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He grinned and said “baby,” again, his gaze locking on mine, holding me captive. Then he leaned in and I leaned in, and⁠—

Buzz buzz

Brrrring Brrrring

Buzz buzz

Reg jumped up and grabbed his department cell from the island and his personal cell off the counter.

“What’s going on?”

“Gretchen is sick. ‘Please pick me up,’ ” he read, clicking over to the other phone. “And…oh, shit. There’s an accident on Belvedere and—sorry. I have to call in. I⁠—”

I motioned for him to carry on and set my fork on my plate while shamelessly eavesdropping. The conversation with dispatch flustered him. Something about an overturned vehicle on Belvedere. Petey was on his way with backup, but this was serious. A teenager behind the wheel. They needed the chief on the scene.

Reg texted a message, erased it, and texted again. Probably to Gretchen. He hung up with dispatch, left his personal cell on the island, and raced for the mudroom.

I followed him with his phone. “Hey, you need this, too.”

“Thanks.” Reg pulled on his boots and his police jacket, unlocked his home safe and retrieved his utility belt before opening the garage door. “I’m really sorry.”

“No apologies, remember? I get it. Go be a cop, Reg.”

“I have to be a dad first and get Gretchen. Shit.” He closed his eyes briefly. “I hate to ask this, but would you stay with her? It won’t take long and I⁠—”

“Hey, I’ll pick her up and take care of her. Where is she?”

Reg stared at me as if waiting for the punchline. “She’s at Lily’s house. They live on Concord and⁠—”

“I’ll text her. Just go.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m fucking sure. Go.”

He nodded, crashed his mouth over mine in a rough kiss, and then he was gone.

Concord Drive was a ten minute drive from Reg’s. I texted Gretchen and told her I was on my way.

The roads had been salted and ice had been scraped earlier in the day, yet Main Street was slick under my tires. I probably drove a little faster than I should have, but Gretchen’s last message was three alarming green emojis. I hoped to get there before she lost her cookies at a friend’s house.

Lily’s mom didn’t seem shocked to see me on her doorstep. But she was curious. “Reg called to let me know you’d be here. I feel so bad for Gretch. I hope it’s not the flu.”

“Me too.” I smiled at Gretchen, who stood pale-faced in the foyer in her coat clutching a pink backpack. “Ready, kiddo?”

“Yeah,” she whispered.

I took her backpack and offered my elbow so she didn’t slip on the pathway. No sooner had we buckled our seat belts when my cell buzzed. “Holy crap.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Your brother’s sick, too.”

Gretchen flashed a wide-eyed look and promptly opened her door and vomited at the curb.

Okay, then.

Thirty minutes later, both kids were home in bed. Rhys didn’t seem too bad, but he insisted that his stomach was off. Gretch, on the other hand, had a fever. I gave her Tylenol and told them to yell if they needed me.