Reunited With The Sheriff. Lynne Marshall

he cut the distance between him and the jogger, then realized who it was: Shelby. There went that jolt through his chest again, like sticking his finger in a socket. He thought about turning around and heading the other way, but couldn’t take his eyes off her. She might call that gaunt look big-city chic, but to him, Shelby had changed.

      What had happened to her? Well, he knew about the pregnant part now, and the kid, but what else?

      She’d broken his heart and thrown so much away the day she hadn’t shown up. Yet after all the anger settled down at seeing her last Saturday night, he’d come to face the fact they’d also shared a lifetime of friendship, and, keeping it real, he’d missed that. Heaven help him, he still did.

      He kept running, growing closer by the stride. Soon he’d overtake her, and how weird would that be for him to buzz by and blow her off?

      The day she’d called instead of showing up, she’d fallen apart on their short phone conversation because she’d just found out.

      He slowed his pace. Hell, she worked for his family. He couldn’t go on avoiding her forever.

      As he jogged and drew closer, another memory from their good old times slipped around him and, without thinking, he cupped hands around his mouth. “Hey! Wait up, Slim!”

      Her head pivoted, her body turned. Even from ten feet away he saw the flash of insecurity in her eyes at the sound of his voice and their inevitable meet-up. Did she still care?

      She let him catch up. “Hey” was all she said. He nodded.

      They ran slowly, side by side toward the dunes. Their breathing aligned and her legs worked extra hard to match his long strides. This was probably the dumbest thing he’d ever done...besides making a promise to meet someone years later and actually expecting things to work out.

      “I’ve gotten into a rut,” she began out of the blue, capturing his full attention, because until then, the silence had been killing him.

      “And this has to do with?”

      “Slim. You called me Slim.” She slowed to nearly a walk. “And I’m saying I got in a rut somewhere along the way of feeding everyone else before me.” Catching her breath, she glanced at him tentatively. “Goes with the territory of being a chef.”

      He gestured to keep running, then nodded for her to keep talking, too, but she didn’t, so he picked up the conversation “So stop that.”

      She tossed him a confused glance. “Feeding people? It’s what I do.”

      “Leaving yourself for last.”

      Now she was the one to pick up speed. “Sometimes in the restaurant business, that isn’t an option.”

      “The Drumcliffe isn’t exactly a high-end restaurant. Maybe you’ll catch a break now that you’re home.” Oops, from her reaction, he’d ruffled her feathers.

      “Running a kitchen is a big job, no matter where.” Defensive as hell. “It’s just a tough pace to keep up.”

      “I get that.” And speaking of pace, he slowed and motioned for her to turn around with him, heading back toward the hotel. “I’m merely suggesting you feed yourself first, then everybody else. If you pass out no one can get fed, right?”

      “I haven’t so far.”

      “My mom wouldn’t appreciate you testing out that theory in her kitchen, either.”

      “I know, I already tried to set it on fire.”

      Finally, she gave up the defensive act, even cracked a self-deprecating joke. They laughed briefly and ironically as they jogged along. Daisy decided to check out Shelby, sniffing in all the usual spots, presumably checking to see if she was female, even while they ran. Shelby shooed her away after patting the dog’s head.

      He’d started off on a random topic and somehow managed to rattle her cage. A knack.

      But things didn’t feel nearly as awkward as Conor thought they might. In a way, they’d managed to pick up where they’d left off on the old-friend scale. But the rest, the ex-lovers part, would be a topic for another day. After running a long time in companionable silence, they approached the path back to the hotel and something crazy popped into his head because he’d called her Slim. Being around Shelby had always set off nutty ideas.

      “Let me buy you breakfast.”

      Out of breath, she looked surprised, like she needed a reason. Like she was the last person on earth he should ask out to eat. “I should go home and shower. Get ready for the brunch.”

      “Come on, let me buy you breakfast.” His inept way of offering an olive branch. “It’s still really early.”

      She stared at him for a few breaths, while he worked on getting used to being around her again. She still rattled him.

      “But you hate me,” she said.

      “I don’t hate you. I’m mad as hell at you, and don’t know if I can ever forgive you—” he lifted his finger “—but, I don’t hate you.”

      “Well, that clears things up.” She glanced out toward the ocean, at her jogging shoes covered in beach sand, then at her watch.

      His crazy idea wouldn’t let go, and Shelby had just run several miles, she needed to eat. “Remember the place we used to get burgers at? The Bee Bop Diner?”

      “That crazy little place that can’t decide whether to be a fifties diner or a fast-food joint? If The Drumcliffe job hadn’t come through I planned to apply there.”

      “Seriously? Then you probably already know they serve a mean all-you-can-eat breakfast. Cheap, too. Come on—my treat.” He didn’t touch her, couldn’t. Not yet. But he started up the pavement, then turned back. “You coming?”

      “Okay,” she said, looking like she’d just witnessed the apocalypse.

      Over pancakes and eggs, his guard came down just a bit. Surprisingly they were both hungry and didn’t let old emotion get in the way of enjoying a good meal.

      They’d been friends long before they’d fallen in love and messed everything up. To clarify, he’d fallen in love and she’d messed everything up. But they still managed to have a civil meal together. Because they were adults now, right? Right.

      “So you’ve got a kid.”

      “I do. And regardless of how that came about, he’s a joy.” She smiled, her face softening with the mention of her son. “Hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life, but I wouldn’t trade him for anything.”

      That certainly set things straight. The boy was first in her life...as he should be. Still, he had a million more questions on that topic that should wait for another day. “He is cute. He’s got your eyes.”

      “Thanks.” Her expression spoke a thousand feelings—relief, appreciation and sweetness being the first to pop in his mind.

      He might be mad as hell at her, but old habits died hard. “Let’s hope he doesn’t inherit your height, too.”

      “Hey.” She knew well how to pretend offense at his chronic teasing.

      Their eyes met briefly, and a reminder of what they used to have, how they used to behave around each other, stood out. He looked at his last pancake, suddenly full. But he needed to keep the conversation going, even if he was afraid of what he’d hear. “So what’s it like to work in a big New York kitchen?”

      She sighed, pushing the last of her scrambled eggs around her plate. “How do I describe ordered chaos?” She put her fork down, her eyes sparking with enthusiasm. “It’s like a group dance, semi-choreographed, but with pots and pans, and noise, oh, so much noise.” She found the straw wrapper on the table and rolled and unrolled it. “Being part of a kitchen crew is always an accident waiting to happen, tempers ready to flare, insults