Meet Cute by Elise Faber (buy e reader .txt) 📕

I had no idea if he was pissed about my newfound media fame—and based on the news stories Mags had shown me the previous day, I would be delusional to think he hadn’t heard what happened—or if he was worried for my safety.

I hoped for the second one.

But . . . I worried it might be the first.

Usually, police departments preferred their officers to keep low social profiles.

And being everywhere online, in major newspapers, and on TV didn’t bode well for my future as a sheriff’s officer.

Kind of hard to prevent crime with a gaggle of cameramen at my back.

Or maybe . . . maybe it was the best way.

No one would dare step a toe out of line if it were going to get caught on camera, right? Snorting to myself, I slid quietly from the bed and padded my way across the bedroom, almost desperate for another shower, for another chance to use those yummy-smelling products . . . provide myself with another escape from this conversation.

But I wasn’t a coward.

Which was why I slipped through the French door leading out onto that small patio beyond the glass in the bedroom, full of lush greenery. A breeze hit my skin the moment I did, lazy swirls of air catching my hair, drifting along my nape, circling over my arms and legs. Clouds drifted across the sky, tiny puffs of cotton floating along the horizon, transforming from turtle to rabbit to alligator to no end of animal shapes. I spent a moment there, more delaying, but also soaking in this moment, in enjoying that it was quiet, and I was alive.

Then as elephant turned to dolphin, I dialed Rob’s number.

“Tammy?” he answered on the second ring, his voice filled with concern. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I said quickly. “Look, about the stories. I’m sorry if this brings attention to the department. I wasn’t trying to do that. I just . . . I was there, and it happened, and I—”

“What exactly are you apologizing for?” he asked, his words partly obscured by loud talking in the background.

I heard him walking, the noise quieting as I sputtered, “I—um—I—”

“Let me help you out,” he said. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. I wanted to make sure you were good, find out if you needed anything.”

“Oh, I’m—”

“Don’t say fine,” he interrupted. “Because you sure as shit can’t be fine. Not with your face plastered everywhere.” A beat. “I saw the video.”

My breath caught.

“You did good, captain.”

That breath slid out. “Thanks.” And strangely enough, I was close to tears, the backs of my eyes burning, my lungs feeling tight. “I really am fine,” I said when I could speak again. “I’m holed up with Talbot until the press calms down, and then I’ll be right back at work.” I thought about the number of cameras out front. “I might need to take a couple more vacation days before I can come back to my shifts.”

“Right. The whole face-plastered-all-over-the-place thing.”

I winced. “Yeah.”

“You sure you’re good?”

I nodded, though he couldn’t see me, realized that then murmured. “Yeah, I am. Nothing to do but wait this out and let the powers that be work their magic—or so I’m told.”

“Seems wise.”

“Plus, it’s not a bad place to hide out.”

“Live-in butler and giant pool?”

I glanced around the patio, saw the small sunken hot tub tucked into the corner of the greenery, thought about Tal cooking breakfast for me yesterday morning, me cooking for him last night. “More like a hot tub and a fully-stocked fridge.”

Rob whistled slowly. “Living the dream, Conners. Living the dream.”

I laughed, felt that prickling in my eyes again, touched that he’d cared enough to check up on me. “Rob?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks—” I cleared my throat. “You know . . . for texting . . . no one else—”

I broke, stifling the rest of that before I admitted that my own flesh and blood hadn’t so much as sent a text. Not that radio silence was something out of the ordinary with Mark. There was always an impenetrable wall between my older brother and myself, no matter how hard I tried to get through it.

Silence, this time one not filled with peace, not full of me daydreaming about clouds turning into animals.

It was long and quiet . . . and chock-full of awkwardness and embarrassment.

At least on my end.

“Tammy,” Rob said eventually, not sounding the least bit discomfited. Instead, his words were tiny angry bullets, biting through the airwaves to reach my eardrums. “I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but your dad was an asshole.”

My lungs seized, air sliding out from between my lips in a long, slow hiss.

“He was,” Rob added before I managed to summon anything further. “And your brother, I’m sorry to say, is taking a page right out of his book.”

More seizing. More embarrassment sinking into my spine.

“You’re a nice person, Tam. You always go the extra mile. You’re kind and compassionate and a good officer.” A beat. “They were and are too wound up in their own misery to see that.”

Heart thudding in my chest, I whispered . . . something. Because, frankly, I wasn’t even aware of the words coming out of my mouth.

“No, Tammy. It’s not your fault.”

I blinked, finally processed what I’d said.

It’s my fault.

Was it possible to die of mortification? To just melt into the floor like a complete and utter weakling who completely lost my spine and any semblance of myself?

Unfortunately not.

“Okay.” His voice took on a brisk tone. “So, I’m only going to say this once.”

I waited, braced myself.

“Fuck them, Tam. You deserved better.”

My fingertips were shaking, I realized obliquely, pressing them to my forehead and absorbing those words.

“You’re right,” I whispered.

Rob was quiet for a moment, and I heard the voices increasing in the background for a moment. “Glad you see it my way.”

I snorted. “You’re just loving that I said the male psyche’s favorite phrase.”

“You’re right?”

“Yes, that.”

We burst out laughing, and then Rob’s daughter shouted something, and I knew