Page 9 of The Policeman Bidder
"Deputy Carter and I are friends now, Marcus. He's here to help."
Friends.Riiiiiiiiiight.If byfriendsshe means I've spent every night this week in her bed, learning every sound she makes when I touch her just right. If byfriendsshe means I've been carrying her engagement ring around in my pocket for the past week, waiting for the right moment to ask her to let me make this permanent.
But she's not wrong. We are friends. Best friends, actually. The kind who talk until 2 AM about everything and nothing. The kind who fight over crossword puzzle answers and whether cilantro tastes like soap. The kind who fit together like we were designed for each other.
After the kids and their parents leave, I help her pack up the activity supplies. She's humming something under her breath, hair escaping from her ponytail, dirt smudged on her cheek. Beautiful and completely herself.
"Good turnout today," I say, loading the last of the tree identification charts into her car.
"The best yet." She grins at me. "Did you see how excited Emma got when she found that salamander? I thought she was going to burst."
"Almost as excited as you get when you talk about soil pH levels."
She elbows me in the ribs. "Soil health is important, Deputy Know-It-All."
"I know. It's one of the things I—" I catch myself before the word slips out.Love. The word I've been thinking but haven't said out loud yet.
She tilts her head, studying my face. "One of the things you what?"
"Admire about you," I finish, which is true but not complete.
She steps closer, sliding her arms around my waist. "You okay? You seem... I don't know. Different today."
I am different. I'm a man in love who's about to take the biggest risk of his life. But looking down at her, at the way she looks at me like I'm something good instead of something to be endured, I know it's not really a risk at all.
"Junie," I start, then stop. This isn't how I planned it. I was going to take her somewhere special, somewhere meaningful. Not a muddy field after a kids' nature program.
But then again, this is meaningful. This is her element, her passion, the thing that makes her eyes light up. And maybe that makes it perfect.
"What?" she asks, concern creeping into her voice.
I pull back just enough to look at her properly. "I need to tell you something."
"Okay." Her hands tighten slightly on my shirt. "You're making me nervous."
"Good nervous or bad nervous?"
"I don't know yet."
I take a breath. Then another. "I love you."
Her eyes go wide. For a second, she doesn't say anything, just stares at me like I've spoken in a foreign language.
"Wes," she whispers finally.
"I know it's fast," I say quickly. "I know we've got history and complications and half the town probably thinks we've lost ourminds. But I don't care about any of that. I care about you. About this." I gesture between us. "About the way you make me want to be better than I am."
She's still staring at me, lips slightly parted, and I'm starting to panic when she launches herself into my arms, kissing me so hard we both stumble backward.
"I love you too," she says against my mouth. "God, I love you."
Relief floods through me so fast I actually laugh. "Yeah?"
"Yeah, you tree-murdering fascist," she teases, but her eyes are bright with tears. "I love you so much it scares me."
"Good scared or bad scared?"
"Good scared," she says firmly. "The kind of scared you get when something's too good to be true but you're going to risk it anyway."
