.

contain a small laugh. “Only fairly sure?”

      “A posse of them will show up here one of these days. I’m the first Santori to move further than fifty miles away from Chicago.”

      “So you have a big family?”

      “Enormous.”

      She considered that, wondering what it would be like. Being an only child of pretty screwed-up parents, who’d seldom worried about feeding or clothing the one kid they had, she suspected it was a good thing she didn’t have any siblings. Callie was like a sister to her, and Callie’s family, though almost as poor as her own, had provided her with a lot of the love and warmth she’d missed out on at home.

      The lack of money made some people desperate and cold, while it made others far more appreciative of the things—and people—they did have. Thankfully, Callie’s folks had been the grateful sort, with hearts big enough to welcome a kid whose parents were not.

      Suddenly thinking about Mike’s last name, and remembering a restaurant she’d gone to a couple of times in the city, she asked, “Are you related to the Santoris who own a pizza joint on Taylor Avenue?”

      He nodded. “My Uncle Tony and Aunt Rosa founded it. My cousin Tony runs it now, with his wife, Gloria.”

      “Great food.”

      “I know.” He shook his head mournfully. “I haven’t had a decent slice of pizza since I moved here. The only Italian place on the island is run by a family named Fitzpatrick.”

      “Irish-Italian. That’s a good combination, so I hear.” She immediately told herself to forget the fact that she was about seventy-five percent Irish and he looked about as Italian as the Godfather’s Godfather.

      “They have corned-beef-and-cabbage calzone on the menu.”

      She snorted. Realizing he wasn’t even smiling—and was, in fact, serious, she thought about it and mused, “Actually, that sounds pretty fantastic.”

      “That’s it. You’re banned from Italy for life.”

      “Dang. And it’s on my bucket list, too.”

      “Maybe you just need to learn how to appreciate real Italian food,” he told her, his brown eyes warming. “I’m a great cook.”

      Her heart fluttered. To busy her hands, she reached for her cup and toyed with the handle, scraping the tip of her finger across the smooth edge. “Really?”

      “My mom regretted not having a daughter to pass her secret recipes on to, so she taught me and both my brothers a few of her specialties.”

      Brothers. Plural. More Mikes in the world? Good grief.

      “I could...”

      “Chief, there you are!”

      Lindsey jerked her attention to the barrel-chested man who suddenly appeared beside their small table. She couldn’t help wondering just what Mike had been about to say before they were interrupted. I could...cook for you? Teach you? Give you ten kinds of orgasm in twenty minutes?

      She’d never know. And that was just as well. Because as she glanced around the shop, she noticed they were being stared at by everyone in it. She’d prefer to believe it had been the loud proclamation of the man who’d interrupted them that had called the patrons’ attention, but she seriously doubted it. If she could go back in time thirty seconds, she’d bet she would still see those same wide-eyed, titillated faces watching their table.

      “I have to talk to you about that no-parking zone out in front of my shop.”

      Probably about sixty, the stranger had iron-gray hair, cut military close, and a broad face, half-hidden behind a bushy beard. Why he’d chosen to cut the hair off his head only to grow it on his face, she had no idea, but the result was a little jarring.

      Mike rose to his feet with a heavy sigh, as if he’d had this conversation before. “Mr. Winpigler, you know I can’t change the zoning and let you park vehicles out front, not when there’s a fire hydrant practically right outside your door.”

      “That hydrant is in a very inconvenient location!”

      “I’ll bet you wouldn’t say that if your shop caught fire.”

      Lindsey put her hand over her mouth to hide a chuckle. Mike certainly had the other man there.

      “I still want to talk about it. That is, if you can tear yourself away.” The man spared a quick look at Lindsey, a look she didn’t like. It was assessing, a little dismissive, as if she were some bimbo distracting the chief from his oh-so-important job settling parking space disputes.

      She got up, grabbing her purse and her laptop case. “I should go.”

      Mike glanced at her, and then around the room. Finally noticing they were the center of attention—and not just because the local business owner had a loud mouth—he didn’t try to talk her into staying. “Nice running into you,” he said with an impersonal nod, as if they barely knew each other.

      Nice try. She doubted it would help. A ten-minute conversation had landed them on the local radar; people would be talking about their coffee-shop interlude all weekend.

      It was ridiculous to think something so innocent could bring about any kind of scandal. But this was a small town. She’d spent part of her childhood in one, and was familiar with how things worked. No, she wasn’t the daughter of a drunk and a drug addict here in Wild Boar, but she was an outsider. And considering she was the new teacher—the protector of all the innocent minds of their precious children—and Mike was the chief of police—responsible for their safety—of course she and Mike were going to be living under everyone’s watchful eye.

      The last thing she needed right now was to draw any more attention to herself; she’d had quite enough of that in recent months. Nor did she want to reflect badly on Callie, who would have to live amongst these people long after Lindsey was gone, back in her real life and her real career.

      There was also Mike’s new job to consider. He had to be on shaky ground this early in his employment. Considering he’d left Chicago to save his very life, how could she possibly do anything that would put his new job at risk?

      That wasn’t all. This place wasn’t cut off from the rest of the world—she’d just spent an hour on the internet, for heaven’s sake! If people started talking about her and Mike, might somebody not decide they wanted to learn a little more about the new schoolteacher? Luckily Lindsey Smith was a very common name, and it wouldn’t be that easy to find her. Still, somebody who was really determined certainly could, and they’d find a lot of snarky humor and nasty innuendo that she just couldn’t deal with right now. Next she’d get the same treatment from the people on the island—she’d no longer be Callie’s nice friend who was pitching in at the school, she’d be a sex fiend who might warp the minds of their precious little angels.

      So yeah, it was time to get out of the café, far away from Mike Santori and his dark, dreamy eyes and soft, sexy mouth. She needed to escape his temptation, the kind that was making her forget she was here to lie low and escape being talked about because of sex and orgasms...even if all she could think about when he was around was having sex and orgasms.

      Nodding at Mike and his irate citizen, she hurried past them, mumbling, “Thanks for the information, Chief Santori.”

      Right—loads of information. She now knew not to shop at Mr. Loudmouth’s store, and what kind of calzone to order from the local pizzeria. The most important bit of information she’d gotten from Mike, however, was that he was one hell of a great guy.

      “Bye, Lindsey!” the woman behind the counter called.

      The goodbye was echoed by Lindsey’s students, who, unlike the adults in the place, appeared more interested in their online activities than in her personal ones, thank goodness.

      Hurrying outside, she immediately turned toward the municipal parking lot, which was