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  Wow, we got a live one here! I shoot Anita a look, and she’s trying so hard not to laugh, her face is scrunched up painfully. I wonder if Trooper Asshat caught that pronouncement from beyond the curtain.

  “Where does it hurt?” I question, hoping to find a topic less drama-worthy.

  Her hands instantly fly to her neck, bracing it as if her head might just snap off at any given moment. “Oh, my heavens, yes. That stupid young man was flying down Route 1 and didn’t even notice I was pulling out.”

  Ah, she pulled out in front of him. Got it.

  “He had to have been going eighty miles an hour! Smacked right into my brand-new Cadillac—best thing I got in the divorce, you know.” She says the last part in a low voice like it’s some sort of secret. “I tried to get Corporal Everson to arrest that imbecile, but as usual, no one cares about criminals in this godforsaken blue state!”

  Now Anita is visibly shaking, she is trying so hard to keep her laughter at bay.

  I bite my tongue to keep from snarkily correcting her: we’re in a red county in a blue state. Instead, I summon every last shred of professionalism and advise, “I’m ordering an x-ray for your neck. Are you having any other pain?”

  She vehemently shakes her head, then winces because it hurt her neck. I wait until I’m fully turned before rolling my eyes and escaping past the curtain. Trooper Asshat is leaning against the wall. “See what I have to deal with?” he asks. “If you think she was bad in there, you should have heard her at the accident scene.”

  “Yeah, she’s really something, isn’t she?” I had planned to say something else, but as soon as I locked on to his gaze, my other speech escaped me. I stand there for a fraction of a second, transfixed by those eyes. And it isn’t just his eyes. It’s the total package: the bronze skin still tan even after a long, cruel winter, the cut jaw with just a promise of stubble later in the day, and the full lips that look like they might taste as delicious as a sinful dessert. Then there’s the way the sleeves of his uniform hug the muscles in his arms and emphasize the broadness of his shoulders.

  Damn it! I’ve already learned my lesson that cops are arrogant, sexist assholes. Why do I have to be drawn to their look? Their physique? That damn uniform? I don’t know any doctors or lawyers or teachers who look like that. WHY?

  “See something you like, Dr. Miller?” his voice eases out, smooth as butter. He’s caught me staring at him. Busted. Damn it again!

  “I’ve gotta go—”

  “Wait a second,” he says, not touching me in the slightest, but pulling me back with his hazel gaze.

  “What?” Do I sound exasperated? I definitely sound exasperated. With myself. For letting myself respond to his stupid good looks and sexy smile. I know better!

  “I was just wondering if you might want to go out sometime?” He wears the perfect balance of hope and confidence spread across his handsome face. Hooking his thumbs in his gun belt, he waits for my response.

  My nose wrinkles up as my brain fights to get to my tongue before the rest of my body has its say. “Are you really, truly asking me out? Right here? In the middle of the ER?”

  “Why? Is that frowned upon?” He flashes me a charming, innocent look as he shifts his weight to his toes and then to his heels, rocking back and forth a few times in an “aw, shucks” kind of way.

  My eyes sure are getting a workout today with all this rolling. “Pretty sure it’s not completely professional.”

  I can tell he wants to touch me. His hands clench up, then unclench, then clench again. He’s itching to grab a fistful of fabric and pull me toward him like he’s reeling in a flailing fish.

  Only I’m not flailing. I’m cool, calm and collected. At least on the outside. He can’t see the butterflies in my stomach doing anything but staying cool, calm, and collected.

  He leans in close enough that I feel his breath on my chest. “You didn’t answer my question, Dr. Miller.”

  “I can’t believe you think there’s a chance in hell that I’d go out with you,” I fire back, but not before I inhale a noseful of his musky scent. My knees are nearly shaking from the way it travels from my lungs through my bloodstream and into certain parts of my anatomy.

  “Chicks dig cops, what can I say?” He winks at me.

  That’s the problem. It’s that cockiness. That arrogance that comes with the uniform. Most of these guys have such a thick air of entitlement about them, you’d think they invented dating or something.

  “You know what, Corporal Everson?” I bite my lip to keep my tone as neutral as possible.

  “What’s that?” He straightens up, preparing himself for victory, at least judging from the grin creeping across his face.

  “I used to date cops,” I tell him. “All the time, as a matter of fact. But I don’t anymore. Do you want to know why?”

  His face doesn’t betray the slightest hint of disappointment. Or maybe he doesn’t realize what I’m delivering is a rejection. “Why?”

  “Because they’re shallow, vain, cocky, close-minded, misogynistic jerks,” I explain. “And from what I’ve seen so far, you’re just like the rest.”

  “Pffft,” he scoffs, his hopeful smile fading into a tight smirk. “You think doctors are much better? You’re conceited, stuffy, boring, tedious sticks-in-the-mud.”

  “Wow,” I say, drawing out the vowel. “Why would you want to go out with someone like that, then?”

  “Because I have a feeling you’re different, Dr. Miller. You know I make a living reading people, right?”

  I slowly nod, trying to figure out where he’s going with this.

  “Right, and something tells me there’s a lot more to you than that white coat and those glasses.” He looks me up and down for a moment before getting a serious look in his eyes. “I don’t know if you’re aware…but looks can be deceiving.”

  Before I have a chance to protest, he turns on his heels and makes his way down the long corridor and out of the ER.

  Trooper Asshat’s “looks can be deceiving” speech is still ringing in my ears when I make the drive from Rehoboth to Fenwick Island. I’m cruising down Route 1, reveling in the lack of traffic. Another month and this highway will look more like a parking lot than a major thoroughfare. I don’t know why he riles me up so much. Probably because he knows he riles me up, which only makes him try harder and makes me more frustrated. I can’t believe I’d never seen him before a few weeks ago when he came in with that domestic, even though I’ve been here for a year and a half now, and he’s been at Troop 7 for five years.

  How do I know that?

  Well, I may have done a little digging. Not stalking. Nope, that’s beneath me. I wouldn’t dare—

  Okay, so I confirmed he has a Facebook page, and he’s coming up on his sixth anniversary with the state police. I also found out he graduated with Sonnet and Drew from Cape Henlopen High School. That’s a small town for you, huh? He didn’t have a relationship status posted publicly.

  But that’s as far as I took it, alright?

  I wrangle my attention back to the road as I steer my car toward my brother and sister-in-law’s house. They went to Philadelphia yesterday to pick Harmony up, and tonight I get to meet her for the first time. Ben told me she had a rough first night, and they want to ease her into meeting people, but I’m first on the list. I’m feeling incredibly honored! Aunt Brynne has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?

  I moved down here for two reasons: one, because I found this job at Lewes Hospital, which I love; and two, because Ben and Jamie are here. Our parents got divorced when I was in high school and Ben was freshly out of college, and I swear they just wrote us off after that. They both went on to pursue their own lives. My dad got married and followed some woman back to her hometown in Minnesota, and my mother has been in more relationships than I can count. Last I heard from her, she was in New York, someplace upstate. So Ben and I have had to stick together.

  Jamie, on the other hand, has a huge, close-knit family. I know they ar
e ecstatic to welcome Harmony into the brood, but Jamie has already said she will be exposing the toddler to her family in small doses, hoping not to completely overwhelm the poor girl. I’m just jealous of that many grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. I kind of wish Jamie’s family would adopt me like they have Ben.

  I park in their driveway and bound up the steps to Ben and Jamie’s porch, which is decorated for Easter with bunnies and chicks. I lightly knock on the door, not wanting to startle anyone inside. Jamie opens the door with her finger to her mouth. “She’s asleep,” she whispers.

  I step in, glancing around their beautifully decorated home for signs of my new niece. I’m not even sad that she’s not a newborn. It will be so much fun to skip ahead to toddlerhood when she’s learning to talk and getting into trouble. “How’s she doing?”

  “Her schedule is still kind of messed up,” Ben answers, joining us in the foyer. He looks down at the gift bag in my hands. “Aww, you brought something. That’s nice!”

  “I gotta start this spoiling aunt thing off on the right foot!” I wink at them both then follow them down the hall to one of their three bedrooms. I know they debated on which one to use for Harmony, but apparently they decided on the one right across the hall from their own room. When they push the door open, I’m greeted with the most adorable kid’s room I’ve ever seen. It’s decorated in a mermaid and beach theme, accompanied by fish, dolphins, crabs, and shells all over the place.

  “Wow, this is amazing!” I whisper as my eyes fall on a little lump in the crib. “Oh my gosh, is that her? She’s so tiny!”

  They nod with that proud look only new parents can pull off. “She just turned two last month, and she is a little small for her age. But she is fierce! She’s already talking and starting to put sentences together,” Jamie shares.

  The little lump begins to stir, and I see her springy auburn curls emerge from under the blanket as she twists her body and stretches her arms. She lets out the tiniest, cutest little whimper. I shoot my brother and sister-in-law a look that shows my heart is clearly melting.

  “Hey, sweetie!” Jamie’s smooth voice kicks up a notch above whispering as soon as the little one’s eyes flutter open. “I want you to meet someone very special to us.”

  “Hi, Harmony!” I offer, stepping closer to her crib and giving her a little wave. “I’m your Aunt Brynne. I brought you something!”

  Ben heads to the crib from the other side, then reaches in to lift the little girl out. Her arms wrap around his neck as he carries her to our side of the room. It looks like she’s already learning to trust him. He whispers something in her ear that I can’t quite hear, then she slowly turns her head toward me. She looks at me blankly at first, her eyes still showing the remnants of sleep. She is even more adorable in person than she was in the photograph Ben sent me.

  I smile at her as reassuringly as I can, holding out the brightly colored gift bag. I put a bow with curly ribbon in all shades of pink, purple and iridescent white, and she’s eyeing it curiously, a bit of excitement growing in her eyes. She wiggles out of her dad’s grasp—oh my gosh, it sounds so strange to call my brother a dad!—and Ben sets her down on the plush carpeting. She’s wearing a polka-dotted babydoll dress in shades of green and pink and leggings with a paisley print in matching colors. I bend down, planting my knees on the floor and holding the bag out, hoping she will walk over to me.

  Sure enough, she’s mesmerized by that bow with all the frilly and sparkly curls. She toddles over to me, her wide, milk chocolate eyes seeming to question whether I’m a good guy or a bad guy. I hope my smile will give her the answer as she grasps on to the bag and pulls out the lavender tissue paper. She giggles as it goes flying through the air. I notice Ben has his phone pointed at us, recording this moment for posterity and probably social media channels.

  Harmony pulls out the stuffed bunny I bought to go along with the book, then the sea turtle that goes with the other book. Her sense of wonder and awe is contagious! I have tears in my eyes, tears of joy clouding my vision, when she says, “Bunny!” loud and clear. Then she grabs the book and plops her tiny body right down in my lap.

  I can’t believe how perfect this is, how perfect she is. This is literally one of the happiest moments of my life.

  Seven

  Nothing like rushing around from an impromptu trip across the bay, flinging oneself in the shower, and then hightailing it to the local watering hole for a game of pub golf. Pub golf, you ask? It’s only the most brilliantly devious drinking game ever invented. Imagine a pub crawl but with little scorecards like you use for golf. Each bar is a hole and has three different levels of drinks; which one you consume determines your score for that hole. If you want to stay under par, you have to drink a seriously loaded cocktail. Otherwise, par is usually a mild cocktail and one over is a beer. Apparently Meric’s buddy Shark plays this game with his rugby team, and that’s where they got the idea to do it for Drew’s bachelor party.

  Oh, I forgot to mention that every bar has a hazard, some sort of task you must complete, or you must take a two-stroke penalty. Ouch. Most of the tasks involve asking a totally random stranger something mortally embarrassing, like where’s the strangest place you’ve ever had sex? Or sometimes it’s doing an impersonation, taking a specific kind of photo, or trading articles of clothing with someone. Every time you use the restroom it also costs you a stroke, and if you toss your cookies, it’s a whopping +5 penalty!

  This is all the more reason we should have moved this party out of state, but apparently no one cares if I keep my job.

  To make matters worse, when I juxtapose the reason I’m running late with the fact that I’m headed to a bachelor party, the end result is so outrageous, so absolutely hilarious, it’s a damn shame I can’t share it with anyone. But I can’t, because then I’d reveal my secret I’ve worked very hard to keep from all my friends. I’m just not ready for that level of roasting. What they did to me at the bar with Lindy’s lesbian friend would be mild compared to the razzing I’d receive if they learned the truth about my secret hobby.

  That also means I can’t celebrate my good news with them, which is a shame. It’s the reason I had to make a trip across the bay today to Baltimore. But I’m still going to celebrate in my own little way by sponsoring one of the “holes” tonight. I’ll buy everyone’s drinks at the first bar we visit.

  There’s about twelve of us on this expedition tonight. I high-five Drew and give him a bro-hug as soon as I make my way into the bar. The music is loud, and the place is starting to fill up with people, even though it’s still technically the off season. We’re doing the beachside first, then will end our night on the bayside. I don’t typically frequent the bars down here in Dewey unless I’m in uniform and need to pick up a drunk patron. It’s a little strange to see this venue from a non-uniformed vantage.

  “This round is on me!” I announce to raucous cheers. I sidle up to the bar and order the birdie drink, which is a Moscow Mule. Several of the guys agree they’re going all in from the get-go, while a few others, like Meric, are starting with the beer and working their way up (or down? maybe?) Either way, I’m happy to get the party started as the Best Man and someone celebrating a new lucrative business proposition with the potential to change my life forever. I just hate that I can’t tell anyone what it is.

  “What’s the hazard this round?” Drew questions, holding up his scorecard to the light. “Hole 1: Find a ginger and snap a picture with him/her. Text it to 302-555-4572.” He pauses for a moment, squinting at that number again. “Wait a second, that’s my number! Y’all are going to blow up my phone with pictures of redheads?”

  A chorus of deep male laughter rises to the rafters before we all scope out the premises for a redhead. It doesn’t specify if it should be a male or female, so a few of the guys amble up to a redhead with an impressive beard in the corner. It looks like it’s one of Shark’s rugby teammates, and soon selfies are snapped away and fired off to Drew’s phone.
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br />   I stealthily head into the adjoining room to scope it out. I figure with my keen police eye, I shouldn’t have any issues finding someone with red hair. Or maybe a blonde I could use a reddish filter on?

  I see a couple of brunettes in the corner with their backs to me, and as I approach, I notice another woman they’re with has striking copper-colored hair, so bright it’s catching in the single light aimed down upon her. It almost looks like an angelic glow streaming down from the heavens above, illuminating her as if she is The Chosen One—the one for this task, anyway.

  I tap her on the shoulder, and she whips around like her head is spring-loaded. That’s when I first notice Sonnet is with her, as well as Meric’s girlfriend, Lindy. How can this be the second time I’ve run into Lindy at a bar? I didn’t realize teachers drank so much. Then it smacks me in the face who the redhead is: Dr. Miller.

  It takes her a moment to recognize me without my uniform as well. She scrunches up her nose like she’s just taken a whiff of something putrid, rotting garbage perhaps. Nice to see you too, I want to state, but I need this photo—and fast!

  “What are you guys doing here?” I question, not realizing until after I ask how much I sound like Captain Obvious.

  “Uh, drinking?” Sonnet retorts, flashing me a glare. “Pre-bachelorette party. We’re actually heading down to Seacrets in a few. Just meeting up with my Delaware girls before my Maryland and Virginia crew joins us down south.”

  Damn it. Seacrets is a huge bar and nightclub in Ocean City, Maryland, about thirty minutes south of Dewey Beach. Now I realize why Drew didn’t want to do his bachelor party down there. Because Sonnet claimed the whole town for herself, apparently.

  “Did you know we were going to be here?” I eye her curiously, looking for any signs of dishonesty. Lindy already has a guilty look in her eye, and I can safely assume they are spying on our pub golf game.