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A (Not So Cute) Meet Cute
Collin ~ September
Why can’t people follow rules?
I switch on my police cruiser siren, triggering the blue and red lights above me. As I pull out onto the road behind a car that’s going twenty miles over the speed limit, I can’t help but think that it’s a shame, really. Cashmere Cove is beautiful in the fall, with birch trees busting with fire-engine red, jack-o-lantern orange, and sweet-corn yellow leaves arching over the road. But judging from the speed at which that driver just flew by me, she is not stopping to enjoy the view.
The car’s brake lights come on, and I angle my cruiser onto the shoulder of the county road, behind the offending vehicle.
I step out into the rain, immediately feeling the chill of early autumn settle over me like a wet blanket. I check my body cam and my badge and stride toward the driver’s side window, noting the car’s Florida license plates as I pass the bumper. A woman greets me with a strained smile.
“Officer,” she says. “Quite the weather we’re having.”
If the out-of-state plates hadn’t tipped me off, one look at her would have made it clear that this woman is not a local. You don’t forget a set of eyes like hers. They’re a unique sort of blue. The kind that changes like the sky. Her skin beneath them is marred by dark circles, but even those shadows aren’t dimming the spark of intelligence I see in her baby blues.
“Yes, quite.” I stare at her for an extra beat. I can’t help it. She’s stunning.
I give myself a mental shake. I’m on the clock, and rain rivulets are trickling down the sides of my face. I need to get this traffic stop over with. I’ve got an engagement party to get to. “Any idea why I pulled you over?” I ask her.
She shakes her head, sending a strand of her tree-bark-colored long hair into her eyes. She shoves it back and blinks up at me.
“You were speeding.”
“Only to get around the tractor, Officer, and then I slowed—”
“You also passed in a no-passing zone.” I hook my thumb over my shoulder, gesturing to the left side of the road where a yellow, triangular sign is barely visible through the sheets of rain that are now falling from the sky.
She shoots me an innocent-looking smile. “I’m so sorry. I’m new to town, and I’m not familiar with the signage around here. I promise it won’t happen again.”
I grunt. Everyone says that. “Your license and registration papers, please, ma’am.”
Her gaze hardens, and she sits up straighter, pasting a condescending smile on her face. “Look, Officer. It’s miserable out here, and I’m sure you don’t want to go through the hassle of jogging back and forth between my car and yours while you write up my citation. Can you let me off with a warning and call it good?”
I peer back at her. If I had a nickel for every time someone tried to talk their way out of a ticket, I’d be rich. I’d also have issued exactly zero citations in my tenure on the Cashmere Cove police force. Everyone has an excuse, and I’ve heard them all. I learned early on that I can’t be lenient. You give them an inch, and they’ll take a mile.
The woman in the car bats her eyelashes.
Literally the oldest trick in the book. What does she take me for? A sucker?
I hold out my hand.
Her confident expression falters. “Please, I really have somewhere I need to be.”
“Then grab your license and registration so we can get this over with.” I can’t help the edge that creeps into my voice. I want to inform her that I have somewhere to be too. That she’d make this easier on both of us if she’d cooperate rather than make up excuses. But I’m a professional, so I keep my cool and wait on her.
She presses her lips together and reaches for her purse. She produces her license and smacks it into my outstretched hand before leaning over and rummaging through her glove compartment. The movement sends a plume of perfume wafting toward me. She smells sweet, like maple syrup and butter.
Eventually she finds her insurance card and registration paperwork, but in the couple minutes it takes her, I go from being damp from the rain to fully drenched. Water is pooling inside my shoes.
Her gaze flicks beyond me to the torrential downpour, and I’m pretty sure I see some smugness in her gaze. Like she’s enjoying my position out here in the monsoon. I have half a mind to think she was dawdling on purpose.
Sothat’show she wants to play this?
“Here you go,” she says with faux sweetness.
I don’t respond, just take her documents back to my squad car.
