by cpsmi
With the computer program explained, he turns to the phone system. That doesn’t take long at all for two reasons. First, I was using something similar at my old job, and second, Felicity left me a handwritten, color-coded list of the extensions.
Tyler and I continue to chat until the door opens and a man dressed in a uniform similar to his walks in and makes his way to my desk. “Ashley, this is my second-in-command, Ben Gates. We were on the force together in Seattle. He was as over the city life as I was, and Perry’s second retired when he did, so Ben came with me.”
Ben looks to be about thirty, and I’d bet good money the single ladies on the island drool over him. And if they’re drooling over him, they’re probably dying over Tyler. The thought makes me grimace, which causes Ben’s brows to go up. Realizing I look the opposite of warm and friendly, I wave my hand and smile.
“I’m so sorry. I, uh, just had one of those did I remember to close the door moments,” I lie.
“And did you?” Tyler asks. When I look at him, I see he’s tensed up.
“Did I what?”
“Remember to close the door,” he says.
“Um, no. I mean yes.” God, I’m a shit liar. Best to stick with the truth. Taking a breath, I try again. “I mean, I didn’t close it myself, but when Millie left, she went through the slider and closed it behind her.”
He immediately relaxes. “Good.”
“Ninety percent of my neighbors leave their doors unlocked year round,” I point out.
He gives me a pointed look as he shakes his head. “Well, one hundred percent of those people aren’t you,” he says.
I blink at him like an idiot for a second or two before the sound of a throat clearing brings me out of my fog. Blushing, I look back at Ben.
He grins like he’s having a grand old time as he reaches his hand out to shake mine. “Welcome to the department,” he says affably. “Good to have you with us. I can tell it’s going to be interesting.”
“Thanks. It’s great to meet you.”
“You’ll be meeting a lot of people in the coming week,” Tyler says, bringing my attention back to him. “Officer Brady will be in next. She and Ben work the ten to seven shift, so you’ll be seeing them the most. There are two more officers you’ll meet today, McGee and Redford, who work Thursday to Monday. They’ve both been on the force for a few years, so it’s possible you’ve met them before. Their shifts start in the afternoon. The two overnight officers, Murphy and Dowd, are newer hires. They won’t be around much during the day, so it might be a while before you meet them. We’re in the process of hiring a few more full-time officers before the summer season hits. Once we do that, we’ll be running at full speed.”
He’s just finished giving me that information when the door opens and someone walks in. This time, it’s a female officer. Despite the uniform, she looks like she belongs on the cover of a magazine. Her wavy blonde hair is cut into a fashionable bob that ends just below her chin, her big blue eyes are full of life, and her natural-looking makeup is perfection. In a million years, I’d never have guessed she was a cop.
“This is our newest addition,” Tyler says as he waves her over to us. “Jana Brady, meet Ashley Colton.”
I try not to let my eyes widen, but they do for a fraction of a second. I can tell by the look on her face that she caught my reaction.
“I know,” she groans. “What kind of monsters would name their daughter Jana Brady? They set me up for a lifetime of Jan jokes. Worse, my twin sister’s name is Marcy.”
I can’t help it. I laugh. Hard. “For real?”
“Yep. My parents swear they didn’t realize what they were doing, but c’mon now. They were both born and raised in Tacoma, not Mars. There are TVs there.”
“At least they didn’t actually name you Jan and Marcia,” I choke out, still laughing. “And if you ever get married, you’ll get a new last name.”
Jana rolls her eyes. “I spend a lot of time looking for Mr. Right, and I swipe right like it’s my job, but so far I’ve found a ton of frogs but no princes.”
“Hey,” Ben whines dramatically. “I’ll have you know there are two single princes right here.”
Jana cringes. “Seriously, gross. Never say that again.”
Turning back to me, she cocks her head. “Are you single?”
Gah, is that the question of the day or what? I’m feeling a little bit like there’s an old maid sign on my forehead or something. Instead of answering verbally, I nod.
“Perfect! I’ve only been here for a few months, so I’m in need of a wing woman, and since you just got here, you need to learn your way around the island’s dating scene. It’s a win-win,” she says enthusiastically. “Fridays, it’s dollar drafts until ten down at Ted’s Tavern, which means it’ll be packed. Most of the single people in town will be there. What do you think?”
I think making friends in my now permanent hometown is a no-brainer. “Sure! I love Ted’s.”
“Sweet. Parking can be a little iffy there on Fridays, so you might have to drive around for—”
“She won’t need to park. I’ll bring her,” Tyler declares.
Jana, Ben, and I all turn our attention to him. “You will?” I ask as my stomach does a loop-de-loop. Sheesh. I haven’t had this feeling since my junior high crush asked me to the movies to see Iron Man.
“I didn’t get a chance to mention this to you yet, but I live a few houses down from you,” Tyler says. “When Chief Perry retired, he moved to Arizona and put his place on the market. I took one look at that view and put in a bid. I bought some land to build a bigger house, but that’ll be a few years out, so for now, the old Perry place makes sense.”
Oh. Wow. The chief’s house is just five doors down from mine. That means Tyler and I are neighbors. Logically, I knew he lived somewhere nearby—almost all of the permanent residents live in one part of town—but I didn’t realize he was so close. If I wanted to, I could be at his house in ninety seconds. Less if I ran. Not that I’d do that, since it would be super unprofessional. Also, I’m not a runner. Unless there’s chocolate. For chocolate, I’d run. Although, if Tyler weren’t my boss… yeah. I’d run. Long distance, even.
Get it together. Get it together. Don’t visualize running to your hot boss’s house, dummy.
“Are you, uh… are you sure?” I ask—or more accurately, squeak. “I can drive myself; it’s not a problem.”
“Yeah, babe, I’m sure. Eight thirty on Friday good for you?”
I suck in a breath at his use of the word babe. Why is that so damn hot?
“Mm-hm. That’s fine.”
“Then it’s a plan,” he says, like it’s written in stone.
“I’ll be there too. I can tell you’re all worried—even though not one of you has so much as looked at me—that I might stay home and be lonely,” Ben says dryly.
When Tyler throws back his head and laughs, my nipple situation gets even more intense. I wonder if it will continue like this or if when I get used to being around him, I’ll react less.
Somehow, I doubt it.
CHAPTER FIVE
____________________________________
ASHLEY
MY FIRST DAY of work was good. Great, even. I feel light and almost giddy. If today was an indicator of what’s to come, the manifesting books and the app are working. Humming to the Beach Boys song that’s stuck in my head, I change into a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt before going into the kitchen to make something to eat. I’m just finishing an oh-so-exciting dinner consisting of a bowl of chicken and stars soup with some crackers when there’s a knock at the sliding door. Opening it, I see Millie on my back deck.
“I brought over some wine coolers,” she says, gesturing toward a four-pack of the fizzy beverage sitting on my picnic table. “Come on out and tell me all about your day while we watch the sunset.”
Looking back at the kitchen counter wistfully, I silently promise the container of powdered hot chocolate and pack of peanut b
utter cups sitting there that I’ll be back for them soon. Then I slide into my blue-and-white polka dotted flip-flops, open the sliding door all the way to let the cool breeze coming off the ocean in, and head outside to sit with Millie. The gentle sound of the water lapping against the shore is one of my favorite things in the world. We’re about twenty minutes away from sunset, and I can already tell it will be spectacular.
Taking a seat on the Adirondack chair next to Millie, I accept the wine cooler she holds out to me. I’ve never known anyone to drink these things but her. When I was a teenager, I wondered if she was single-handedly responsible for keeping the brand that makes them in business. It’s not like she drinks a ton, but everyone who knows her is well aware that Millie Andover’s drink of choice is a fuzzy-navel-flavored wine cooler. It’s her signature drink. Mine is hot chocolate with a crazy amount of whipped cream.
After twisting the lid off, I sink back into the chair, bend my knees, and settle my feet on the edge of the seat. Taking a sip of the sweet drink, I try not to wince as the flavor spreads across my tongue.
“Tell me everything,” Millie prods. “Did I do good?”
I chuckle as I take another small sip of the wine cooler and set it down. “You did better than good,” I assure her. “Everyone welcomed me warmly and I feel like I fit right in. Coming here and taking this job were the right decisions.”
Her smile has more than a hint of pride in it. “I told Abe I had a good feeling about this. You’ve got the perfect disposition to be the person people deal with when they go to the precinct. Paying tickets and fines is a hassle, even in a town this small. Having someone kind at the front desk will ensure it continues to be the not-totally-terrible experience it was while Felicity was there. Honestly, the rest of the people who applied were either a terrible fit or completely unqualified.”
“Were there a lot of applicants?”
Millie shrugs and looks out at the water. “The applicants there were didn’t fit. We’re lucky Chief Jameson takes his commitment to the town seriously. Frankly, as time was running out on Felicity being there, many of us were worried he’d wind up being forced to hire someone completely unsuited to the department. No matter how hard we try, there are a few bad eggs in every community. The idea that Eleanor Ramsey’s daughter might’ve somehow finagled her way into a position of any power in this town was almost more than any of us could bear. She’d have made going to the department to pay tickets or talk to the chief a miserable experience.”
I wince. “Rita Ramsey moved back to the island?”
A bunch of the island locals may or may not have unofficially thrown a party when she moved to Austin to live with Ronald, a summer renter she got involved with almost five years ago. Ronald was a balding, tubby, hairy, rude, incredibly entitled swine whose summer uniform was a bright red banana hammock bathing suit that showed way more of little Ronald than anyone in their right mind would care to see. He rounded the ensemble out with a pair of Fendi slides and a towel with a Porsche logo embroidered on it. Oh, and he always reeked of cologne. Most women would’ve steered clear of him, but Rita was all-in the minute she saw his bright yellow McLaren.
It wasn’t too much of a surprise, considering Rita has always been odd. Snagging a rich guy was worth selling herself out, I guess. I know that sounds harsh, but honestly, she sucks. Short-tempered and easily provoked, she gets off on creating conflict. At twenty-six, she’s a year older than I am but has looked at least five years older than me since the minute she grew boobs and started wearing low-cut tops. Her momma’s motto is if you’ve got it, flaunt it, which Rita definitely took to heart.
The summer I was fourteen, we worked together at the church as assistants during bible camp, and she made my life miserable. Three other girls and I busted our butts, while Rita sat on her ass, barked orders, called us horrible names, and then took all the credit whenever the bible study teachers would thank us for our work. That, I could’ve dealt with—begrudgingly—but her referring to me as “A-cup Ashley” was a bridge too far. There are two people in the world I truly dislike. Rita shares top billing with Hadley.
“She moved back a few months ago and she’s been raising hell ever since. There isn’t a lick of class or couth in that girl,” Millie grumbles.
I shudder as memories of things Rita said and did to me play out in my head. “Not only is she classless; she’s cruel. She went out of her way to make me feel like the fattest, most flat-chested, ugly buffoon on earth.”
Millie grimaces. “That’s just wrong. On your worst day, you’re one hundred percent more beautiful than Rita Ramsey will ever be.”
I let out a startled sound. “Well, that’s not true. I’m plain and she’s… well, not.”
Cocking her head, Millie studies me with an expression of alarm. “Nonsense! Do you really not know, child?”
“Know what?”
“Rita is—at best—a seven, and that drops down to a four real quick once you factor in her atrocious personality. She gets attention, because she puts all her wares on display. She’s like a flashing neon sign. On top of that, there’s not a lick of mystery to that girl. Everyone in this town can make an educated guess about what size brassiere she wears, and that includes Pastor Ed, who goes out of his way not to look. You can’t compare yourself to her, because you’re heads and tails above her. You’re a nine that jumps up to an eleven real quick once your sweet personality is added into the mix. You aren’t just stunning on the outside, Ashley. You’re beautiful inside, where it matters the most.”
It’s sweet of her to say, but it’s not accurate. I’m not saying I’m a wildebeest or anything, but in comparison to all of the Botox having, perfectly capped teeth, super slender and toned—not to mention big-breasted—beauties Los Angeles is darn near overrun with, I’ve always felt like a Janet Wood in the Chrissy Snow world of Three’s Company. I know I’m nowhere near fat, but like a lot of women, I sometimes fantasize about being smaller. Unfortunately, there’s nothing to be done for it. I can diet until the cows come home, but I will always, always have an hourglass shape, and unless I’m willing to eat nothing but bacon or salad, I won’t go below a size eight. The one time I did a low-carb diet and dropped down to a size six, I was miserable as hell. I like chocolate. A lot. Until they find a diet that allows me to drink a cup of hot chocolate and eat a peanut butter cup—or two—each day, I’m not interested. If being skinny means being miserable, count me out.
“Thank you for saying that.”
“I meant every word,” Millie says firmly.
I know I’m blushing as I try to decide what I can say that will take the attention away from me. “I’m surprised she would deign to consider a job at the police station.”
“That’s down to her being a master manipulator.” She sighs. “She doesn’t want a job; she wants pow—”
“Fancy seeing you two here,” a voice calls.
It’s only been a day, but I already recognize the timbre. Looking away from Millie, I watch as Tyler approaches us, a fluffy Alaskan malamute—bigger than a puppy but definitely not full grown—with a pink tennis ball in its mouth at his side. As soon as the dog sees Millie, it drops the ball and runs for her. The way she laughs when the dog jumps up on her and starts licking her face tells me this is a regular occurrence. Tyler picks up the discarded ball before walking the rest of the way to where we’re seated.
“Hey, Chief,” Millie answers before she turns her attention to rubbing the dog’s head and telling her she’s a good girl.
The sight of Tyler Jameson in faded blue jeans and a maroon-colored Henley has my tongue tied up in knots. I thought he was sexy in his uniform, but this is next level. “Hi, Chief,” I say, parroting Millie.
When he frowns, there’s a small line between his furrowed brows. Lord, help me—even that’s sexy. I wonder exactly how old he is. My guess is late twenties or early thirties, but since he’s Chief of the department, it seems more likely that he’s the latter instead of the former.
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br /> “Tsk, tsk, neighbor. Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten I told you to call me Tyler,” he scolds.
I laugh nervously and take a sip of wine cooler. “Sorry. I just repeated what Millie said. I remember that you told me to call you Tyler.”
I also remember how he stopped by my desk more than a dozen times to see how I was getting on, and that he ate lunch with me in the break room.
My attention moves from Tyler to the dog when it makes a Chewbacca type noise and starts nosing at my hand for attention. Putting my legs down, I grin as I gently scratch the top of the dog’s head the way Millie did.
“What’s her name?” I ask Tyler.
“Her name is Boo.”
Boo’s tongue lolls out the side of her mouth as I scratch behind her ears and under her jaw. “She’s a good girl,” I coo.
“Such a sweetheart,” Millie agrees. “I told Abe that we need a Boo of our own, but that stubborn old coot says dogs are too much work and I’m busy enough already. Pssh, like he’s got any clue. Anytime you want to know what a lot of work is, come to my house and clean up after Abraham Andover.”
I have to bite my lip to hold back a snicker. Over the course of my life, I’ve seen Mr. Andover make multiple attempts to clean up after himself or cook or even buy his own clothes. Each time, Millie tells him to sit his keister down while she takes care of it. Although she gripes, the truth is that one of her joys in life is taking care of her husband. I think it’s adorable. Over the top, for sure, but adorable.
“Thanks to this sweet girl,” Millie continues, “I get the best of both worlds. She comes and visits with me while the chief is at work. I may be guilty of slipping her some treats.”
“Is that why she’s getting chunky?” Tyler teases.
“She’s not chunky, Tyler,” Millie scolds. “She’s fluffy. Talk to me in six months once she’s full grown.”
I can’t hold back a giggle when the dog abruptly jumps up, maneuvering herself awkwardly until she’s able to lie down in my lap.