FIONA

“How is it possible it tastes this bad after following the recipe? And with me supervising?” Dottie asked, setting down one of the still-warm cookies I just baked.

In the month since we took down the pickle people, a lot had changed. Neidermeyer was under investigation for evidence tampering. Hope he had fun with that. Trotter was… out. And outed. I learned both of these things when I went into HR and turned in my notice. When I walked out of the field office, Dax had been waiting for me. Leaning all sexy against his car.

I figured if he stepped foot in the place, he might get struck by lightning.

But I sure had when I got coffee in Pops’ convenience store.

One look. One “Gonna share?” and there was no going back.

Dax was mine.

So was the vacation rental. Dax had done some kind of fixer magic and the owners sold us the place within a week. Furniture and all.

I never imagined being an owner of a denim sectional, but crazier things were happening.

Like Dottie teaching me how to bake. Or trying.

This was the second batch of cookies I’d made today.

It was snowing and everything was all homey and cozy.

Except the look Dax was giving me from his perch on a stool at the center island. His gaze was heated. Very interested.

“I like how you hold that spatula,” he murmured.

I rolled my eyes.

Dottie laughed. “Honey, I’m proud of you for trying, but these are awful.”

I loved that she tried to make me feel good even when the cookies I’d made were probably poisonous. Secretly, I was glad. I hated cooking and baking.

“I guess we’ll have to survive with Dottie-supplied food.”

She gave me a look. “You didn’t intentionally sabotage this batch, did you?”

Dax laughed. I held my hands up.

“I might be the best pumpkin painter in Coal Springs, but that’s as far as my talents go.”

She humphed.

Dax mumbled something along the lines of I know some of your talents.

I blushed. How the man could do that to me after everything we’ve been through, I had no idea.

But he did. And I liked it.

“Dottie, don’t you have that cranberry relish contest at the rec center or something?”

She turned that speculative eye toward Dax. “Cranberry relish contest? There is not such thing.” She paused and tapped her chin. “Although it’s a good idea.” She shook her head. “You’re just trying to get me out of here so you can taste Fiona’s cookies.”

He stood. “You’re too smart for me.”

She laughed. “Fine. Fine. I’m off to call Martha and Mindy and see about that contest.”

Coming over, she gave me a hug, grabbed her coat, then left out the front door.

A hug. She hugged me. Often.

And… I liked it. A lot.

“Time for me to taste your cookie.”

“You just did and made a hideous face.”

“Not that cookie,” he said, then stalked around the counter. “Your other cookie. The one that I know is sweet and sticky and all fucking mine.”

My cookie was getting sticky based on his look. His words. His tone. Hell, anything Dax did and my cookie heated right up.

“Dax,” I breathed when he wrapped his arms around me and nuzzled my neck.

“I’m in charge, remember.”

“I’ve got the cookie,” I reminded.

He lifted his head to meet my gaze. “And I love to eat it.”

Yes, he did.

“You win. You’re in charge.”

With that, he tossed me over his shoulder and carried me to our bedroom.