“But you’re right.”
“About being afraid,” Wyatt said.
“Jason put me through the wringer. Maybe not gun-shy but suffering from PJSD…Post-Jason Stress Disorder.”
“I get it, and I’m not pushing. Someday…one day when you least expect it, I might ask you to marry me, but I think I know you well enough to know when the time is right.”
She placed her hand on his cheek, a warmth running down her spine when their eyes met, his filled with nothing but love. “You know this isn’t about you or about us. It’s about me.”
“Yeah. I get it. I suppose if I had been stalked and kidnapped by my ex, I would be cautious too.”
“I appreciate your support and patience more than you know.”
“Enough of the serious talk,” Wyatt said. “What does your schedule look like for the rest of the week?”
“Working and hanging out with Tristan. Brett has another meeting in Toronto he’s postponed twice and needs to make happen, so I invited Tristan to hang out with me tomorrow.He’ll be starting school soon, which means he’ll have a more structured routine.”
“Awesome Aunt Morgan to the rescue,” Wyatt said. “Why don’t you bring him by the station? Kids get a kick out of meeting cops.”
“What a great idea. I bet he would love it.”
“I have a mandatory monthly meeting and won’t be starting my regular shift until later in the afternoon. I should be free by ten and can give him a tour then.”
“Thanks, Wyatt.” Morgan leaned in to give him a quick kiss.
Anticipating the move, he turned his head and captured her lips, kissing her soundly…long enough so that by the time she pulled back she was out of breath.
“You’re welcome.” He grasped her arm, coaxing her to pick up the pace. “I don’t know about you, but cuddling in front of a cozy fire sounds like the perfect way to end the day.”
“A romantic evening, just the two of us. I can’t think of anything better.”
Chapter 7
Tristan tugged on Morgan’s arm. “Your boyfriend, Mr. Dawson, works for the police department?”
“Correct. He’s a Locke Village police officer.”
“Does he have his own car?”
“Yes, Wyatt has his own patrol car.”
“Cool.” Tristan did a sidestep, almost skipping down the snow-covered sidewalk as they made their way to the Locke Village Police Department’s main entrance.
Morgan held the door and followed her nephew into the lobby. The compact brick building, only a few years old, reminded her of a boring box. Unless you knew what it was, you would drive right past without giving it a second glance.
The lobby, not much more than an oversized cubicle, matched the dull, drab exterior. Fluorescent bulbs cast a yellow glow on the gray-blue walls. A bulletproof shield of clear acrylic glass separated visitors from the clerk on the other side.
Morgan immediately recognized the woman seated on the stool and greeted her by name.
“Good morning, Morgan. Wyatt mentioned you might stop by.”
“This is my nephew Tristan. He recently moved to Easton Island. Wyatt has offered to give him a tour.”
“I’ll let him know you’re here.” The woman lowered her gaze and tapped the keyboard. “He’ll be right up.”
While they waited, Tristan studied the wanted posters on the bulletin board. “These are real criminals.”
“Criminals we don’t want to meet,” Morgan added.
