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    One Perfect Love
    One Perfect Love
    One Perfect Love
    Ebook109 pages1 hourOne Small Victory

    One Perfect Love

    By Maryann Miller

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    About this ebook

    Mature love can sometimes be the best love.


    When she worked with Detective Steve Morrity two years ago as a member of a drug task force, Jenny Jasik couldn’t deny the pull of a very strong attraction that went both ways. Then the case ended, but they both realized it was still too soon to act on the chemistry.


    Emotional wounds were still too fresh and raw, so they had followed their heads, not their hearts. Now, they’ve tossed logic out the window, and they’re ready to give love a chance.


    But when Jenny’s flower shop is burglarized and Steve’s boss reminds him that it is against policy for an officer to date a victim of a crime, is it a sign it’s not meant to be - or can they find happiness together?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherNext Chapter
    Release dateFeb 6, 2022
    ISBN4867500771
    One Perfect Love
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    Author

    Maryann Miller

    Maryann Miller won her first writing award at age twelve with a short story in the Detroit News Scholastic Writing Awards Contest and continues to garner recognition for her short stories, books, and screenplays. In addition to "Doubletake" she has published several other novels, including the Seasons Mystery Series, which features two women homicide detectives in Dallas. You can find all her titles on her website. She lives in the beautiful Piney Woods of East Texas, where she also loves to play on stage. Margaret Sutton has headed up several unique businesses in the Dallas area. These included the production of home decorating items and a custom-design carpet sculpting business. Sutton has placed short stories in several mystery magazines such as Ellery Queen Magazine. A resident of Texas, Sutton shares her home with a pet monkey and considers herself “Willie’s Mom".

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      Book preview

      One Perfect Love - Maryann Miller

      ONE

      Jenny knelt in front of the small headstone, reaching out with one finger to lightly trace the inscription — Michael Jasik 1996 – 2014 – Beloved Son. It had been two years since the funeral, but there were times she forgot it wasn’t just yesterday. Those were days when the grief snuck up behind her and then slammed her in the gut like a battering ram. Those were the days when she was a total wreck. Unable to work. Unable to do much of anything except maybe breathe.

      And even that was a challenge.

      She didn’t know why she kept coming here. She knew Michael wasn’t here. At least not in spirit. According to the preachers of her childhood, Michael was either in heaven or hell. There was no in-between with those men who spoke of a God who would rain fire and brimstone down upon the sinners of this world. Jenny always had a hard time relating to a God like that. Perhaps that’s why she stopped going to church as soon as she could move away from home and escape the mandate that you will go to church as long as you live in my house.

      Even though she never acknowledged it, a small part of her did know exactly why she came here so often. Besides the officers at the Little Oak police department, Michael was the only one who knew that Jenny had shot a man two years ago.

      Her grief was split between the loss of a son and the loss of a piece of herself.

      She could share that with Michael.

      She had also been able to share that with Steve. Warm, wonderful, wise Steve who had been the first man since Ralph that she had even considered as someone who could be a permanent fixture in her life. The chemistry was there. They both recognized it as they’d worked together on that drug task force. Then, it had been professional boundaries that kept them on either side of a distinct line. Afterward, they had tried to build something, but they both just found it too hard to try to be normal when nothing was normal in either of their lives. So she had gone back to being a single woman without a relationship.

      Most days, that was tolerable. She had her kids. And her friends. And her work. And her wonderful business partner. But it had been a long time since she had a companion, in bed and otherwise. That one person you would call first with good news, or bad, who was not your girlfriend. And someone to hold close in bed on cold winter nights.

      A cool October breeze brushed across her face, drying the tears that had run down her cheeks in a great warm river. This was a safe place to let the tears pour out. She couldn’t do that at home in front of her other kids. They were dealing with mountains of grief in their own way. She knew that, and if they still cried, they hid it well. Not like the first year when tears cluttered the house like old newspapers and magazines that should have been thrown out months ago. The crying couldn’t continue indefinitely. She realized that, so she had started hiding her tears, trying to establish a different kind of normal that didn’t include losing emotional control at odd moments in time.

      This fall, Scott had run headlong into his senior year, and Jenny didn’t want to be all emotionally needy when he was focused on school and grades and to which college he would apply. And Alicia? Well, Alicia was still being the strong little girl she’d been most of her life, holding them together as a family the best she could. Even though she was now thirteen and blossoming into a lovely young lady, she would always be Jenny’s little girl. And she would always be the strong one. The peacemaker. The one who encouraged smiles, not tears.

      Jenny rose, checking her watch. Almost eight. Scott and Alicia were on their way to school by now. Earlier, she’d left them finishing breakfast with stern orders to clean up when they were finished. They didn’t ask why she was going to work so early. Some things none of them asked about. It was still an hour before opening, but she knew she should be headed to the shop by now. Her partner Mitchell was coming in late, so she was going to be on her own for most of the morning. He was taking Jeffrey to a doctor appointment. That horrible AIDS just might claim another victim. Poor Jeffrey. Poor Mitchell.

      After one more glance at the headstone, Jenny turned and hurried to her car. Luckily, she was only a few miles from the floral shop she’d owned with Mitchell for ten years now. It was housed in an old, Victorian-style house that she’d recently painted a soft blue. It had needed paint for several years, but, well, life had interfered, starting with Michael’s death. Shortly after he was killed in that car accident, she’d muscled her way on to a drug task force to help the police stop the proliferation of drugs in the sleepy little town of Little Oak.

      Until remnants of a white powdery substance had been found at the scene of the accident that had claimed her son’s life, she’d had no idea that the use of cocaine was so prevalent in the town. She was too busy raising three kids by herself and trying to run a business. Then the accident. Then the awareness. Then the task force. She still couldn’t believe she’d done it. When she’d joined the task force, she was numb with grief and not thinking well at all, a fact of which her mother and her best friend kept reminding her. But she’d persevered, passed the physical and helped bring down the main drug supplier for North Texas.

      Pulling to a stop in front of her shop, Jenny glanced at the sign and smiled. A TOUCH OF JOY/Flowers for all Occasions. She’d thought about changing the sign when she painted the building, but Mitchell had vetoed that idea. He’d reminded her of why she’d named it that in the first place. Flowers bring joy no matter the circumstances.

      He was right. Flowers helped celebrate the happy occasions and brought comfort in the not-so-happy occasions.

      She locked her car and hurried up the walk, stopping short when she noticed the front door was slightly ajar. What the …? Her heart thumped so hard against her ribs, she thought it would bust right out. She took a breath and pushed the door open, calling out, Mitchell? You here?

      Silence.

      Taking a tentative step inside, she paused a moment to let her eyes adjust to the dim interior, then she saw it. The mess. The arrangement she always kept on the end of the front counter now on the floor, flowers scattered and squashed. The vase smashed to pieces. Papers strewn about, some floating in the water from the arrangement. The old grandfather clock pushed over. Chairs upended. Her cash box tossed into the corner. Open. Empty. Anger and frustration warred within her, fighting for top billing. Some horrible person had broken in and done all this.

      Was that someone still here?

      That question sent her heart racing again, so fast she thought it might explode right out of her chest. She tried to take a breath to steady herself, standing absolutely still for a moment. Then she shook the fear aside and pulled a can of Mace from her purse. She held her hand out as she

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