MY HAND FLOPPED around on my nightstand later that night until I hit the offending device and brought it to my ear. “Mmm, ’lo?”

“God, I woke you up. I’m so sorry, go back to sleep.”

I shot up in my bed and looked over at the clock. It was after midnight. “Brody?”

He sighed softly. “Hey, KC, I’m sorry it took so long to call. Honestly, I didn’t think I was even going to be able to tonight, we’re never this busy. But go to sleep, I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“No, no. It’s fine. How are you?”

“At the risk of sounding cliché?” he asked, laughing huskily. “I’m better now that I’m talking to you.”

I smiled widely in my dark bedroom and rested my forehead in my hand, my elbow on my knee. I’d talked to Barb for thirty minutes and finally forced myself to bed at ten, coming to terms with the fact that I’d been played by Brody, and baffled that it hurt so bad. I tried to tell myself it didn’t matter, that I really didn’t care. I would just go on with my life as I had been and try to push the thought of Brody away. Not that I could. I hardly knew him, but I knew no one would ever come close to making me feel the way I did with Brody. But even knowing and feeling what I did, it didn’t stop the insecurities from creeping in. The fact that I hadn’t heard from him since the day we’d put all our feelings out there had been slowly pushing the thought forward that all this had been a game to him. The long wait made me second-guess everything. The way I felt when he was near or looked at me, the way it felt when he held me, the sincerity in his voice that morning in my bakery. All of it was slowly replaced with doubt and fear that I’d thought everything up. I’d never been insecure in anything, and being insecure in this—about him—was terrifying me beyond reason. By the time I’d fallen asleep, I’d been rubbing at my aching chest and telling myself over and over again that if he did ever call, I wouldn’t bother answering or playing this game with him.

But then I heard his voice, and all of that went away. The insecurities seemed redundant, the torture of waiting for his call seemed like nothing, and I knew in a heartbeat I’d do it all again.

“Me too,” I replied honestly. “What was so busy about tonight?”

“We had a five-car wreck on the highway right after I got on, a family assault not ten minutes after that finished up, a seven-year-old boy went missing and ended up being under his bed, and my favorite was at Mr. and Mrs. Andrew’s.”

He’d ended the last on a laugh, and my eyebrows rose. “Oh, really? And what happened with them?”

“Tonight it was throwing hot tea on his, uh, manhood because she didn’t feel like having sex.”

“Lord! Seriously? Poor Mr. Andrew. You said tonight, do you deal with them often?” What was it about this man? We hadn’t talked in days and now were talking about his job—and yet, I couldn’t remember being happier than I was in that moment.

“Oh, yeah, they’re my favorites. He’s eighty-six, she’s eighty-three, and they’ve been together since she was fifteen. Absolutely madly in love, have a great family, lots of kids, tons of grandkids, but they like keeping it interesting. I think they get lonely now that it’s just them, so whenever they do something to each other, they call the cops and make it dramatic. Like last week, she called because he wanted some kind of vegetable and she didn’t feel like cooking it. So she threw the can of corn she’d been planning on cooking at him; it missed him and ended up breaking a window and she wanted him arrested.”

I laughed out loud. “Oh, my God, they sound great.”

Brody was silent for a moment. “I really like your laugh.”

My cheeks warmed and my smile softened as I admitted, “I was afraid you wouldn’t call.”

“Shit, KC, I’m sorry. Nights are never this busy in Jeston. The Andrews’ house is one thing, but all of that on one night is rare, and I literally just finished all the reports when I called you. I’ve been dying to call you, and almost did yesterday, but Olivia didn’t leave home once because she was getting ready for this trip she left for tonight with her parents.”

“It’s fine. I mean, it’s what we have to do, right? It’s not like I have the right to talk to you whenever I want.”

“I wish that wasn’t the case,” he said softly, and didn’t talk again for a long moment. “Can I see you again soon?”

“Please?” I laughed lightly. “When?”

“Now.” I laughed again, and he added quickly, “I’m sorry, I forgot what time it is. Um, how about—”

“No, I want to see you,” I practically blurted, and held my breath for the few seconds it took for my heart to calm down enough so I could speak again. “Do you . . . did you want to come over?”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah, KC, I do.”

After giving him directions to my house and telling him I’d leave the garage open so he could park his patrol car in there—just in case I had any nosy neighbors—I jumped out of bed and tried to get ready for him to come over. Fortunately for him, and unfortunately for me, he had to pass by my neighborhood on his way home and he was already less than five minutes away.

Not having time for much of anything, I put on a bra, pulled my hair back in a ponytail, and did the essentials before heading into the kitchen. I was about to get a glass of water when I heard an engine in the garage and went to open the door that led from the garage to the laundry room. His big black-and-white patrol Tahoe pulled in next to my forest-green SUV, and I had to admit, I liked seeing them next to each other.