“This was the coolest tour ever,” Tristan said. “I’m gonna be a police officer one day, like you.”
“It can be dangerous,” Wyatt warned.
“I want to help people.”
“It’s a noble profession, but as Wyatt said, it can also be dangerous.” Morgan thought about the time, not too long ago, when he’d been struck by a car and rushed to the hospital. Hours of sheer terror followed…hours she’d spent in the ER pacing and praying.
Tristan grew quiet, and she could see his wheels spinning. “I’ll be careful,” he promised. “I want to be one of the good guys who catch the bad guys and keep everybody safe.”
Wyatt’s radio blared. It was the front desk letting him know he had a call waiting.
“I need to get back to work, buddy.”
“Thanks for showing me ‘n Aunt Morgan around.” Tristan hopped out and slammed the door.
Wyatt caught up with them in front of the patrol car. “You’re welcome.”
“This is the best day ever.”
Wyatt playfully ruffled his hair. “Take good care of my girl.”
“Don’t worry. I will.”
Morgan and her nephew parted ways with her boyfriend near the sidewalk. Over the top of his head, she mouthed the words,thank you.
Wyatt blew her a kiss before disappearing inside the building.
Tristan, taking his promise seriously, held her hand until they reached her SUV. “Wyatt has the coolest job ever.”
“Cool and dangerous.” Morgan patted her stomach. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Grandmother is at the art gallery. Let’s see if she has time to have lunch with us.”
Chapter 8
Morgan eased into an empty parking spot in front of the art gallery and shifted into park. “We’re here.”
“Beat you to the door.” Tristan hopped out and sprinted to the curb.
Morgan trailed behind. “I wish I had half your energy.”
“I’m fast.”
“Maybe you should sign up for track.” She dropped her keys into her purse. Not watching where she was going, Morgan took a step forward, nearly colliding with a person moving at a brisk clip and coming from the opposite direction.
“Sorry.” She stumbled back, starting to apologize until she realized who it was—Naomi Renaud.
“Morgan Easton.”
“Hello, Naomi,” she coolly replied. “How are you?”
“Getting ready to head somewhere warmer.” The woman tugged at the collar of her jacket. “I’m tired of the snow and cold.”
“Not me,” Tristan piped up. “I love it.”
Naomi’s eyes narrowed. “I remember you. Tristan…Blakely.”
Her grandmother’s nemesis had met Tristan and his uncle during the Christmas blizzard, when Elizabeth invited the woman, who had lost power and had nowhere to go, to Easton Estate to ride out the storm. At the time, a simple explanation that Jeff and Tristan were friends of Brett’s had sufficed.
As far as Morgan knew, only a few of the islanders, close acquaintances of the family, knew who Tristan was. Naomi wasn’t one of them.
