The thought sent a fresh wave of adrenaline through her system, a mixture of fear and something dangerously close to excitement.
Ann watched Marcus through her side mirror as he stood by his patrol car, her documents in hand. He appeared to be taking longer than necessary, studying her information with unusual thoroughness before finally making his way back to her window. His steps were measured, unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world despite her evident rush to get to work. The sunlight caught in his short dark hair as he approached, and Ann found herself holding her breath again, her fingers resuming their nervous dance against the steering wheel.
"Well, Ann Porter," he said, leaning down to her window. Hername in his mouth sounded different somehow—more significant. "Everything checks out. You've got a clean record."
She nodded, not trusting her voice immediately. "So… am I getting a ticket?" The question came out smaller than she intended, almost hopeful in its uncertainty.
Marcus studied her face for a moment, his expression unreadable. "I think we can let this one slide with a warning." He held out her documents. "But yellow lights mean slow down, not speed up. You know that."
Ann reached for the papers, her fingertips brushing against his as she took them. The contact wasn't accidental—his fingers lingered against hers a fraction too long, the pressure slight but deliberate. Her skin tingled where they touched, the sensation traveling up her arm like an electric current.
"Thank you," she managed, hyper-aware of the blush spreading across her cheeks. "I really appreciate it."
Their eyes met, and in that moment, something passed between them—a current of recognition, of mutual awareness that transcended their brief encounters. His professional mask slipped just enough to reveal a hint of the man who had watched her with such interest in the restaurant.
"Be more careful next time," he said, his voice dropping slightly. "I'd hate to see anything happen to you."
The words were standard enough for a traffic stop, but the way he said them—with a soft intensity, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth—transformed them into something more intimate, more personal. Ann felt her chest tighten, her breath shallow.
"I will," she promised, meaning it.
Marcus straightened, taking a step back from her car. "Have a good day, Ann. Drive safely." The professional tone had returned, but his eyes held hers a moment longer than necessary before he turned away.
Ann watched in her rearview mirror as he walked back to his patrol car. Halfway there, he paused, looking back at her vehicle as if considering something. What was he thinking? Had he planned to find her this morning? The questions buzzed in hermind like trapped insects as she watched him finally continue to his car.
Only when his patrol car pulled away did Ann release the breath she'd been holding. She pulled back into traffic, her mind racing faster than her car.
The coincidence seemed too perfect to be random. How likely was it that of all the officers who could have pulled her over, it would be Marcus Hale? Ann had never believed much in fate, but this—this felt like something aligned by forces beyond her understanding. Or perhaps more deliberately arranged by human intention.
Had he followed her home last night? The patrol car she'd glimpsed outside her apartment complex as it passed by—had that been him? The thought should have alarmed her, but instead it sent a thrill of excitement through her. He was interested enough to seek her out, to learn where she lived, to engineer another meeting before their planned encounter at the restaurant.
By the time Ann pulled into the employee parking lot at Granger's, her emotions had cycled through confusion, excitement, anxiety, and back again. She checked her appearance in the rearview mirror, reapplied her lip balm, and tucked her hair behind her ear—the gesture she now recognized as something she did when nervous, something he had noticed.
The kitchen's heat hit her as she pushed through the back entrance, the familiar sounds and smells grounding her after the surreal morning encounter. She hurried to the break room to stow her purse, nearly colliding with Miriam, who was emerging with her order pad in hand.
"There you are!" Miriam's eyes widened as she took in Ann's appearance. "Whoa. What happened to you? You look… different."
Ann touched her hair self-consciously. "Just felt like making an effort today."
Miriam's eyes narrowed with interest. "This wouldn't have anything to do with Officer Dreamy from yesterday, would it?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Ann said, the denial automatic even as heat rose to her cheeks.
"Mmhmm." Miriam's knowing smile made Ann look away. "Well, Tom was asking for you. You're cutting it close."
Ann nodded, checking her watch—11:13. She was late. "I got pulled over," she said, the truth escaping before she could consider whether sharing was wise.
Miriam's eyebrows shot up. "Ticket?"
"Just a warning."
"Lucky you." Miriam studied her face. "You okay? You seem… I don't know. Wired."
"I'm fine," Ann said, moving past her friend to clock in. "Just a weird morning."
The restaurant was always quiet in the lull before the lunch rush, giving Ann time to prep her section. She arranged salt and pepper shakers with unusual precision, aligning them perfectly at the center of each table. Her mind kept drifting back to the traffic stop—Marcus's fingers against hers, the way his eyes had held hers, his parting words. “I'd hate to see anything happen to you.” As if he were concerned about her well-being. As if he cared about her.
Tom emerged from his office, clipboard in hand, eyeing Ann with mild suspicion. "You were cutting it close today, Porter."
