Apple of My Eye (Tiger's Eye Mystery #7) - Alyssa Day Page 0,13

should know better.

"And then I told them that it might be a great breakfast, but it couldn't hold a candle to breakfast at the home of the new mayor of Dead End," he was saying when I walked in.

Aunt Ruby blushed and fluttered, and I rolled my eyes.

"Suck up," I whispered as I walked past him to the coffee pot.

Jack just grinned and grabbed a cream-filled donut off the blue-and-white plate in the middle of my old wooden farmhouse table, leaving only five.

I happened to know that Aunt Ruby had never bought less than a dozen donuts in her life.

"How many did you eat?" I narrowed my eyes. "You'd better leave some for me."

"Now, Tess," Aunt Ruby said. "He's a growing boy. He's only had five. I had one."

"Which would mean there should be six left," I pointed out. "Ahem. And where's Shelley?"

"She went to spend the weekend in St. Augustine with Eleanor and her grandson. They're having a great time." Aunt Ruby gave me a funny look. "Didn't she text you pictures of the beach last night?"

Oops. I'd ignored my phone after the excitement.

"I must have misplaced my phone. I'll find it before we leave for church. Hey! Jack, move away from the donut!"

Jack demolished the donut in two bites and reached for another. "You snooze, you lose."

"You can't eat seven donuts!"

"Watch me." His evil grin lit up the room, but I was not falling for his charm when he was plowing through every donut in the house.

Aunt Ruby handed me the cream. "Behave, you two. Tess, how are you feeling? Any sniffles?"

I put the cream and my coffee mug on the table, snatched a donut off the plate, and then looked at her. "Fine. Why?"

"Oh, that cold I told you is going around. My assistant at the mayor's office is out sick, and the sheriff must be sick too, because she hasn't been answering my calls this morning." She frowned and brushed a nonexistent speck of dust off the immaculate jacket of her favorite pink skirt suit.

Jack and I exchanged slightly guilty glances over the donuts, and then his gaze went to the plate.

"No, I feel fine." I pulled the plate toward me and glared at Jack. "Bad kitty!"

His grin lit up his gorgeous green eyes until they seemed to glow. "Fine. I'll leave you here with your donuts, and I'll just wander home, alone and starving, and see what's what. I came straight to the shop when I got into town yesterday, so I haven't been there yet."

Aunt Ruby patted his shoulder. Luckily, he was sitting down at the table, or she wouldn't have been able to reach it. "Now, don't you worry. You're invited to Sunday lunch. We'll see you at noon, okay? We'll feed you right back into shape."

I blinked. His shape looked pretty good already, to me, not that I was having lustful thoughts on a Sunday morning, because that would be wrong, but wow. In the morning light, his bronze hair gleamed, and his broad shoulders with their muscles were… and…

"Tess!"

Both of them were staring at me, Aunt Ruby with indignation, and Jack with something that looked a little bit hungry.

And not for more donuts.

I gulped.

"Sorry. Daydreaming. Yes, lunch. See you then, Jack."

"Okay. I fed Lou for you and gave her fresh water."

It gave me a warm feeling that he would think to do that, but I didn't pause to examine it. "Thanks."

He bent to kiss Aunt Ruby's cheek, and she blushed.

"Now, go on with you. We need to get going or we'll be late. The pastor's wife always takes the hymnals out of our pew if we're not early." She glanced at me ruefully. "It is a joyful noise, Tess, don't you worry."

I sighed.

Then I drained my coffee mug, grabbed my purse, kissed Lou on the top of her head, and we left. I locked my door on the way out, something I'd never bothered to do before Jack's uncle Jeremiah's dead body had been dumped at the back door of my pawnshop.

Small town life had been getting more and more dangerous, and I wasn't talking about the cutthroat pecan pie competition at the upcoming Swamp Cabbage Festival, although we'd all wondered for years exactly when and where Mrs. Lee (she'd owned a restaurant in Tampa for forty years, before she retired) and Mr. Charpentier (he was French and a chef, as he so often told us) would come to blows.

"Is Uncle Mike meeting us there?"

"No, he's feeling a little bit under