Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 19554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 78(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 78(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
I catch myself staring into my rearview mirror, watching him as he approaches his patrol car, appreciating the way his tight uniform hugs his muscular build just right to accentuate his broad shoulders and a chest that leads me to imagine he could bench press a small car. The universe decided to play matchmaker, throwing me a solid mix of brawn and authority. What was it thinking? Between moving here and starting my own business, I don’t have time for romance. Who am I kidding? I’ve never had time for romance. Hence, the reason I’m still a virgin at twenty-six years old.
"Get a grip, Emily," I murmur to myself. "Stop focusing on the hot Deputy."
Deputy Gannon walks back to my car with a thoughtful expression. His slow, confident stride should be freaking illegal. I'm expecting him to hand back my license with a word of caution and maybe a witty remark about slowing down. Instead, what I get is an unexpected curveball.
"Emily, I'm afraid I've got some bad news," he says, and my stomach flips when I see the sincere regret evident on his face. "I'm going to have to place you under arrest."
My jaw drops, and I blink at him, trying to decide if he's joking. Arrest? My mind reels, scrambling to connect dots that won't fit together. "Arrest? What on earth for? Surely, you're not serious! I'll admit I was going a teensy bit faster than I should've, but what the heck."
He shakes his head, looking genuinely apologetic. "No, it's not the speeding. It's the thirty-one unpaid parking tickets in Houston."
My mouth works soundlessly, like a fish stranded on dry land. Parking tickets? Thirty-one? I knew I had a few parking tickets, but thirty-one? "You're arresting me because of parking tickets? I had no idea you could actually be arrested for those," I stammer, utterly dumbfounded.
"It's not paying them that put you on Houston's most wanted list," he says with just a hint of laughter dancing beneath his professional demeanor, which does nothing to soothe my growing panic.
"Are you serious?" I say, desperately trying to summon any shred of logic to argue my case. "I'm on a most wanted list!"
"No, I was joking about that," he says, and the sympathetic look in his eyes doesn't stop him from reaching for his cuffs.
Before I know it, he's guiding me out of my car. "If you promise to behave, I won't put these on you." He holds up the shiny metal cuffs.
"I promise." Well, there goes my afternoon organizing my new van to get it ready for my first day of business. Great. If I don't get out of jail soon, I won't make my first appointment on Monday. The dominos keep falling around me. If my new wealthy customers discover why I'm missing my first day, it will also become my last day in business.
He reads me my rights before opening the patrol car door, and I try a last-ditch effort. "What's going to happen to my car?" I ask, glancing back at my car, sitting there, looking innocent and unsuspecting on the side of the road.
"Don't worry. It'll be towed to the impound yard," he says as if explaining that the sun will rise in the east while I'm facing the end of my dreams of moving here without anyone's help. "You can get it back after you've handled the legal stuff."
"Great, just great," I mutter as I shuffle into the front seat. Wait a minute. "Aren't you supposed to put me in the back seat?"
"I'm doing a lot of things I'm not supposed to do right now," he mutters mostly under his breath and starts the car.
Gannon pulls us back onto the road, headed toward town; the vibration of the patrol car does little to soothe my nerves. I take a deep breath and remind myself this is just another one of life's bizarre detours. My eyes drift to the dreary landscape outside, a blur of cows in fields and scattered farmhouses. Who would've thought my venture into small-town life would start like this?
Breaking the silence, Deputy Gannon turns slightly, casting me a curious glance. "So, Emily, what brings you to Silver Spoon Falls? Just passing through or planning to stick around for the long haul?"
I blink, caught off guard by his conversational tone. "Uh, are we supposed to be chatting like this? Kinda feels like a weird time for small talk."
He chuckles, the sound warm and comforting in the otherwise tense atmosphere. "There's no rule against having a conversation, even with the arresting officer. Besides, it's a bit of a drive back."
I consider this, my initial hesitation fading under his easy charm. "I just moved here from Houston to open a mobile dog grooming salon. I was supposed to pick up a few supplies to organize my van today."