by cpsmi
“Just let me know if you feel that you’re overworked,” he grumbles.
“I’m not. I promise. Being busy is good.”
Heck, it’s better than good—it’s great. Busy also helps me avoid as much interaction with Tyler without making it too noticeable. Like right now, I’m thankful that the phone is ringing, because it means we can terminate this conversation without any weirdness. I smile as I pick up the handset to take the call. “Charlotte’s Cove Police Department. How can I help you?”
“Ew, even your voice sounds fat. Do you gargle in butter? Because your ass sure looks like you do.”
A string of curse words longer than Santa’s naughty list is right on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t utter even one of them, because Tyler is looking at me. Instead, I’m forced to remain calm. “One moment, please.”
After pressing the hold button, I hang the phone up, school my expression, and turn back to Tyler. “Rita is on line one for you.”
His jaw tics, and his expression turns stony. I can tell he’s frustrated as hell and he wants to say something, but I made my position about Rita Ramsey abundantly clear the night she showed up at the bar. Whatever the situation is with her is his problem. I don’t want to be anywhere near it.
I give him a calm smile as I reach into my drawer and pull the deposit bag out. Standing, I push in my rolling desk chair and then pick up my wristlet from the corner of my desk. “I’m going to head out. I’ll be back in about an hour.”
With that, I walk out with my head held high, like I don’t have a care in the world. I wait until I’m three blocks away to pull over and scream. It’s one thing to know that I have to nix my interest in Tyler in the bud because of Rita. It’s a whole other thing to be subjected to that psychopath taunting me on the phone at my work. Answering the phone is part of my job, so it’s not like I can stop doing it. Rita knows that, and she’s determined to lob as much bullshit at me as possible. I need to do something, but at the moment, I don’t know what that something should be.
To top it all off, my manifesting books and apps aren’t helping right now. No matter how hard I try to focus, many of my visualizations involve Tyler. I’m still working on that though. It would be great if at some point my brain could stop picturing him as Mr. Right.
Maybe once I figure out how to properly deal with the Rita situation, things will get easier. Hopefully that happens soon, as in before I snap and tell her off, regardless of who’s listening—even if it’s Tyler.
_______________
“YOU’RE STILL SOUR with me for not divulging that Tyler had a dalliance with Rita, aren’t you?”
Setting my fork down on my half-finished plate of mashed potatoes, green beans, and pork chops with mushroom gravy, I hold my finger up to indicate I need a moment to finish chewing. After swallowing, I give Millie an exasperated look.
“Please stop worrying about that, Millie. I’ve told you at least a dozen times that I’m not upset with you. I can’t lie and say I wasn’t annoyed at first, but you know I’m not a grudge holder. I wanted out of Los Angeles, and you knew the job at the station would be a good place for me to land. For what it’s worth, I’m not sure if knowing the chief dated Rita would’ve affected my decision to take the job. He’s a good boss, my co-workers are amazing, and I like working with the public. The only downside is that awful woman.”
“She’s more than just awful,” Mr. Andover grumbles. “It’s too bad we don’t have the option to vote her off the island like they do on Survivor. Ninety-nine percent of the people living here would be thrilled to see her go.”
I love Mr. Andover. He’s on the quiet side, so one might assume he’s either not listening or doesn’t care. Both assumptions are wrong. Although he speaks a great deal less than his wife, at least to anyone who isn’t her, he’s far more plugged in than people think. Like my grandfather, Mr. Andover was born and raised here in the Cove. He started a construction company when he finished his stint in the military and since then has either been involved in building or remodeling most of the local-owned homes. Because of that, he knows everyone.
“Wait, what fools are you including in the one percent that would want her to stay?” Millie asks.
Mr. Andover grins at his wife. “Just her momma, and frankly, we’d all be happy to vote her off too.”
I snicker as I slice the last portion of my pork chop.
“They’d both get my vote for sure,” I admit.
I get about three more bites in before Millie clears her throat. “If you’re not sour with me, it means something else is on your mind. You’re not yourself tonight.”
Setting my fork and knife down, I reach out for my glass of milk and take a sip to give myself a few seconds to think. I’m a terrible liar, and even if I tried, under cross-examination—at which Millie is highly skilled—I’d fold. I wasn’t going to talk to anyone about this, at least not yet, but now that she’s straight out said I’m not myself, there’s no avoiding it.
After putting my glass back down on the bright yellow tablecloth, I let out a long breath. “Rita has been calling the station a lot, and when she does, she’s… well, it’s rough.”
Millie’s eyes narrow as she focuses on me like a laser. “Define rough.”
I rub my palms against my denim-covered legs beneath the table as I gather the words I need to say.
“Today, she said I sound fat on the phone. She then asked if I gargle with butter.”
The sound of both of the Andovers’s cutlery clattering down to their plates confirms what I already suspected. This revelation is going over like a fart in church.
“What else has she said to you, child?”
The way Millie asks the question pulls me up short. I’ve never seen her honest-to-God mad before, but judging by the look on her face and the tone of her voice, she’s seething.
“Her go-to is to call me fat and tell me how ugly I am. Oh, and stupid too. One time, she didn’t say words; she just made mooing noises. Most of the rest of what she’s said has been so inappropriate I can’t even repeat any of it,” I admit.
“And what is Tyler doing about it?”
I cringe.
“Please tell me you’ve talked to him about this,” Mr. Andover says, his voice stern.
“Erm, no. But only because I can’t talk to him about her.”
Mr. Andover levels me with a glare. “That’s bull. You don’t want to talk to him. There’s a difference between can’t and don’t. Can’t means the option isn’t available. Don’t means you choose not to.”
I look to Millie for support, but her expression makes it clear she agrees with her husband.
“You have to tell him.”
“I don’t see the point,” I argue. “What’s he going to do, arrest his ex-girlfriend?”
“She’s not his ex-girlfriend,” Millie says, her voice louder than usual. “Having relations with someone doesn’t make them a girlfriend. Don’t confuse the two.”
I shrug and cross my arms. “He knows her better than he knows me. For all we know, he’ll think I’m the one creating an issue. It’s not like I have proof of what she’s been saying.”
“Your word is proof enough,” Mr. Andover encourages.
“Felicity says he knows she’s a nut,” Millie tells me.
“Then why is he still messing with her?” I challenge.
“Child, you of all people should know that not everything that bursts forth from Rita’s mouth is based in reality. Until you bite the bullet and talk to Tyler, you’re just guessing.”
That stings. I feel like keeping quiet and not stooping to Rita’s level is the adult thing to do.
“He’s taking her calls for a reason, and my thought is that it’s because they’re together again. We need to keep this between us, at least for now. If it gets worse, I promise I’ll say something.”
Millie shakes her head. “That’s not acceptable. If you don’t tell him, I will. This is serious, Ashley. You’re an employee of the
police department, and she’s abusing you while you’re on the clock. Now, to be clear, no matter when she did it, I’d have an issue. But this? No. Too far. I’ve had it with that damn girl.”
“Millie’s right. You can’t let this stand.”
Looking between the Andovers, I can find no wiggle room. They both want me to fill Tyler in on what Rita’s been doing, and there will be no changing their minds.
“Your pride is making decisions your brain knows are wrong,” Mr. Andover says. “Rita is a master manipulator, and right now, she’s got you right where she wants you. Staying silent only gives her more power. You have to face it head-on and nip it in the bud. Hesitating is doing nothing but making a bad situation worse. Give Tyler the information and let him handle it. It’s the only way things will get better.”
There’s no going back from this. I know Millie. She doesn’t say things she doesn’t mean, so her taking a stand and saying she’ll tell Tyler if I don’t is serious. That Mr. Andover is giving me what-for about talking to Tyler brings it home that much more. I have to say something.
“Okay. I’ll talk to him about it this week. Either tomorrow or the day after at the latest,” I promise.
“No. You’ll talk to him about it now. Get up and walk down to his house. You’ve let this go on long enough, child. You need to bring him into the loop.”
My stomach immediately clenches as my nerves go on alert. “No, no. I don’t want to bother him outside of work with this.”
Millie gives me a look that offers no quarter. “I wasn’t suggesting it, my dear. I was telling you. Get up from this table and go talk to the chief. Rip the Band-Aid off.”
“She’s right,” Mr. Andover says. “You need to take action. The longer you wait, the worse it will get. You’ve put up with enough.”
“Ugh. Fine. I’ll go.”
“Don’t sass, child. We’re forcing the issue, because we care. You know darn well your grandparents would say the same thing,” Millie says.
Bowing my head, I sigh. Picking up my napkin from the table, I quickly dab my lips and then wave it in a circle. “I surrender. When you’re right, you’re right.”
“There you go,” Mr. Andover says, his tone clearly approving.
“Take a mint or a cinnamon candy before you go,” Millie instructs. “Good breath is important.”
I hold back a laugh and nod as I rise from the table. This is the first time she’s ever said anything about taking one of the candies for the sake of my breath. Her matchmaking game is about as subtle as Miley Cyrus swinging on a wrecking ball. In all the years I’ve been coming and going from this house, I’ve never left without a handful of candy from the huge fishbowl sitting next to the front door, and I’ve also never had to be reminded.
I mean, it’s me, and there’s chocolate candy in the mix. Millie buys two five-pound bags of Brach’s candy mix every month, so there’s always plenty. And since I’m the only one who eats the Star Brite chocolate mints, there are always a ton of those available just for me.
Pushing my chair in, I move to pick up my plate and clear my spot. “No stalling,” Millie scolds. “Put that plate down, take some mints, and get your fanny on the road.”
“Sheesh,” I grumble. “You’re very ‘here’s your hat; there’s the door.’”
“Ashley Helena Colton. Get your legs moving. If you wait any longer, Jeopardy will be on. It’s a well-known fact that unexpected visitors after the shows start for the night are a nuisance.”
As nervous as I am about talking to Tyler, I still laugh. Only in the Cove is that accurate. After thanking them both for dinner, I stop at the table by the door and take six chocolate mints, which I tuck into the back pocket of my jeans. I then pluck a seventh mint from the bowl, which I unwrap and pop into my mouth. Dropping the plastic wrapper into the rectangular bowl that’s left on the table for that very purpose, I straighten my shoulders, open the door, and head to Tyler’s house.
CHAPTER TWELVE
____________________________________
ASHLEY
A TRIP THAT should take less than two minutes has so far taken about four. If I were walking any slower, I’d be crawling. It’s taking me so long that I’ve moved on to a second mint. I imagine the way I’m staring down at the pavement gives off an on-the-way-to-the-guillotine vibe.
I startle when two furry white paws come into my line of vision. Looking up, I watch as Boo skids to a halt in front of me. Stopping, I reach down and scratch the top of her head. She basks in the attention as she always does, her eyes reflecting the joy she takes from our interactions. I keep my focus on her for what I know is an excessive amount of time, because I’m avoiding what comes next. When I know I can’t delay any longer, I look up and meet Tyler’s steady gaze.
“Hey.”
He looks me over carefully before he responds. “Hey. You okay?”
I furrow my brow, wondering how he already knows something’s up with me. But that’s probably a dumb thing to question, considering he’s a cop. Attention to detail has probably woven itself into his DNA by now.
“I’m okay.”
“Really?” he asks, disbelief evident in his tone. “Because you’re out here walking like it’s the green mile. How personally should I take it that you’re all but literally dragging your feet to come to talk to me?”
“How do you know—”
He gestures with his chin toward the road behind me. “Millie called and told me that you need to speak to me about something important.”
Oh, she’s getting it later. She probably looked out the window, saw me doing my best to delay the inevitable, and decided to make sure I didn’t chicken out.
“Don’t take it personally.” I sigh. “I wasn’t dragging my feet because of you. Not really, anyway. I just really don’t want to have this conversation.”
He frowns. “That bad?”
I grimace. “Well, it isn’t ideal.”
“Are you… fuck, Ashley, are you going to quit?”
Do I lie and pretend that wasn’t on my mind every step of the way here? I don’t want to quit, but if he blows me off about what Rita has been doing, I won’t have a choice. That means honesty is the best policy here.
“I don’t want to quit,” I answer.
He lets out a heavy sigh and gestures with his head back over his shoulder to his house. “Let’s go inside and talk.”
I nod and begin to walk. When he falls into step next to me, I do my best not to notice his cologne. I also try to ignore the way he keeps looking over at me.
Once I walk into the house, I lose track of the things I want to say for a moment, because it’s so beautiful. Everything has been overhauled since Chief Perry lived here, and it’s a lot to take in. The most significant change is that the loft over the kitchen is gone. Everything is open, which makes the ceiling seem even taller. I never would’ve thought to remove the loft, but I like what it does for the space.
Although it’s still small and compact like my cottage, the hardwood floors have been sanded and stained a whitewashed gray color that makes it seem bigger. The walls are a beautiful navy, which should close the space in, but because the ceiling has been painted the same crisp white as all the doors and trim, it isn’t closed in at all. The kitchen cabinets are also white, as is the subway tile backsplash done in a herringbone pattern, and the counters are a shiny pale-gray quartz.
There’s a round table with seating for four on the other side of the counter. The rest of the open space at the front of the house is the living room. There’s a couch and a loveseat, both gray, and a cream-colored area rug with blue, gray, and yellow accents woven throughout. On the wall across from the couches, there’s a fifty-inch flat screen on the wall, which, in a house this size, seems larger. All of the windows are fitted with plantation shutters, which I love.
“This is incredible,” I tell him, still taking it all in. Sheesh, even his light fixtures are beautiful. “Are you a decorator in your spare time?”
&
nbsp; “No, but when I was in high school trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my life, I considered it. My parents own a furniture store in Seattle, so it’s always been something I’ve had an interest in.”
“The paint, furniture, and countertop updates at the station make more sense now. I figured it was just the council wanting everything to be fresh and clean, but you chose it all, didn’t you?”
He nods. “Guilty.”
“I’m seriously impressed.”
“Thanks.”
Stepping forward, he gestures to the big couch. “Take a seat. Do you want anything to drink?”
The nervous feeling in my stomach dulled down a little while I was looking around, but now that we’re about to talk, the nerves are doubling back in full force.
I assumed he’d sit on the loveseat, but that goes out the window when Boo jumps onto it and spreads out. For a not-huge dog, she takes up a lot of room when she wants to. Even though the seat Tyler takes is on the other end of the couch, it still feels oddly intimate, like we’re closer than we are.
“Talk to me,” he says. “You’ve been flat at work, you avoid me when you see me walking down behind the houses with Boo, and the way you looked out on the street made it clear something big is bothering you.”
I swallow nervously, twisting my fingers together in my lap as I choose my words. “It’s about Rita,” I begin.
He lets out a hiss of breath, and I tense up. Crap. He’s not going to listen to me.
“Never mind. Let’s forget—”
“Stop doing that. I don’t want you to shut me out or avoid me or treat me like someone you don’t want to know,” he says, his voice rough.
My head comes up in surprise, and my eyes fly to meet his. When they do, I see he’s staring at me imploringly. The message he seems to be sending, quite intently, is don’t run away.
“I don’t want to piss you off,” I blurt.