Page 23 of Fragments of the Past

“Hey!” I chirp happily after pressing the speakerphone button to answer Anson’s call. “I didn’t expect to hear from you today.”

Forensic analysis concluded the remains found in the park were Pearl’s. I attended the funeral at Susan Turner’s behest. She’s messaged me several times since, wanting to contact Pearl. As Anson is still working the case, I’ve put her off. She’s certain if we connect I’ll provide additional leads.

It’s been a hard-won argument. But I say no because I learned the hard way I have to consider my health. Right now putting me first includes spending as much time as humanly possible with a certain Brighton Police detective.

“I wasn’t going to call, but—” The sound on Anson’s side of the line gets muffled. “Listen, I’m outside. Can I come up?”

“Sure. The back door’s open.” I hear him growl. I understand the guy who has escorted me to the rear entrance after every single date we’ve had is concerned for my safety, but… “Nobody’s getting in who shouldn’t, grumpy pants. Layla and Julian are in the yard trying to fix a lawn mower.”

“I can’t stay long. I have to swing by the Turners’.” I hear a car door slam.

“Fine by me.” I knew as much.

Anson huffs, approaching the house. “Hanging up now.”

I’ve gotten used to the modicum of efficiency Anson uses communicating. Due to the odd hours he finds himself on-duty, his schedule winds up all over the place. Coincidentally, that peculiarity fits perfectly with the wild swings my sleep schedule often takes.

The nicest part is Anson is considerate when I’m having a rough day. He’s as happy to grab takeout on his way over, and nap next to me after we’ve gorged ourselves on them, as I am to create at three in the morning while he’s in dreamland, making up for lost sleep.

For our first double date, Anson and I met Chaim and his wife for beers at Mark-39. We shared trays of loaded fries and talked for hours. With Julian’s help, we scored pre-sale tickets to an amazing show at Sweet Caroline’s next week. I’m so excited for the performance. Julian’s even taking the night off so Layla has someone to dance with.

Last night, Paisley’s Boutique had an open house. I’d thought the engraved invitation I received was because the shop stocks my jewelry. Nope! Layla wanted to introduce me to her friends. They were so nice—and when Layla encouraged me to share how Anson and I wound up together,notone of themasked me to channel their long-lost relative. Meanwhile, Anson went to watch Grant’s baseball game and stayed at Angeline’s mother’s for dinner.

Which is to say, so far so good! We’re not rushing things and have made the best of the time we’ve had together so far.

I also kinda like it that Anson pretends my earbuds are in when we’re in public and I murmur, “Sorry, can’t talk now.” I feel… a little less like people think I’m the weird girl.

The knob to my apartment jiggles moments later. He kicks the door with his toe, holding a liquor box from the ABC store with two hands.

“Whatcha got there?” I ask. It’s too early to drink, but curiosity has the best of me.

Anson blows out a deep breath. “A present. Maybe. If you want to keep it.”

My mouth forms an “o”. I didn’t realize that there was an appropriate anniversary gift for dating—

I stop and use my fingers to tick off the weeks, giving up after what counted as Anson’s third weekend off. We’ve done enough together that it doesn’t seem to matter how long we’ve been seeing one another. Well, that and I’m over the moon that there’s a hot cop here with a present for me.

Can life get any better than that? I don’t think so.

I slide my supplies to the side, and he slides the box on the table. I stand up to peer into the box, but Anson beats me to it, reaching in.

My fingertips fly to my mouth when the box makes a tiny meow.

“Grant and I found this poor slob in the crawl space under his grandmother’s house.” My boyfriend holds up an itty-bitty orange kitten with big blue eyes. It cries out, opening its tiny mouth and stretching its limbs.

“For me?” I gently take him from Anson, snuggle his little body over my breasts, and rub my chin against his soft fur.

Anson’s lips tip up. He pets the cat and curls his palm behind my ear, moving the hair that’s fallen forward.

“If you want him. If not, I’ll drop him off at the shelter. I’ve already made a vet appointment. The receptionist asked his name. I said I’d get back to them about it. ‘Cat’ seemed unimaginative.”

My heart swells that Anson intends to take care of him and not leave the responsibility of caring for a cat that hasn’t had its shots to the overburdened shelter. But my tummy also bumps over the hump of a roller coaster and bottoms out. I don’t want this defenseless animal left alone.

“What about Grant? Won’t his grandmother let him keep the kitten?”

“Grant kepthissister.” He scratches the tabby boy kitten’s head and back. “She’s black and white and, boy, can she vocalize. Grant named her Harper.”

“Then we give Fred a good home.”

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