It took me walking calmly out of that apartment with Peter beside me for the others to calm down. It was decided that the best course of action was for Peter to go to the police station. Since the others were too close to him, I volunteered to drive him.

        Leonard was looking much better by the time everything was decided, except for a knot on the back of his head and a slightly bruised eye. Carl was looking a bit better too. I apologized again for hitting him with pepper spray and he in turn apologized for scaring me so bad. He was surprisingly chill about the whole thing. Turns out he wasn't the scary kind of drug dealer that would shoot you in the face over a bit of meth, he was the hippy kind that sold weed to college kids and middle-aged pot-heads.

        And so the three of us drove to the downtown precinct after swinging by Carl's house to pick up Derek.

        Three days later and both of them were still in custody. On my lunch break I hit downtown and waited outside Hirsch and Ashworth. It was cold for once. Well, Florida cold anyway. I'd broken out the heavy jacket and gloves but admittedly it was still only about thirty-eight degrees and predicted to get warmer as the day went on.

        It wasn't long before Chelsea came hustling out of the gold trimmed doors.

        "Mrs. Greer-Gonzalez, " I called after her as she began her usual lunch time power walk. "Evie Harper. I'm the—"

        "I remember you." She said while looking down her nose at me. I wasn't sure if that was because she considered me as beneath her or because she was so tall, she literally had to. "What's this about"

        "Business." I said with a smile. "I have a case for you. "

        "Absolutely not."

        "He needs help. Both of them do."

        "This is not my problem."

        "Well no—"

        "Can he even pay?"

        "Probably not."

        "So what incentive do I have to stick my neck out for someone I haven't known for over a decade? "

        "Considering the deceased, it's going to be a pretty high-profile case." I said with an over-the-top shrug. "Probably a lot of news coverage. Might do wonders for the career of whoever takes it."

        She stared at me for a moment with one impeccable eyebrow raised. "You're quite the negotiator."

        "So I've been told."

        "I'll look into it." She dug through her purse before handing me a business card. "Oh, and Ms. Harper. Next time just call."

        By Friday, Hirsch and Ashworth had taken on both Peter and Derek as clients. By Saturday night I was beat. With the money Rachel had promised me in hand, I had swung by an ABC liquor store and picked up a couple of bottles of wine to celebrate a job well done. Manny and I had spent the afternoon together, mostly just lazing around his house. It was about eleven pm and we lounged half-dressed in his bed while we laughed, talked, and threw back glasses full of cabernet. Bertie lay comfortably on the ground on my side of the bed, half asleep.

        "We need to talk about you and that privacy shit," I said. "Following me out there was a little crazy. You know that, right?"

        "I know. That's why I apologized. Sometimes I get in this headspace and I can't turn off the detective part of me. A lot of times I can tell when you're up to something and get curious and start digging without thinking."

        "Okay, but you have to stop. Relationships are about trust."

        He nodded in agreement. "I'm trying to be better. Sometimes I overstep, I admit that. I guess it was hard considering how we met. It feels like you sneaking around behind my back and me figuring it out is our dynamic. It's hard to change that shit once you start."

        "I don't want you to feel like you have to go to extremes to know what's going on with me. I want to tell you. Give me a chance."

        "You have to give me a chance too. No more hiding things because you think I'll be upset."

        "Okay."

        "Okay." We smiled at each other for a moment. "Sometimes it feels like we've been dating for a hundred years, you know?"

        "Uh, no I don't know." I scrunched up my nose and shook my head. "You don't know the first thing about me."

        "That's not true. I've pretty much got you figured out."

        "Oh, yeah?"

        "Yeah."

        "What color are my eyes." I snapped my lids shut dramatically.

        "Brown," He snickered.

        "That was an easy one." I smiled and took a sip of my wine. "What's my favorite color?" Let's see how well he pays attention to me.

        "Yellow."

        Okay, then. "How did you know?"

        "Half your wardrobe is yellow." He laughed. "You'd have to be a blind man not to notice. Oh, that reminds me. I got you something." He hopped off the bed and went to rifle through the top shelf of his dark wooden dresser.

        "Is it nunchucks? I could use an upgrade to my arsenal since the pepper spray backfired on me." I sat up right and crossed my legs. "Is it a machete? I always thought I'd look bad ass with a machete on my hip."

        When he found it he closed the drawer and turned around, making sure to hide whatever it was behind his back. "You would but that's not it. Close your eyes."

        I did as I was told and waited as he sat back in his place, opened my hand, and slid something small and metal into my palm. When I opened my eyes, I was all ready with a snarky comeback but was momentarily speechless when I got a look at it. It was the owl pendant I'd been looking at in the mall. "You went back."

        "Of course, you loved it."

        "I do." I smiled as I ran my finger over the blue gemstones that made its eyes and belly. "I wasn't expecting it."

        "I know you hate to spend needlessly, but I think treating yourself sometimes is good too. Do you like it? "

         "I love it."

        He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. "Good."

        "I know just what to wear it with."

        He took a giant gulp of his wine. "That giant white dress you had in the back of your car a few days ago?"

        "No, nosey."

         He chuckled nervously. "What's it for? You aren't planning our wedding already, are you?"

         "Are you sweating?" I said with a sly grin. "Do you not want to marry me?"

        He just about choked. Some of the wine dribbled down his chin. "I—I didn't say that! It's just a little early."

        "When I helped mom cleanup, she got me to take some old stuff out of my room. Sewing machine, couple pairs of shoes, some old DVDs, my debutante ballgown, stuff like that." When I looked over at him, he was frowning. "What's wrong?"

        He wiped at his mouth. "You're a debutante?"

       "It's not a big deal..."

        "I'm dating a debutante?"

        "Here we go..."

        "That explains so much about you."

        "What's that supposed to mean?"

        "Nothing. You can be a little," he searched for the right word. "Bougie at times."

         I laughed so hard I fell back against the pillows. "Who taught you that word? That's our word!"

        "I pick up things in my line of work!" My fit of laughter was so contagious that he stared in disbelief for a moment before giving in and laughing with me. When we settled down, he turned to look at me and with a slightly more serious tone said, "So a debutante, huh?"

        "Yep. Mom's still got the pictures."

        "I want to see that."

        "Please, no!" I howled. "I looked miserable...because I was."

        "Come on. We can trade embarrassing pictures. My mom still has pictures from that time I was Iliana Campos' chambelán de honor."

        "What's a—"

         "It's like an escort. It was her quince. I had to dance and stuff. Talk about miserable." He grabbed the bottle of cabernet and poured himself another glass. "It was supposed to be my little brother Eddie, but he flaked at the last minute. I only had three days to learn the waltz."

        "That sounds terrifying."

        "It was. But at least there was food." He shrugged and took a drink. "Did you have an escort?"

        "Naw, it wasn't like a ball like you're thinking of. It was through our church. Debutantes and Masters. They do it every year. Learn bible verses and litany instead of etiquette. There's no dancing, it's more of a church service."

        "Sounds like a drag."

        "I went kicking and screaming." The memory of it never failed to annoy. "What's with you and the sneaky questions? 'What's with the white dress?' You could have just asked."

        "Yeah, but sometimes it feels like we're pussyfooting around what we really want to say to each other."

        "I don't feel that at all."

        "There's never been anything you wanted to ask me but hesitated to?"

        "Well..."

        "See, go ahead and ask. Unlike you," he slapped his chest in a prideful way and smirked. "I'm an open book."

        "How'd you really come up with the name Bertie?"

        His smirk dropped. "Ah, shit."

        "Come on, open book. I saw that look in your eye the last time I asked. Spill."

        He inhaled deeply before exhaling his dark secret. "Okay. My last girlfriend named the dog."

         "That's it? I could've guessed that. Why would you lie about that?"

        "Well, when I was younger—early twenties, I had this girlfriend. Only lasted about eight months but while we were together I moved into a new apartment and decided to buy a new living room set."

        "This is a long story."

        "Don't ask if you don't want to know." He reached out and used his fingers to tickle at me a bit before continuing. "So, anyway she picks it out. It's fine. We breakup. Enter the next girlfriend. I let slip that previous girlfriend picked the couch. She threw a fit. Said she wasn't sitting on the last bitch's funky shit—"

        I howled with laughter. "I like her! She's funny as hell."

        "Told me I either lose the couch or lose her. So, with Bertie—"

        "You thought I'd ask you to get rid of the dog like she made you get rid of the couch."

        "Well..."

        "I would never. The couch thing is ridiculous enough, Bertie's a member of your family."

        "Alright, my turn."

        "You gonna ask me something?" I swept my hair over my shoulder and sat up taller. "Make it profound. I love pontificating."

        "Bougie!" he coughed.

        "Shut up!"

        "Okay, okay! Why is a catch like you single?"

        "That is such a cliché!"

        "Inquiring minds."

        I took a nice long swig of my wine and let the warmth set in my chest. "This is gonna sound just as cliché but, I work long hours."

        "That makes perfect sense."

        "Right! People who work normal hours get so damn needy."

         "I lost a lot of girlfriends like that."

         "I bet you did. You know how many times you've cancelled on me?"

        "About half the times you've cancelled on me."

        "Guilty."

        "It was harder when I was younger. Twenty and dating girls my age. They're all in college and want to have fun. I'm in police academy and then I'm patrolling and then I'm looking at becoming a detective. They couldn't deal with the hours."

        "That happened to me all the time. Meet a guy. He's got potential. Then he's complaining because I work seven days a week. I'm like, 'this is a small business okay. The clock doesn't stop at five for me. It never stops.' When we first opened I was pretty much working Sundays for free."

        "You weren't paying yourself?"

        "I was coming up a little short in the early days. I could pay myself or I could pay my bills and my employees. Sometimes I would feed myself with the leftover food in the kitchen at Taste Teas. Sacrifices had to be made, but anyway it's much better now."

        "Small business is hard, huh?"

        "Who you telling?" I set my glass on the end table and lay back onto the pillows. "Did you always want to be a cop?"

        "Wasn't it my question?"

        "No. You asked why I was single, remember?"

        "Right. I didn't always want to be a cop. I wanted to go to college."

        That was unexpected. He didn't seem like the type of person to let anything sidetrack him from his goals. "Why didn't you?"

        "I was sixteen and thinking about what I wanted to do. My older brothers had turned eighteen and moved out of state. One in Chicago, one in California, and one in Mexico. So I thought, maybe I'll do that. Go to a place with a higher Latin population, explore, party, young people shit, you know?"

        "So, what happened?"

        "My dad had a stroke and then he was gone." He got very quiet for a moment before taking another giant gulp of wine and then leaning back against the headboard. "My mom—I don't know, she got real sad. Like she could only do the basics. Get up, get dressed, go to work. It was up to me to take care of Eddie. He was only eleven. It was like yesterday I worried about homework, chores, and baseball practice and the day after I cook our meals, I clean, I make sure Eddie brushes his teeth and gets to the bus stop on time."

         "I'm so sorry."

        "That's life." He was right of course. Sometimes it was easy to take for granted the vastness of human experience. It made sense that someone as dependable and self-restrained as him had taken on a lot of responsibilities earlier than most. "She was only like that for a couple months, but it was never the same. Without dad we struggled. She could barely pay the bills on just her income. So when I turned eighteen it was like, I can't move to Miami now, I have to take care of mom and Eddie."

        "And that's when you joined the police academy?"

        "Well, actually I spent a couple years doing odd jobs. My cousin got me a few construction gigs. I worked in the Maxwell coffee factory for a while. I waited tables; I did a lot. Then I saw a post for the academy. Not too expensive, decent starting pay. I ended up loving it."

        "It's your turn."

        "I always wanted to know what it was like being an only child?"

        "Lonely." I turned on my side so I could better see him. "That's why I loved being at Henry's house. It wasn't just him. There were three brothers. And a dad. Sometimes I didn't want to go home."

        "That's why you're so close."

        "Yeah. I was a latchkey kid. It was hours between me getting out of school and mom coming home. I'd do my homework, get myself a snack, and then be bored for four more hours. Sometimes I'd just go with Henry and hang at his house. He only lived a few streets down, we rode the same bus."

        "It really was platonic."

        "Yeah, but it's not like it's just you," I yawned a bit and relaxed into the pillow. "Lots of people always assumed we hung out because there was something between us. We played Smash Bros or 'fuck, marry, kill' with Naruto characters like a couple of dorks. That was the extent of it."

        "That makes a lot of sense. You're longing for a family contributed to your attachment to him."

        "Oh? Is that so Dr. Phil?"

        He put his glass down and lay down next to me. "In my professional opinion."

        "Okay, well, this Eddie thing is obviously why you're so controlling."

        "Oh, yeah?"

        "Yeah. I would know I'm a certified armchair psychiatrist."

        "I see that."

        I yawned again. "Do you miss your dad? I'm sorry. That was insensitive."

        "It's okay. He was mean as hell. I told you that, but yeah, sometimes I miss him." He yawned and snuggled up closer to me. "He would have hated you."

        "What? Everyone loves me. I'm a very friendly person."

        "He hated silliness. But to be fair, he hated just about everyone he ever met."

        "My dad was mean too."

        "I remember you telling me that." He reached out a hand and absently ran his thumb along my jaw.

        "Some of my best childhood memories are from when he was at work and it was just me and mom. He had a funny schedule. Twenty-four hours straight, then he was home for two days. Those twenty-four hours when he was gone were the best days of the week."

        "Twenty-four-hour rotation? Is your dad a firefighter?"

        "Yeah. He's Chief."

        "He's...your dad's Chief of Fire and Rescue?" He sat up suddenly and stared down at me with his mouth slightly agape.

        "Yeah."

        His eyes got wide. He looked off into the ether like he was in the grips of a great personal crisis. "Oh my God. I'm dating a debutante whose daddy runs the whole damn fire department. I'm dating city royalty."

        I rolled my eyes. "For goodness sake."

        "I've seen him on TV!" He got close to me and laid an excited hand in my hip. "I've seen him in person! How did I not know?"

        "Well, we don't have the same last name."

        "But you look alike. I can't unsee it now!"

        I pulled on the collar of his shirt until he was laying beside me again. "Okay, it's time to stop drinking. No more wine for you."

        He laughed. "He's so tall. He could whoop my ass. I better treat you right—what if I don't and he burns my house down? He probably knows how to make it look like an accident."

        "He's not in the mafia. Anyway, he doesn't even know we're dating?"

        "Why not?" he gasped in an exaggerated way. "Are you ashamed of me?"

        "We don't talk that much."

        He stopped goofing around and flopped back onto the pillows. "Why not?"

        "We were just never that close." I snuggled up closer and he opened his arms so that I could rest my head near the crook of his neck. I closed my eyes and stifled another yawn. "I don't think he likes children. I would get on his nerves a lot. It was like he had a built-in timer for how long he could tolerate me. Once it was up, then he was yelling and screaming and throwing things and cursing us out."

        He stroked at my hair. "That's terrible."

        "Mom stayed for five years, then she couldn't take it anymore. She said she hated watching him talk to me like a dog.'

        "On second thought he's not that tall. I could whoop his ass."

        "Not even the visitations lasted long. The last time I went he threw one of his tantrums. When I got home, I cried and told mom I didn't want to go back. She didn't make me."

        "You still see him?"

        "Yeah. Birthdays, Christmas, holidays in general he'll invite me out or stop by. He mellowed in his old age, but even though I don't hold a grudge I can't forget that feeling. That feeling of being a five-year-old trying to control my feelings because if I act too childishly, he'll get annoyed. If he gets annoyed, he'll explode. It's exhausting."

        "I know it is." His voice was almost a whisper. "It's like you just described my dad but add in alcoholism, gambling debts, and not always coming home."

        We talked like that for a long time. We talked until my eyes grew heavy with sleep and my yawns threatened to take me to slumber whether I wanted to or not. We kept talking long after the wine was gone and Bertie had drifted off. We kept talking because the part of me that wanted to sleep was weaker than the part of me that wanted to keep spending time with him. And the faster I went to bed the sooner I'd have to wake up for work.

        After what seemed like an hour, no more than two, I peeked at the window and saw a soft blue light glowing from down the street. "Is that the sun?" I said through a yawn.

        "Yeah."

        "Did we sleep?"

        "We dozed off here and there."

        I tried pushing myself up on my elbows but flopped back down on my face from fatigue. "I have to get ready for work." I mumbled into his pillow.

        "Skip it." He mumbled back.

        "I can't just skip it."

        "Sure you can. Call Pasha."

        I rolled over and looked at him from beneath half-closed eyelids. "I can't make Pasha take my place every time I want to lay in bed with you."

        "It's not every time. It's twice. Twice in four years. You got to give yourself a break, Evie. You're human too."

        "Maybe it is time for changes..." I struggled to sit up, then moaned when I felt my hair.

        "What's wrong?"

        "My hair is a mess."

        He opened his eyes to look at it. "It always looks like that when you wake up."

        "But it doesn't have to," I sighed. "Okay. In the spirit of honesty, I need to tell you something."

        He sighed but pushed himself up so he could give me his full attention. "Okay. I'm listening."

        I smoothed my hair down to no avail. "When I sleep I need to cover my hair."

        "Okay. A little confused though."

        "Well...it's not exactly sexy."

        "Oh..."

        "A lady has her methods, you know...the feminine mystique and all that."

        "I've dated women before." He made a sound that I think was supposed to be a laugh of encouragement, but he was so damn tired it barely left his throat. "One would do this ugly green face mask every night. One would clip her toenails in my bed. One would always put her hair into a Heidi braid."

        "That's a lot of women. You're kind of a ho."

        "You know, my great aunt used to curl her hair and she'd sleep in the rollers every night. She'd put this scarf on, is that what you're talking about."

        "Yes." Close enough.

        "Well, okay. Do all those girly things. Moisturize. Exfoliate. Shave or don't shave, whatever you want. I want you to feel comfortable in my house."

        "Now I feel silly."

        "Don't. That's how it is in the beginning, baby. Best foot forward." He tried to run his fingers through my hair but they caught, so he settled for just stroking the top of it. "You don't know this, but I've been holding my gut in for five months. Since we started dating."

        "Liar! You don't have a gut!"

        "I do. Fun fact: I love running, but I fucking hate sit-ups."

        I felt a twinge of affection for him then. A lump of emotion caught in my throat. "You're so nice to me."

        "Of course I am. I like you. Didn't you know?" He leaned down and pressed a gentle closed mouth kiss to my lips. "Maybe you can give yourself an off day. Seven days a week can't be healthy."

        "Maybe."

        "How about Sundays?"

        I felt myself trying to fall back to sleep. "I like working Sundays. Gives me an excuse to give my mom for why I'm not in church."

        He chuckled. "I wish I had that excuse. My mom keeps begging me to attend mass."

        "Mass? Are you Catholic?"

        "Sort of. Is that a problem?"

         I shook my head. "No, no. Jesus is as Jesus does, I guess."

        "How about Saturdays?"

        "Maybe."

        After he talked me into it, I called Pasha. She answered as sleepy as she was the last time I'd called before six. "Pasha, would you be willing to work my shift today?"

        She yawned and asked, "Is there another emergency?"

        "No. Feel free to say no if you don't want to."

        I was expecting her to quickly come up with some excuse to why she couldn't do it. In fact, I was already mentally preparing to get up and get ready to go in when she said, "I could use the hours."

        I made plans with her to swing by and pick up the keys since it was on the way then leaned back into Manny's comforter.

         "So," Manny said. "What do you want to do on your first official off day?"

        "Sleep."

        "And after we wake up?"

        "... Can we watch tv?"

        "Sure, whatever you want."

        "Can we watch Foreign Fiancé? I love that show."

        "Sure. I love reality tv." I detected a tiny bit of sarcasm in there but let it slide. "What about food?"

        "Whatever's in the fridge."

        "Are you sure? I'd be willing to make a run."

        "Well..."

        "Come on. Live a little."

        "... Tacos?"

        "Tacos and tv sounds perfect."

        "I agree."

        "Alright. Go on to sleep."

        I yawned so wide my jaw almost caught a cramp. "I have to wait for Pasha so I can give her the keys."

        "I can do it. I need to feed and walk Bertie anyway."

        I barely even heard that last bit. By the time he'd finished his sentence I was already drifting off.