That evening, some four hours later, Hector parked outside Pete's closed pie shop, as far away from the Pub as possible. Nerves were getting the better of him and he watched the clock on the dash like a hawk. Fifteen minutes to six. Fifteen minutes till he was supposed to pull up outside the hospital, waltz in like a man in love—holding a bunch of wildflowers he had hastily picked up from Mum's before they'd returned in their respective vehicles, back into town—and declare he was there to whisk Dr Chen away on a date, for he could no longer keep their relationship a secret!

If he could slide in there like Romeo entering stage right and dramatically wave his arm around, declaring the fact, the better. Or so Devi Dhungel had advised. This naturally led Hector to think of two precise things:

1) How on earth did Devi ever attract multiple lovers with such cringe advice, and

2) Thank God the woman didn't write romances.

Nerves had his palms sweat profusely like a bomb diffuser watching the ticking clock on a timer. His leg wouldn't stop bouncing up and down, and he unintentionally bit the corner of his mouth till he tasted blood. Eventually, at fourteen minutes to six, he could no longer remain in the car and floundered out onto the pavement, pacing a small line on the concrete.

"We have to act normal, Hector," Hilde's words from earlier, looped in his mind. "Go to work like normal. You to yours. Me to mine. And make sure you mention how your mum gave you a scare if your deputy turns up ..."

"How?" Hector paced, raking a hand through his hair before remembering he'd combed it nice and neat for their 'date'. His palms wouldn't stop sweating, and now he could feel moisture pooling under his arms. Normal. How the hell was he supposed to act normal? He hadn't seen his deputy in some days—something he must bring up with the Chief—and even if he had, how was he to act all normal, pretending Ma had an accidental slip in the bathroom that put her back out? How was he to casually drop that in a sentence?

" ... act normal..." the words rang again in his mind as a car slowed down past him without his notice. What was even normal for a guy about to ask a girl he'd been crushing on for months, but it was all for show?

"Hey, Heck!" Grumpy Gavin rolled down his window and flipped him the bird on his nightly pub visit. "That's for telling my son you'll book me for public indecency next time I take a leak!"

"I don't care if you take a leak, mate, just don't in public," Hector yelled back, hoping his voice wasn't suffering from nerves. Why had he told the Chief about his father's latest stunt in their last correspondence as a lead up to Devi's case? Gavin was going to do a Gavin and hold a grudge for as long as he could. One of his old grudges was still going, one against Mrs Waterford, the lycra-loving granny. He'd once thought she was his future wife and proposed she wait for him before sailing off for World War II, only to find out, upon return, she hadn't waited for him at all. It might have helped if the poor once-shy Gavin had told her what was in his heart face-to-face and not have his sister slip her a crude brief note the day after. For a woman with multiple prospects, of course, it was, 'Gavin, who?'

"Fuck you!" Gavin let go of the steering wheel and stuck both birds up. "I'll take a leak wherever I want whenever I need. It's called prostate issues, asshole. You'll know it at my age. Mark my words!"

"Just don't let me catch you." Hector laughed. He hadn't meant to, but he did. Why was he getting in a face-off with Gavin minutes before he needed to appear all 'lovey-dovey' in front of Hilde? What did lovey-dovey even mean? He must ask Devi the next time he saw her.

Gavin rolled away, a bird still held out the window, just to have the last word, and Hector eyed his watch. Five minutes to six. He hopped back in his car, reversed out of the parking spot, and tailed the grumpy man all the way to the hospital before pulling into the parking lot on the right. He grabbed the flowers tied in twine before stepping out and straightened his tie—yup, he'd dressed up alright, in his best Sunday clothes despite the muggy evening. Might explain the sweatiest-sweaty palms a man had ever sported.

"You look like a twat!" Old Gavin, parked in the parking opposite the hospital, at the Pub's, flipped him one final birdie. "Hope the broad's not into snitches!"

"I did not snitch ..." Hector mumbled as Gavin's back disappeared behind the dusty pub front. He shut the car door, wanting very much to run away and hide in shame. Twat? Why the hell had he put on his suit? He probably looked like a twat, wearing those fancy clothes, on a twenty-nine-degree, sweltering evening, in the middle of a fucking country town. Even the breeze, what little there was, hit his face like a waft of warm oven air.

He eyed his watch again. Three minutes to six. Three minutes until he had to 'act'. Why hadn't he told the ladies he was the worst actor imaginable while they'd sat around that bed, hounding him with 'do this, do that' on the date.

Hector paced the length of the car's door, and practiced the lines he'd prepared, "You look beautiful"—a charming start to the act of wooing as one had ever since. NOT. He shook his head and almost raked his hand through his perfect hair before he remembered not to mess with it. "I need to sell this in one night ... try again."

He cleared his throat, puffed out his chest, and stood tall, pretending Hilde was before him, and started again, "You look ravishing ..." but the imagined Hilde before him wore her hospital gown, so ravishing wasn't the word for it.

"God, that sounds terrible ..." He groaned, leaning against the hot car, face buried in his hands. "Think, Heck, think. You're the ... you're the ..." When words failed, he struck a hand on the roof of the car. "Fuck!" And fuck was right. He couldn't even string a simple sentence together to compliment Hilde's beauty let alone figure out how to weave in the 'fact' that he was there to celebrate their 'three-month anniversary' in public. They were 'coming out'.

He was so nervous, all the planning of a perfect evening the three women in his life had come up with that afternoon threatened to whoosh out of his brain like steam from a pressure cooker. The how, the when, and the where of it all. Whoosh! Like a fucking bullet train.

The How:

1) Waltz in there all 'heart-eyed'—how he could ever show that was beyond him—and sweep Hilde up in his arms,

2) Plant the most fiery kiss he could manage, in front of staff—again, how, was beyond him,

3) Literally 'whisk' her away, out of the building. If he could scoop her up in his arms and walk out the threshold, like in the movies, even better, and

4) All that time, Hilde was to giggle like a schoolgirl and say, 'Oh, Hector! You're a dream,' or some such nonsense like that—like who wrote this thing? Devi?

Hence, why Hector understood the woman was better off writing crime, not that he'd read any of Devi's books yet. Maybe I'll borrow one of Mum's to take to Sydney with me...

"Shit!" he mumbled again, catching the time on his watch. Six o'clock. 'The Now' of their plan was here. He swallowed the lump in his throat, straightened up again, and fixed his suit and tie one last time. There was no time like the present, and he reminded himself why he was going along with this ridiculous charade.

If he wanted to drive to Sydney tomorrow and figure out what happened that night on that boat before the likes of Brady Moriarty caught on, that something shifty was going on at Casa Martinez and revealed to the world that Devi Dhungel was still alive. Brady had the training to do it too, given that he had been an investigative journalist once upon a time, before he moved back home to take over his family businesses.

Hector was kicking himself at a missed opportunity, one Hilde had mentioned in passing on their drive back to town earlier, something so wild, so sane, but it would have save him a whole lot of hassle. If they'd thought of it earlier, Devi could have easily hid at his ma's without the fear of discovery, they would have satiated Brady's curiosity regarding the stranger on the beach, and he and Hilde wouldn't have to go this farce of a date. He wanted a real date. This was not it.

Yet, a part of him wondered if he should be thankful. The woman he'd been pining for was finally going out with him. Did it matter how that date came about? If only Hilde had thought of that brilliant idea the night they were sneaking Devi out of the hospital ...

And that brilliant idea? Hilde wondering out loud, as the countryside whizzed past their windows, "We should have just said I transferred Devi to a city hospital because our hospital couldn't provide her the care she needed or that Devi insisted we move her to a city hospital, instead of pretending she's dead ..."

"It's all Devi's fault ..." Hector mumbled, gripping the bunch of flowers tightly, readying to get on with it. "If she hadn't rocked up ..."

"If who hadn't rocked up?" the cloying voice behind Hector made him jump.

Brady Moriarty. What was he doing here?

"Brady." Hector turned.

"Hector." Brady scanned Hector from head to toe. "Big plans tonight?"

Hector tried to appear 'normal'. The word for tonight. Tried. "Uh ... yeah ... Hilde, I mean, I'm here to ask Hilde out"—he shook the flowers in front of the man—"officially, I mean. She and I, we .... We've been a thing for the past few months, in secret, and uh ..." Fuck, what do I say? "I thought ... I thought, I mean, I think it's time we made it official, officially ..."

Totally normal.

"Officially?" Brady repeated the word, laced with disappointment. "You make a cute couple."

Hector let out a nervous laugh. "Yeah, Ma says the same." He eyed his watch. Ten past six o'clock. "I better go in ... before she slips out the back and I miss her ..."

"She seems to be in the habit of slipping out the back." Brady stepped in Hector's path. "I hope the lady says yes"—he eyed the flower—"officially. But before you go, Heck, just quickly. Off the record, tell me." He chose this moment to lean in, so close that the man was practically chest to chest with him. "Where's Devi Dhungel? Because I know for a fact she's the woman from the beach and she's not dead ..." He stepped back with a smirk, leaving our poor, already flummoxed Hector, ever so worse for wear.

Hector scrambled for ideas. What was he supposed to say now? This wasn't rehearsed let alone part of their grand plan tonight. They hadn't factored Brady in as a possible planus-interruptus! Drive to the hospital, sure. Serenade Hilde, a.k.a ask her out in the most embarrassing way, sure. Take her out to the fanciest joint in town, the old Irish Pub famous for being the only joint to serve a $12 schnitty and beer deal within a hundred-kilometre radius, sure. Followed by closing the night by taking Hilde into his arms and kissing her until she was breathless, in front of all the patrons—which he was still doubtful he could do with the pizzazz like Devi suggested—sure. But answer Brady's perfectly sane questions?

"Uh ..." He glanced past the man, at the hospital doors. So close, yet so far. "Devi who?" he ended up asking, unsure if he'd ever let that name slip or someone else had.

That's when his lies caught up with him or rather Hilde and his lies, pathetic as it was.

"I'm not dumb, Heck, so do me a favour and listen." Brady reached into his satchel and fished out two papers, holding them out for him to see. One was the admittance form for a patient named 'Devi Dhungel' at their hospital, signed by Dr H. Chen. The second was a black and white photocopy of the nearest morgue's register for the day in question, lacking that very name.

"What did you and the doc do to her?" Brady asked accusingly. "Whatever it is, I will find out, and you better hope by that time you have an answer ready, or everyone here will know what kind of cop they have looking after their safety. As much as I like you, Hector, I promise you this, I will get to the bottom of this, come rain or shine."

"I wish I could speak on an ongoing investigation, you know I can't do that without clearing it with the Chief." Hector knew Brady meant every word. His heart hammered away in his chest. Fuck. He'd forgotten how driven Brady could be. What if he snoops around when I'm gone? The thought struck him cold. He eyed his watch again. Fifteen past six. Fuck. He was late. "Look, I have to go right now, but how about a truce? You lay off your investigation until I come back and maybe we can chat ..." the moment those last few words slipped his lips, he cursed himself. Damn it. Did he have to say 'maybe we can chat'?

"Fine. I'll drop it if you can confirm one thing for me." Brady folded his arms and regarded Hector's proposal.

"Fine. What?" Hector groaned.

"The victim is Devi Dhungel, isn't it, the famous crime novelist who went missing from her boat a few days ago?" His eyebrows rose high. "It's all over the Sydney Morning Herald. Explains why there have been reports of search and rescue scouring the beaches down south. Eventually, they'll get to us. Then I wonder what you'll say."

Hector swallowed. Shit. He had been so focused on his problems that he'd forgotten all about the bigger world out there. They were missing a famous author. Of course, they'd be looking for her or her body. "Brady, please."

"Just nod for yes, shake for no." Brady pouted. "Give me something, Hector, otherwise, if that search team arrives while you're gone, these papers might find their way to them and then where will you and Dr Chen be? Behind bars for obstructing justice? Or worse, for getting rid of her body in the middle of the night? What happened last night, Heck? Did you and Dr Chen accidentally kill the woman? Is that why you're so jittery even now, because you know I saw you both, removing a body. That I'm a witness."

"Fine, Brady. She's not dead!" Hector finally lost his thinly veiled cool and nodded. "There. Happy."

"See. That wasn't so hard, was it?" A smile tugged at Brady's lips and he stepped aside, allowing Hector to get on with his date, twenty minutes late. "Let's have that chat when you get back, aye? Have a nice evening."

"Fuck!" Hector rubbed his face as Brady crossed the street and headed for the pub. "Can this night get any worse?"

And boy, could it!

Hector had thought waltzing into the hospital and declaring he was there to 'ask for Hilde's hand'—not the line he was supposed to say—had been hard. It was nothing compared to the end of the evening when he completely fumbled 'sweep Hilde into your arms like a hero and plant a kiss'. Two hours later, with Hector unable to do what he needed, Hilde took the lead out of sheer frustration. She pulled him into her surprisingly strong arms, dipped him like a dame in old movies, and planted a passionate kiss as a declaration of them being a 'couple' to the town folk present, including Brady.

The hooting alone after that had been enough to colour his cheeks for days. Embarrassed didn't even cover it. He couldn't face Mystery Cove and its three hundred strong occupants after the brushfire of gossip sure to sweep the town. He just couldn't. So it didn't help him any when Hilde insisted she spent the night at his to make sure to sell their 'story'. Not the way he'd imagined a date with her would end. Snuggled up in her bed and up to no good, yes, but not his rundown apartment, with Hilde in his cruddy little single bed and him on his equally cruddy little two-seater sofa, legs dangling over the edge like fish bait.

It was supposed to be romantic, damn it. His first official date with Hilde was supposed to be romantic. But the events of the evening weren't even the worse of it. As he lay there, cooped up on that sofa staring up at the ceiling, the thought that bugged him wasn't how unromantic the night had been, it was why he hadn't felt excited at that damn romantic kiss.

Hilde had kissed him like she'd meant it. Truly meant it. So why was it that at that moment, in Hilde's arms, slightly terrified that she'd drop him to the filthy pub floor, had his thought been of Devi? What the fuck, Heck?!

And why was it that when Hilde, sexy Hilde was metres from him now, curled up in his bed, eyes on him—he could sense it—that he didn't feel the compulsion to abandon the sofa, stride over to her and answer that kiss, fervently.

"Hector." Hilde's words were soft. "What time are you leaving tomorrow morning?"

Hector closed his eyes, trying to drown the guilty heartburn. "Probably eight. It's a six-seven hour drive. I want to catch the case lead before they finish for the night. Why?"

"Because ..." Hilde sounded nervous "We need to look like we spent the night together, so I was wondering if we could have breakfast together, at Pete's maybe, before you head off. Really sell this story. I'll tell you not to worry about your mum, that I'll look after her while you're gone ... They need to believe you're into me ..."

Fuck! Hector bit his lips. "I am into you, Hilde." He was, wasn't he? So why was he picturing Devi in that room, alone. "It's just ... this is not how I wanted things to go with us ..."

"How did you want it to go?"

"I wanted you, but not like this." Hector sat up, unable to sleep. "Devi's just messed everything up, and now Brady's threatening us ... I'm sorry."

"For what?" Hilde sat up.

"For everything." He met her eyes, observing him. "This is not how I wanted to ask you out."

"And how did you want to ask me out?" Her voice turned sultry.

"Not like this." He swallowed as those fluttering heartbeats, before Devi's arrival on the scene, returned with fervour. Hilde wore nothing but his t-shirt, and was already in his bed, as per his fantasy. "I ..." He walked over to her without another thought, "I want you."

And they did what any hot-blooded man and woman under immense pressure and attraction would do, given the opportunity, guilt be damned. Or as Devi would say, in her unromantic way, "They then humped like rabbits until the cows came home." Whose cow, who knew!