Page 2 of Officer Anders

Honestly, it's older than I am, too. "And how old are you, Officer Hemingway?" I ask, my grin widening, intrigued by this unexpected banter.

He presses a hand against his chest in mock offense, his jaw dropping comically low as if I've just committed a grave sin. "Wow, how dare you ask a lady about her age! I never!"

The humor in his voice makes me smile even wider, warming the atmosphere. "So you're not just a knight-in-shining-armor, you're good-looking and funny, too. You're quite the catch, officer."

Anders shrugs nonchalantly and flicks nonexistent sweat off his brow, a playful twinkle in his eye. "You said it, not me. Might as well sweep me off my feet before some other girl does it. Hurry up. Ask me on a date before I'm snatched right out of your grasp."

I can't with these men. "Are all of you like this?" I ask, a playful lilt in my voice that betrays my amusement. "Flirtatious? Charming? Hitting on every woman you manage to finagle into your back alley car wash?"

He gives me a casual shrug, his earlier bravado fading as he drops the act. "No, ma'am, only the beautiful ones." The sincerity in his words catches me off guard, and for some inexplicable reason, this is what makes my heart melt like ice under the sun.

Just then, Mollie approaches me, her innocent curiosity breaking the spell of the moment. "Mom," she asks, her brow furrowed in thought, "how come the boys at my high school don't have chiseled abs like theirs?"

Anders' eyes widen in surprise, and a playful smile curls around his lips as he leans forward slightly. "Yeah, mom, why don't they?" His teasing tone adds a lightness to the conversation, making me laugh even as I ponder the question.

Mollie suddenly realizes that I'm not alone, her gaze flitting between my partner-in-crime and me. With her super teenage power of perception, she picks up on the fact that she’s stumbled into the middle of something. It’s curious that she can’t seem to notice when she barges in during the wee hours while I’m lost in sleep, but now, in this moment of flirtation, her awareness is razor-sharp. I suppose her powers only activate in certain social situations, leaving me wondering just how she navigates the complexities of teenage life. "Oh, um, my bad," she mumbles sheepishly, her cheeks tinged with a hint of embarrassment.

"No, don't be," Anders interjects, shooting her a playful wink that adds a mischievous spark to the air. "I think we were all curious about what mom had to say about the boys at your school." His tone is light, yet it carries an undercurrent of intrigue that makes my heart race in an unexpected way.

Honestly, I barely know this man, but a part of me wants to smack him for his audacity. He’s infuriating and undeniablyattractive, a fascinating enigma wrapped in charm and confidence. "Maybe we'll get back around to them at a later time,” I reply, trying to steer the conversation away from this awkward moment. “I think they're finished with my Honda. Mollie, you ready to go?" I force a smile, eager to reclaim the normalcy of our day.

I eye Anders with a mix of suspicion and curiosity as I rise from my seat. There’s an undeniable urge to delve deeper into his intriguing persona, yet I find myself grappling with the unspoken rules of this unexpected encounter. Should I wait for him to muster the courage to ask for my number, or is it more appropriate for me to take the initiative and request his?

With a determined stride, I make my way over to the group of guys who are meticulously finishing the drying process on my car. I reach into my wallet, pulling out a crisp $20 bill. This donation for little Johnny Jameson's service animal feels like a necessary absolution for the fleeting, somewhat sinful thoughts I had about Anders just moments ago. "Thank you for everything you do," I say sincerely, addressing the officers who have taken such great care of my Honda.

"Ready, mom?" Mollie chimes in, her cheeky grin lighting up her face as she bounds toward me with youthful energy.

"Absolutely, babe. Let’s get you to Celeste's house before they leave for the waterpark without you." I love my daughter fiercely, but I can’t deny that the prospect of a weekend without her is equally enticing; mama could definitely use some well-deserved alone time.

2

ANDERS

When her mom rises from the bench and begins to stride purposefully toward her car, Mollie hurriedly scrambles over to my side, her gaze darting nervously between me and her mom, as if she’s weighing the implications of her next words. "You got a piece of paper, officer?" she blurts out, her voice tumbling over itself in a rush, the syllables blending together in her excitement.

I retrieve my phone from the back pocket of my jeans and open my Notes app, handing it over with a mix of curiosity and caution. Normally, I wouldn’t think twice about keeping my phone out of reach of a teenage girl, but something about her urgency piques my interest.

"My mom's name is Elaina Taylor. She’s thirty-five, and she’s been single for like, three years," she continues, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "She likes pizza, plants, and she absolutely kicks my uncle's ass at pool. Do whatever you want with that information." With a confident grin, she returns my phone, and I glance at the screen to find her mother’s name,Elaina Taylor, accompanied by a phone number neatly typed out.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at this audacious teenage girl who’s trying to play matchmaker between her mother and me. Does she truly grasp how awkward it would be for me to reach out to her mother?

Mollie simply shrugs, her demeanor nonchalant as she turns to walk away. "Don't know, don't care," she tosses back over her shoulder, a hint of playful defiance in her tone. "But I expect more thanthatfrom an officer of the law."

Her insinuation leaves a slight sting, a mixture of embarrassment and amusement. I slide my phone back into my pocket, my mind racing with the possibilities of what comes next. Is it a text? A call? Or perhaps a thorough background check to ensure there are no hidden surprises lurking in her past? I don't have the answers right now. I’ll sort it out later, when the line of eager customers waiting for their cars to be washed isn’t pressing so closely around me.

As the day winds down and the sun begins its descent, the guys gather in small groups, shooting the bull and sharing stories that range from amusing to absurd. Dave, ever the boastful one, proudly announces that he’s pulled four numbers today, a fact that brings a gleam to his eye. Most of the younger guys are single, decent men, and they’ve eagerly seized this charitable day as an opportunity to dress down and pursue a little charity of their own in the form of potential dates. Given that we raised a couple of thousand dollars for little Johnny Jameson, I can’t bring myself to begrudge them this small indulgence.

"I saw Hemingway chatting up a pretty blonde himself," Dave calls out across the sprawling parking lot, his voice booming as he playfully outs me to the other guys. "He stole her out from under me, but it's cool. I’m into the older ladies, but she was a little too big for my tastes."

The heat of his comment makes my blood boil, and I could easily kill him for that disrespectful remark. "Dave, sweetheart," I retort, my voice dripping with sarcasm as I call back to him, "you couldn't handle that woman's curves." To soften my words and show that I’m teasing, I blow him a kiss, a playful gesture meant to rein in my anger. How dare he talk about Elaina that way, reducing her to mere dimensions rather than the vibrant woman she is.

Dave rolls his eyes dramatically, a smirk playing on his lips, and he tosses a rag my way; it falls short by ten feet, landing uselessly on the asphalt. "I like my girls a little more petite, you know what I mean?" he quips, clearly enjoying the banter and the attention of our coworkers.

I consider telling him that I know he means he's looking to get his ass beat because that's precisely what his obnoxious words are encouraging me to do. But I also recognize that this is all just locker room talk, a ritualistic dance among the guys who do it all the time with different ladies. Only this time, the stakes feel a bit higher; I happen to know the woman they’re objectifying, and I’ve been mulling over the idea of calling her up and asking her out for a while now.

"Maybe you're into the BBWs, Anders. That's fine by me. Means we won't be competing for ladies anytime soon," Dave says with a laugh, his tone laced with mockery as he leans back against the wall, clearly reveling in the attention of our fellow officers.

My jaw ticks as I grind my teeth, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. He’s a little punk who deserves to get his face kicked in for his insensitivity. I can feel my fist tingling, the urge to retaliate surging through me. I haven’t punched a fellow officer in my entire career, but today, I’m seriously contemplating breaking that streak.

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