Ellery Page was dreaming of New York.
He was standing in line, though whether for theater tickets or Absolute Bagels was unclear, when the person behind him leaned in and kissed the back of his neck.
Ellery’s eyes popped open. He was not in line. He was not in New York. He was in bed at Captain’s Seat—and the life-sized portrait of Captain Horatio Page was gazing down at him with a dubious expression.
“I loved every minute! This cozy mystery has a perfect balance of humor, intrigue, gossip, shenanigans, and a gently paced romance. The mystery plot kept me guessing and I never could have predicted the various twists and turns. I’m looking forward to Ellery’s future adventures in amateur sleuthing!” Dabney Kinser, NetGalley
“Better get a move on. You’re going to be late.”
That opinion was not offered by Captain Horatio Page. That was Pirate Cove’s police chief and Ellery’s, well, boyfriend, Jack Carson.
Ellery turned his head to answer, and his face was immediately covered in wet, passionate kisses. That was also not Captain Horatio Page. Nor, sadly, Jack. That was Watson, Ellery’s sixish-month-old black spaniel-mix puppy and occasional (according to Jack) partner in crime.
Ellery started to laugh, kissed Watson back—though less passionately. “Good morning to you too.”
Jack bent to scoop up Watson at the same moment Ellery sat up, and their collision ended up in a kiss that went on a little longer than either anticipated—ending in smiles and reluctant parting of lips.
As Jack drew back, Ellery realized he was already dressed—that navy-blue uniform really suited his athletic six foot, one hundred and ninety-plus pounds and rugged good looks—right down to his police boots.
“Yikes. I really am late.” Ellery threw back the sheet and summer blanket.
“No. I’m early. I’ve got breakfast with the State Police Superintendent.”
Ellery’s smile was wry. “That’s right. And dinner with the town council.”
“I could meet you for dessert?”
“Silver Sleuths. I promised Nora I’d look in.” This was his first day—his first official day—back at work after suffering what Jack referred to as an extra-curricular concussion. Amateur sleuthing turned out to be a hazardous hobby. Not that Ellery considered his sleuthing a hobby. Or even something he planned on doing again.
Jack considered. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”
“You tell me.”
Jack grinned, leaned in to kiss him one final time, and murmured, “I will. In detail.”
