Page 46 of Somewhere in the Sunset

Weston’s smirk teeters on the edge of mischievous. “He threatened me? A cop? Real smart.” He rolls his eyes, and then his features soften. With his hands still cupping my jaw, he brushes my cheeks with his thumbs, and I feel my knees buckle. “Please never go back to him,” he murmurs, quietly desperate. “Please, Gracie. I mean it. He doesn’t deserve you.”

The butterflies erupt. There are thousands of them now, fluttering in my stomach, my chest, my lungs. Every inch of my body aches from their presence.

I reach up and wrap my hand around Weston’s wrist, pressing my face harder into his hands, embracing how protective they feel. “Falling out of love with Luca is going better than expected,” I tell him, and there’s an unmistakable sparkle in his brown eyes as he kisses my forehead.

“Good,” he whispers, and I kind of want to die.

Maybe I do look at him the way I used to look at Luca, because I’m starting to realize now that Weston also makes mefeeleverything Luca once made me feel too.

He makes me feel lovely.

And that’s terrifying, because a month ago, I never would have thought it possible to feel that way again.

I bite my lower lip, fighting my blushing smile. Being this close to Weston is unbearable. The goosebumps, the knot in my stomach, the racing of my heart. I pull away from him and step back. My cheeks feel so hot, I wonder if they’re noticeably red.

“That was all I really came here to say .?.?. I’m sorry for cornering you outside your station like this,” I apologize, my smile timid. I was going to give Weston hell for daring to talk to Luca at the bar, but how can I be mad at himnow?He was defending me, and that’s awfully charming.

Weston fishes his car keys out of his pocket. “Do you need a ride home?”

“No thanks. I’ll walk,” I say, and I put my words into motion and head for the parking lot exit. I don’t mind walking home. It’s a nice evening, sure, but I’m mostly nervous about what might happen if I get into the car with Weston. I can’t handle these heart palpitations. As I walk away from him, I call over my shoulder, “I’m trying to be independent, remember?”

Weston’s laugh travels over to me, and he shouts back, “I may be off-duty, Gracie, but you can always call me whenever you need me. I’ll come running.”

WESTON

The night shifts always go one way or the other. Either we respond to call after call with zero down time, or we wait it out in the patrol car and twiddle our thumbs. Tonight is one of those slower shifts. It’s been thirty minutes since we attended to a domestic dispute. We’ve completed the incident report, we’re up to date on all other paperwork, and now we’re aimlessly patrolling in the cruiser. It’s only 1 a.m., so there’s still another six hours to fill before we clock off. We’ve grabbed some coffee to keep us going through the slog.

“How’s your navigation skills coming along?” Bill asks, breaking the silence. He always drives, though it’s probably about time he let me take a shot behind the wheel. “You should have every street memorized by now. And not just this district, but the entire city. You don’t know where you’ll end up being stationed, so you better know them all. Do you?”

I glance over at him, relieved that it’s too dark in this car for him to see the way I roll my eyes. Bill may be my field training officer and it’s his job to put me through my paces, but he’s so goddamn insufferable. I can’t wait to be fully certified just so I don’t have to deal with these patronizing tests.

“Bill, youknowI’ve lived here my entire life,” I remind him. “I know San Francisco like the back of my hand.”

“Hmm.”

We continue further down the road in silence. I keep my eyes peeled for any suspicious behavior, but the streets are dead at this time. This may be boring, but honestly, I don’t miss the panic that floods through me every time dispatch radios us. I sip my coffee in peace.

Bill turns down a narrow side street. Out of nowhere, he slams hard on the brakes and my coffee splashes onto my lap. I stare wildly at him.

“Gunfire. I’ve just been shot. Our GPS is down. Where are we?” he asks, an eyebrow arched challengingly and his tone sharp.

God, I hate when he pulls stuff like this on me. I dump my coffee cup into the cupholder and squint through the windshield at the dark street outside. I knowwherewe are, as in which neighborhood, but this literal street? No idea.

“Uhhh .?.?.” I mumble.

Bill glares at me. “Figure it out before I bleed to death, Reed.”

Angrily, I kick open the car door and step out into the cool night air. With my belt fully loaded, my equipment bounces against my hips as I jog all the way to the corner of the block. I scan the buildings for any hint of a street name, but there aren’t any, and I’m even more pissed when I reach the end of the block and there isn’t even a fucking street sign there. I glance back at the cruiser, its headlights blinding me. If I walk back there with still no idea of where we are, Bill will lose it. I pick up the pace and run to the next cross section, and thank fuck. There’s a sign.

I run all the way back to the cruiser and throw open the door, sticking my head inside. “Pixley,” I say, breathing heavily. “We’re on Pixley Street.”

“Too late. I’ve bled out and died by the time you’ve put in the call for help,” Bill says nonchalantly. He looks away and shakes his head.

I slide back into the passenger seat and slam the door behind me. Every single shift I am reminded of how badly I do this job, only confirming yet again that I’ve made a terrible, terrible decision. “Realistically though, what are the odds of the GPS shutting down?”

“That’s not the point. You’re supposed to know this stuff. Your father knew every single street in this city. Even every dead-end alley,” says Bill.

The muscle in my jaw twitches.Thisis why Bill gets on my nerves so much. He’s close to retirement, and once upon a time he worked alongside my dad. Bill holds a lot of respect for him, and I think that’s why he rides my ass so hard. He pushes me because he expects better. My dad worked his way up the ladder, after all. A great officer. In Bill’s mind, why should I be anything less?

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