Page 18 of Somewhere in the Sunset

“Hello, you,” Weston says, his lips pressed firmly together to hold back a smirk. He doesn’t step over the threshold. He can’t. Crossing one foot over the other, he leans his shoulder against the doorframe and his eyes dance with amusement at the panic written all over my face.

“You look different,” are the only words I manage to gather. At the club, he was soaked in vodka. The morning after, he was unshaven and in sweatpants. Now his jaw is perfectly smooth, dark hair styled with gel, and he looks surprisingly intimidating. It’s the uniform.

Weston looks me up and down, his smile becoming increasingly less subtle. “I could say the same about you. Are you a little drunk, Gracie?”

“It’s not a crime to be drunk,” I remind him, but I also hug my arms around my chest in an attempt to hide from him. This shorts and tank top combo isn’t the most attractive sight in the world, especially when paired with a messy bun and a severe lack of mascara. Why does it feel so embarrassing having him catch me like this?

“Here’s my ID,” Elena says as she parades back into the lounge, “but can I just point out I got that photo taken on a day I was sick with tonsillitis, so that’s why I look pale and malnourished.” She halts in her tracks when she looks up from her ID and realizes the older cop she was trying so hard to charm has been replaced with a much younger officer.

Weston furrows his brows as he studies her, then snaps his fingers with recognition. “Elena, right? Adam passed on your Venmo to me. Did you get the money I sent over to pay for your booth?”

Elena stares at him with great confusion, then at me, then back again. It’s hard to remember the faces we encounter when drunk. “Wait .?.?. You’re Adam’s friend from the club?” She purses her lips at him with disdain. “So, you reallyarea cop, and yet you still got into a fight? Is that even allowed?”

Weston laughs, pretends to check over his shoulder, then presses a finger to his lips. “Of course not,” he says in a low voice, then clears his throat. “I do need to check your ID, though.”

Elena eyeballs me with a peculiar look as she walks to the door to hand Weston her ID, and Maddie rushes out from the bedroom waving hers. She doesn’t recognize Weston at all, but she never interacted with him that night at the club. He scans both their IDs so quickly I doubt he even made it beyond their photos, then hands them back.

“Where did your buddy go?” Elena asks.

“Calming down the neighbor you guys have made irate,” Weston says in disapproval, but his relaxed features make it clear he thinks this is hilarious. “And Bill only wanted to check your IDs so he can remember your names if we get called back here a second time. Don’t make that happen.”

Maddie nods compliantly. “We won’t, officer.”

“If I do come back here tonight .?.?.” Weston’s gaze moves to me, settling for a moment, and the corner of his mouth twitches. “Then I’ll have to fine you, Gracie.”

Our eye contact intensifies. Maybe it’s the use of my name, maybe it’s the teasing smirk, maybe it’s that uniform again, but my stomach flips and I don’t know exactly why. The stare-off is only interrupted when Maddie wonders aloud, “How does he know your name?”

“Oh my God, Madison,” Elena says, whacking her shoulder as though to smack some realization into her. “That’s him. The guy who got us all kicked out of Temple. Gracie’s .?.?.friend.”

“Don’t you dare,” I warn Elena, glaring fiercely. If she so much as winks suggestively, I’ll throttle her right here in the presence of a police officer. I willdieif she says anything more.

Weston chuckles by the door. “Don’t worry about it, Gracie, she already pulled the same thing with me over the phone last week too.”

“Elena,” I hiss, mortified.

Elena shrugs, guilty as charged. “I justthink.?.?.”

The other officer reappears behind Weston. He glances sternly into the apartment. “All good here now?”

“All good,” Weston confirms. “I’ll meet you at the car.”

As the officer heads off, the sound of his radio crackling echoes throughout the hallway and we all remain silent and unmoving until he is out of earshot. Then Weston tucks his thumbs into his duty belt and catches my eye again.

“Come out here for a sec,” he says – an order, but somehow it’s gentle. Hard to ignore.

Elena and Maddie nearly explode. I glare at the pair of them and drunkenly meet Weston in the hallway, nervously standing before him, arms still hugged around my chest. Up close, he seems evenmoreintimidating. The San Francisco Police Department patches on the shoulders of his shirt, the gun in its holster in his belt. I swallow hard.

“What?” I force out.

“Consider this a wellbeing check,” he says. His smile has lost its teasing and now softens with sincerity. “How are things with Luca? I wasn’t sure I wanted to leave you alone with him on Sunday, but it was also none of my business. Are you okay?”

I’m taken aback, for starters, that he even remembers Luca’s name, but also because he waits for my answer with an incredible amount of patience. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Elena and Maddie eavesdropping from inside the apartment, so I pull the door shut.

“It’s really over,” I say, devoid of emotion. There were moments last week while the breakup was still raw that I genuinely believed Luca would realize what a huge mistake he’d made and draw me into his arms, full of apologies and I love yous, but that all changed on Sunday. The end of our relationship was clear cut, and now that there is no hope left, it’s easier to say it out loud.We are really over.“I haven’t cried this week, believe it or not. But it’s also not getting any easier, and those two in there have never had a serious relationship, let alone gone through a breakup, so they don’t get it. The wine helps, though. How are things with Charlotte? Did she ever call back?”

Weston’s gaze flashes. We may have been drunk when we shared that hug in my kitchen, but it’s very clear to both of us now that we were listening to each other that night. “I went by her place and spoke to her. It’s definitely over for me too,” he says, the words strained. “It’s a hard lesson to learn.”

“Which is?”

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