed my eyes. “No, I’ll go to the town hall and talk to the mayor. I’m sure it’s simply an error.”
“All right. Get back to me.”
“I will.”
I hung up. “I have to go. Abby, stay here and settle in. There are some emails I need you to address, and once I get this sorted, I’ll come back. Maybe we’ll work from here today.”
She nodded. “On it.”
I walked down the steps with Sunny, stopping her before she entered the bakery. I laid my hand on her arm. “Thank you.”
“I like her. She keeps you in line.”
“You know what?”
She grinned, one side of her mouth higher than the other, giving her an impish look. “What, Linc?”
“I like you.” I bent low and brushed my mouth across hers. Then I went back for more, taking her top lip between mine and kissing it, then doing the same to her bottom lip before covering her mouth and kissing her harder. Our tongues stroked together, long, lazy swirls, curling, tasting, and discovering. When I eased back, Sunny’s cheeks were pink, her lips swollen from mine, and her eyes wide.
“I have been wanting to kiss you since I walked into the bakery,” I murmured and bent again for one last kiss.
“Hope it was worth the wait.”
I dropped a kiss to the end of her nose. “It was.” I enfolded her in my arms. “It always will be.”The empty corridors of the small town hall echoed with my footsteps. I frowned as I glanced around. The place was almost deserted. I had encountered one person on the way to the mayor’s office. Chuckling, I reminded myself this was Mission Cove, not Toronto. They didn’t even open the building until ten, and it was only a few moments past. Nothing big was happening in the town, and it would seem most employees were not yet at their desks. I hadn’t been in the building for a long time, and it hadn’t changed much, the layout the same as I recalled from past visits.
Not long after my mother died, my father would send me on errands, delivering thick manila envelopes to people. Often it was to the mayor. I would ride my bike down the hill, careful to deliver the package to the right person. I was so desperate for my father’s love and approval that I never made a mistake. I was fast and never gave the envelope to anyone but the person who was supposed to get it. I would rush back to the house to tell my father I had completed my task, always hoping for a glimmer of approval. It never came. He remained impassive and uncaring. Still, I tried.
Until the day after a rainstorm, when he gave me an envelope and I sped down the hill too fast. I lost control of my bike, and my backpack and I flew off, landing in a huge puddle. The papers were ruined, my knees and pants torn, and the front tire of my bike damaged. But that was nothing compared to the pain of the punishment my father inflicted on me. He was furious, screaming at me about my carelessness, wasting his time, and being irresponsible. It was the first time he had used his fists as well as his words, but certainly not the last. It was the day I realized he would never love me, no matter how hard I tried. The day I learned to fear his office as well as the man.
I gave my head a shake, pushing aside the memories. He was dead and could no longer hurt me. I located the mayor’s office and pushed open the door. It looked much the same as I remembered. Neutral colors, uncomfortable-looking chairs, the walls covered in pictures of the town during festivals and tourist season. There was a desk beside a closed door, the last stronghold, as it were, that prevented you from getting to the mayor. I remembered his assistant—the mayor’s wife. Mrs. Tremont was well-groomed, rigid—and to a young boy, scary as hell. She always glared at me, her dark eyes filled with disapproval over my insistence at handing the envelope directly to the mayor. She would make me wait, sitting in the corner on one of those uncomfortable chairs, sometimes for over an hour. But I waited, not wanting to risk my father’s wrath.
I glanced around, not surprised to see how little had changed. The town outside these walls was prospering, but inside, it looked as if time stood still.
The door by the desk opened, and a woman strode out. She stopped short, seeing me, our gazes locking, and for the second time that morning, I was a kid again. Cold, dark eyes met mine, a frown appearing on a face that was older but still familiar. Mrs. Tremont crossed her arms, a frosty glare etched on her expression. She recognized me, and it was plain she wasn’t happy to see me. When she spoke, her voice was cold and formal.