Chapter Three

I learned long ago that cookies and charm go a long way to divert attention. Two cups of hazelnut coffee and a plate of warm, cinnamon sugar cookies were all Dallas needed to forget to search the house or add anything more than my cell phone number to his notebook. The unexpected bonus was an invitation to a benefit at our annual Falls Fest—after we ascertained some commonality. We both loved music, were single, and still on the good side of thirty. Hot Stuff was looking better all the time.

Proceeds to the Friday evening musical performance benefitted the Menomonee Falls Youth Hockey fund. Stewart Copeland, the drummer of the old British group, The Police, was playing with his new quartet. Dallas told me The Police were once as popular as The Beatles, before disbanding when their lead singer went solo. Though I wasn’t familiar with the group, I was impressed enough to accept the invitation. Hello! I think I would have accepted if Pee Wee Herman was the soloist.

Our conversation shifted to music genres and our personal favorites, and his new animation drew me to his eyelashes. Long and dark, fringing blue eyes deep and blue as a satin prom dress. Gran joined us, and Dallas shifted his “ma’am” address to her. I could tell she loved the respect. Enough to invite him to join us for lunch.

He looked at his watch. “Aw, sorry, ma’am, I’m still on duty,” he said with a hand on his heart.

I walked him to the door and watched him drive off after setting the pickup time for Friday night’s concert.

“Well done.” My grandmother’s voice called from behind. “Though we probably won’t see Captain Billington anymore,” she said with a touch of regret.

If Gran had her own ideal man list, she may have placed widower Billington at the top.

“I don’t know. Maybe rookies just get the simpler assignments until they prove themselves. He was probably right about this being some kind of initiation. You know, start the newbies with something easy, though easy never flatlines in the village.”

“This may not be that easy. Look what I found in Evan’s closet.”

When I pivoted to face a little blue Dutch boy attached to a windmill, I gasped. “Oh God!”