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ingredients, you know. Nothing but the best.”
    “I remember a time when you ate only hot dogs and onion rings. Now it’s fancy food and guys saying, ‘Yes, Chef’ when you give orders?”
    Instead of answering, he grabbed a rumpled sweatshirt from the passenger seat and threw it at her. It was the hoodie she’d wiggled out of earlier. “You dropped your glass slipper earlier, Cinderella. I’ll trade it for my hockey helmet. Which I believe you stole last week.”
    She caught the sweatshirt with a grin and slipped it on. It was two-sweatshirt weather these days. In another month she’d add a flannel shirt to her layers. “You playing tonight? This late? Don’t you have to get up early to milk cows or something?”
    He shrugged, his gaze slipping down her body as he watched her dress. “Some of the guys rented the rink in Harmar. It’s the only time available now that even five-year-olds have a hockey league.”
    Flynn used to have a cute dimpled face and curly dark hair, not to mention melting blue eyes that he’d used to full advantage back in high school. But after flunking out of community college for too much partying and doing two tours in Afghanistan, not to mention bumping around parts of the world where tourists didn’t venture, he was no longer cute. Now he radiated something lean and hard—something dangerous that made little girls nervous, but turned grown women’s heads.
    Not Roxy’s, however. Not anymore. She said, “Don’t you and your friends have anything better to do at this time of night? Like go home and sleep?”
    “Life’s too short. What about you? I thought you might be singing somewhere tonight.”
    Roxy shook her head. “Only occasional weekends.”
    In the last couple of years, she’d been asked to sing backup vocals for some local bands. Not a career or anything—more of a hobby, although she liked the extra bucks. She was surprised that Flynn knew about it. She hadn’t told anybody. Not even Nooch.
    He said, “Where’s my helmet?”
    She jerked her head. “Inside.”
    He stayed where he was, engine running, but with a ghost of a smile tugging at the edges of his mouth. “I’ll wait. You might pick my pocket if I go in there.”
    Roxy went into the office and came back a minute later dangling a battered hockey helmet by its strap. She tossed it to him. “Sorry about the scratches.”
    He turned the helmet in his hand, examining the minor damage. “How does the other guy look?”
    “Worse.” Roxy grinned and slid her hands into the hip pockets of her jeans. “I wore it to figure out who was breaking into my office for petty cash. Good thing, too, because he took a swing at me.”
    “I presume he’s in jail now?”
    “Why would I call the police? He’d just come back. Which he won’t now.”
    “You took a shot at him?”
    “Unlike you,” she said, “I don’t keep guns around. No, I belted him with a two-by-four. Sent him home crying to his mommy. He was just a methhead kid. Easy to scare.”
    Flynn shook his head. “Eventually there’s somebody in this world who is going to outfox you, Roxy.”
    Nooch appeared out of the darkness, along with Rooney. The dog jumped up and planted his forepaws on the door of Flynn’s truck, looking for attention. Flynn reached out and roughed up the dog’s big head.
    Nooch said, “Hey, Flynn, thanks for dinner. You sure learned how to do some good cooking while you were away.”
    “Glad you liked it.”
    “Next time, how about some dessert?”
    Flynn laughed. “Anything in particular?”
    “I like marshmallows. Anything with marshmallows.”
    Wagging his head, Flynn shoved Rooney away and put the little pickup in gear. “I’ll see what I can do.”
    He drove off, leaving Nooch with a smile on his face. The bumper sticker on the back of the pickup read, Marine Corps: When It Absolutely, Positively Must Be Destroyed Overnight.
    Rain began to spatter on the gravel.
    Roxy turned away and thought about hoisting the