Page 3 of More Than a Hero
Her grandparents Dorothy and Stan stepped out of their townhouse, their presence as comforting as a well-loved quilt. Dorothy, with her short silver bob and ever-present floralcardigan, extended her arms, and Angie didn’t hesitate to close the short distance and accept the warm hug.
“Angie, dear! We haven’t seen you in several days!”
“I know, Grandma,” Angie sighed, squeezing the older woman lightly before stepping back. “Work’s been crazy, but we’re almost to the weekend. I promise I won’t stay late tomorrow.” She turned her gaze to her grandfather, whose eyes twinkled behind his thick glasses. “And I see someone’s been busy. My flower bed looks better than it did yesterday.”
Stan chuckled, wiping his hands on his khaki pants. “I was already pulling weeds from my walk, so I figured, why not? It’s no trouble, really. I like keeping busy and knowing how much you love your flowers.”
Angie smiled, warmth blooming in her chest. It wasn’t the first time her grandfather had done little things like this for her, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.
“Can we offer you some dinner?” Dorothy asked, her tone hopeful.
“Not tonight, thank you.” Angie shook her head gently. “I had a big lunch, so I’m just going to have some soup and put my feet up.”
Her grandmother gave her a knowing look but didn’t push. “Well, you know where to find us.”
With a final wave, Angie stepped a few feet to her front door and let herself inside, relishing the quiet comfort of home. She loved having her grandparents living next door. Dorothy and Stan were her dad’s parents. Her mom’s dad had passed a few years ago, and her maternal grandmother was in a local nursing home. Her parents lived in a house just down the street.
The scent of lavender and vanilla lingered in the air, a fragrance from the candles she often burned in the evenings. The townhouse, while older, had a charm she adored—warm wood floors, a soft sage-colored couch piled with mismatched butinviting throw pillows, and bookshelves filled with well-loved novels and little trinkets she’d collected over the years.
The living room to her right was cozy but open, leading seamlessly into a small dining area separated from the kitchen by a breakfast bar. The kitchen itself, though compact, was her sanctuary—its deep blue cabinets and cream-colored countertops gave it a homey, welcoming feel. A sliding glass door at the back of the house revealed a small patio adorned with twinkling string lights and a pair of cushioned chairs, where she often curled up with a book on warm weekend mornings.
Upstairs were three bedrooms, though one was barely large enough to be considered a room at all. She’d converted it into a multipurpose space with her yoga mat and small set of weights tucked neatly against the wall, and a corner bookshelf holding everything from workout guides to old college textbooks.
Sighing, she dropped her bags onto the entryway bench and made her way into the kitchen, pulling open the fridge with sluggish movements. The truth was, she hadn’t eaten a big lunch like she’d told her grandparents. In reality, her pain had been so persistent today that she’d spent her lunch break leaning back in her chair, eyes closed, willing her body to find even a fraction of relief.
Opting for simplicity, she poured a can of soup into a pot, stirring as it warmed on the stove. She grabbed a slice of bread, quickly assembling a simple sandwich, and within minutes, she settled onto the couch with her modest meal, the heat from the soup soothing her from the inside out.
As soon as she finished, she took her medication, washing it down with the last sip of water from her glass. The weariness in her bones urged her toward the stairs, and she didn’t fight it. After making sure the doors were locked and lights dimmed, she let the promise of a hot bath lure her upstairs.
The steaming water worked its magic, easing the tension from her muscles and joints as she sank beneath the fragrant bubbles, her eyes drifting shut. By the time she crawled into bed, her body felt marginally lighter, the weight of the day slowly fading. But as she lay there, wrapped in soft sheets and darkness, her mind refused to rest.
Pete.
The enigmatic detective had been creeping into her thoughts more and more even though she barely knew him. She’d seen the surprise on his face when she invited him to dinner. There had been something else, too… a flicker of hesitation that left her second-guessing herself.
She was good at reading people. But when he said he had to check his schedule and never called back…ugh. I thought he’d been interested… I guess I was wrong.
Rolling onto her side, she exhaled deeply, willing herself not to overthink. Solving the mystery of Pete could wait for another day.
2
Pete climbed into his SUV but didn’t start the engine. Instead, he sat, gripping the steering wheel, his gaze locked on the wide picture window of the pharmacy. Through the glass, he could see Angie standing near the counter, talking to the pharmacist. Her head tilted slightly as she listened. She faced away from him, but if the grin on the pharmacist’s face was anything to go by, he knew she must be smiling. The way she interacted with people was so effortlessly warm that she tugged at something inside him.
A long sigh left his lungs as he rubbed a hand over his jaw. What the hell was it about Angie Brown that turned him into a bumbling idiot? He was a man of precision, a man of action. Words weren’t usually his forte, but they had never completely failed him—until her.
His snort of amusement had him shaking his head. Jeremy would get a kick out of this. His partner never struggled to talk to anyone, whether they were suspects, fellow officers, or even strangers at the American Legion. He had that easy, affable charm, the kind that made people trust him within minutes. And women? Christ, Jeremy was a natural.
Pete, on the other hand, didn’t have the gift of gab. He wasn’t a man who talked just to hear his own voice. He was direct and focused. It served him well in his line of work. But with Angie? He'd been damn near useless.
His mind drifted back to the first time he’d seen her. It had been Karen, the head home health nurse, who had suggested they talk to Angie Brown. She’d made the call while they were in her office, and he remembered how she’d laughed as she relayed Angie's response.
“Well, she wants to know if you're single and good-looking,” Karen had reported.
Jeremy had chuckled, but Pete had simply raised a brow, unsure of what to expect when they walked into Angie’s office.
And then she had stepped out to greet them, and he’d been gobsmacked. Warm brown eyes had met his from behind the frames of purple-rimmed glasses, her gaze curious and bright. Sandy-blond hair, thick and unruly, fell in soft waves past her shoulders. She looked nothing like the buttoned-up, no-nonsense woman he’d expected.
Instead, she had been colorful. A deep purple blouse hugged her curves, its silky fabric catching the light as she moved. Her multicolored, flowing skirt swayed around her calves, giving her a kind of effortless, bohemian beauty. And he hadn’t known he had a thing for women’s boots, but something about her ankle boots clicking lightly along the hallway as she led them to her office made his pulse hasten.
