Chapter 6

Chapter Six

NEIL

"We need to talk about more kissing."

Why the hell would Connor think that? He kissed me, I evened the score, that was all it was.

But as I walked back to the office, my mind replayed the moment, and I couldn't shake the feeling it had stirred in me. It wasn't only a kiss—it was the hottest, most intense kiss I'd had in a long time. I'd been thinking about kissing Connor for what felt like forever. That infuriating, smug man had a way of rubbing me up the wrong way, always getting under my skin.

I didn't want to feel this attraction. It was inconvenient, a complication I didn't need in my already complicated life. But damn it, the kiss had made me feel things I thought I'd buried deep. Need, want, an insatiable desire for more. My body was still buzzing, turned-on and burning with a heat that the cold autumn air couldn't extinguish.

As I walked, the crisp wind bit at my cheeks, promising early snow, which would be as much of a headache as the violent storms. I couldn't afford to be distracted, to let this get in the way of my work, my responsibilities. Yet, here I was, fixated on Connor.

I reached the office, the familiar surroundings doing little to settle my thoughts. I tried to focus on the tasks at hand, but the memory of Connor's lips on mine, the way he had pressed against me, lingered. It was maddening. I didn't want this. I didn't have time for this.

But I want him.

Maybe it was time to face the fact this wasn't something I could ignore. Connor was in my head, and he wasn't going anywhere. And whether I liked it or not, I had to figure out how to deal with these feelings. For now, I pushed them aside, focusing on the immediate duties of the day, but the thought of Connor remained, simmering beneath the surface.

I quickened my pace, almost falling into the office and slamming the door shut behind me. Three sets of eyes turned my way. Solomon was used to seeing me like this—full of emotions and barely restrained frustration, but usually, it was because I'd dealt with red tape or some stupid-ass kid shit that needed closing down. But my poor deputy was wide-eyed and stared at me in shock, stiffening and glancing out of the nearest window as if he thought something was chasing me.

"The coffee shop is secure," I reported.

Solomon made a note on the list we had. "I just finished over at the Mayor's place, they have a contractor there for the roof."

"And you managed to get Josiah to stay off a ladder?" Mayor Redfearn was nearly seventy-three, and the last thing I needed was for him to climb all over his roof.

"Much to his disgust."

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. "All right, Solomon, what else is on the list?"

Solomon glanced at his notes, ever the picture of efficiency. "Storm damage calls, nothing major, but Gregory wants you to swing by the store as soon as you can."

"Everything okay?"

Solomon tilted his head in that way which meant he was trying to convey something he didn't want Wyatt to hear, and I immediately knew it was concerning my dad. I gave him a short nod to say I understood and fought the anxiety digging into my chest.

He cleared his throat. "Also, one of the Jackson sisters drove into the construction work—the crews called it in but didn't say if it was Maddie or Margo. No one's hurt, and the old gals are refusing a call for paramedics, so I asked Doc to head out there just in case."

I rubbed my temples, trying to push away the worry about Dad and the lingering unease over Connor and focus on the tasks at hand. "Good call on Doc. Okay, Wyatt, you're with the RTA."

"Yes, Sheriff."

"I'll head to the store."

I was back out before the phone rang again or Solomon added anything to the list, then jogged down the center alley to Whisper Ridge Market. It had seen many iterations since I was a kid but had always been run by the Midlane family, from Grandad Midlane to his grandson Gregory.

The store was a familiar sight, with posters in the window advertising summer events that had long since passed. The glass was slightly foggy, showing its age, but despite its tired appearance, the inside was clean and well-stocked with everything people in town needed. It had an air of worn resilience, a testament to its endurance through the years. The shelves were filled with essentials, from canned goods to fresh produce, though the floor tiles were scuffed, and the wooden beams overhead showed the wear of decades. The bell above the door jingled as I entered, and I spotted Gregory behind the counter, chatting with an elderly customer.

The aisles were narrow but navigable, stocked with everything from household necessities to local treats. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, mingling with the scent of old wood and cleaning supplies. It was a place that held memories, both good and bad, and as I walked through it, I couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging.

Beyond Gregory was the unmistakable shape of my dad sitting on a display of cans, staring at his phone.

Gregory inclined his head much in the same way as Solomon had. Some of his old friends in town knew something was going on with Dad. No one knew better than me what his diagnosis was or why he was sitting in the middle of Whisper Ridge Market watching videos on his phone. The way the town worked, it wouldn't be long before everyone knew how the sixty-two-year-old former sheriff and community leader was now an aging man with early onset dementia, courtesy of a bullet fragment in the head from when he was much younger.

I smiled at Gregory and then sat beside Dad as if it were a perfectly reasonable place to sit.

"Dad," I asked in a gentle tone, "what are you watching?"

He glanced up at me, his eyes clear for a moment before clouding with confusion. "Neil, why are you playing dress-up in my old uniform?"

I took a deep breath, forcing a smile. "Because I'm trying to be as good a sheriff as you were, Dad. Remember? You used to wear this uniform."

He frowned, trying to piece together his thoughts. "I did, didn't I? But why … why are you wearing it now?"

"It's my turn to keep the town safe, just like you taught me," I said, keeping my voice calm and steady. "You always said taking care of Whisper Ridge was important."

He nodded, seeming to accept my explanation. "Right, right. You're doing a good job, Neil." He sighed, checking his phone and the video still playing. "I get so confused sometimes. Things don't make sense."

"I know, Dad," I said, my heart aching. "But that's why I'm here. You're not alone. We'll figure it out together, okay?"

His smile was weak, but a spark of recognition flickered in his eyes, making me hope again.

"Okay, son. Thanks for sticking with me."

"Always, Dad," I replied, patting his shoulder. "Now, how about we head home? I could use some company on the way."

He nodded, letting me help him to his feet. As we left the store, Gregory gave me a sympathetic nod, and I returned it with a grateful smile. It wasn't easy, but I wouldn't let Dad be alone, no matter how tough it got. We'd face this together. I wondered if, in his more lucid moments, he remembered he had a gay son that he'd rejected as a teenager and whether he had it in him to care now. I was either a small child or a grown man in his world, no longer the teenager who'd left for college with his father's rejection burning in his chest.

"There you are!" Mom announced with all the drama she could muster, fluttering around Dad, pale and shaky but smiling as if nothing was wrong. She sometimes denied anything was wrong with him and waded through life as if everything were okay, believing that one day he'd wake up and be fixed. Only, he was close to the point where he needed care, and all too soon, Mom would have to sit with me and Bessie and make those final decisions.

That is where my focus should be. Not on Connor.

I didn't have time to think about anything besides work and family.

Particularly not the taste of Connor and the need burning inside me.