Page 4 of More Than a Hero
Then there was her floral scent, delicate but not overpowering. Whatever it was, he remembered thinking he would follow that scent anywhere.
But it wasn’t just her appearance that had caught his attention. It was the way she spoke, her expressive hands moving as she described her work with the older people, herpassion evident in every word. Yet what had shocked him the most was that Angie had been focused on him.
Pete had spent the entire conversation waiting for the moment she’d inevitably shift her attention to Jeremy, but it didn’t happen. Her eyes lingered on Pete. She asked him the most questions. She smiled at him. Angie’s interest felt genuine.
She even teased him about being a man of mystery when they left. He never felt mysterious—just a man doing his job. But her offer to “stop by anytime” had thrown him. Had she meant it? Or was she just being polite?
With a jolt, Pete snapped out of his thoughts, his eyes zeroing in on the scene inside the pharmacy.
Angie had stepped closer to the counter, her hands resting lightly on the surface as she talked to the pharmacist. The guy smiled broadly, and Pete’s stomach twisted as he watched the man wink at her. From this angle, he couldn’t see her reaction, but something about their easy familiarity made him wonder just how friendly they were.
Was that the kind of guy she liked? Someone neat, professional, the kind who spent his days in a climate-controlled environment rather than chasing criminals through back alleys and wading through crime scenes?
She turned, waving goodbye to the pharmacist, and Pete moved quickly. He started his engine, not wanting to look like a creep sitting in the parking lot, watching her.
As he backed out, he caught sight of her in his rearview mirror.
She was juggling her purse and the pharmacy bag, shifting her weight slightly as she walked. That was when he noticed the limp again. It was subtle, but it was there. And when she’d knelt earlier to pick up what she’d dropped, she had winced.
The memory of her fingers wrapped around his flashed through his mind. She had accepted his help without hesitation, and that simple gesture stuck with him for some reason.
As he drove home, he found himself thinking about their brief encounter. She had babbled when he handed her the items she’d dropped, clearly embarrassed, but he hadn’t lied—little fazed him. Certainly not women’s hygiene products. But she had him completely off balance.
He pulled into the driveway and cut the engine, staring momentarily at the small house before climbing out. It wasn’t fancy, but it was enough. He had rented the house for the past several years. He knew many people thought renting was just throwing money away, but he hadn’t found a house he cared about enough to become tied to a mortgage.
His landlord considered him a perfect renter. He kept up the yard, handled the small repairs, and even split the cost on bigger ones. In return, she hadn’t raised his rent.
He was proud that he’d stayed in this house since moving to the Shore years ago. His parents had never put down roots. They would stay in one place until the rent money ran out and the eviction notices stacked up. Then they snuck out in the dead of night, looking for another barely affordable place to start the cycle all over again.
Shaking off the weight of old memories, he climbed out of his SUV and stepped inside. The front door opened into a combined living room and kitchen, a space that had likely been two separate rooms once, before a former owner had knocked down a dividing wall. A hallway cut through the middle of the house, leading to two modest bedrooms and a single bathroom. Nothing fancy, but comfortable. Lived-in. A door off the kitchen led to the side deck, where he’d built a small patio and firepit—his one real indulgence. Sometimes he had friends over, but mostly, it was just him, a cold beer, and the quiet of the night.
He did little in the way of making it personal. The windows had no curtains, just basic mini blinds. His furniture leaned toward function over aesthetics. Nothing was old or broken, but there were no designer touches or decorative flourishes. He’d never really thought about it before, not until now. Not until her.
A soft thudding sound caught his attention, and he glanced down at his overweight, aging cat as she waddled toward him. He smiled indulgently. “Hey, Queenie.” He held up the small paper sack from the pharmacist. “Got your meds. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll fix your dinner.”
He headed to his bedroom, secured his weapon, and took off his protective gear, setting it on the chair for the next day’s duty. Peeling off his jeans and shirt, he stepped into the shower and hastily washed off. Dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt, he hustled back into the kitchen.
Once there, he dissolved the pill and mixed it into Queenie’s food. She ate with enthusiasm, tail flicking lazily as she chewed.
While she ate, he pulled a container of homemade chili from the fridge. Over the weekend, he’d made a big batch, freezing most of it but keeping a few servings handy for quick meals. He didn’t love cooking, but he was decent at it. While growing up, he and his sister, Sally, had learned early that if they wanted a real meal, they had to make it themselves.
He heated the chili and some boxed mix cornbread, then settled at the small kitchen table, eating while Queenie finished her dinner.
But his mind wasn’t on the food. It drifted instead to her. Angie.
The few times he’d been around her, she’d worn something bright and colorful. She appeared full of energy, yet if he hadn’t been trained to watch for telltale signs in suspects he questioned, Pete might have missed the thin lines bracketing her mouth when she’d knelt or when he helped her up to stand.
He wondered if she had an injury. And then he wondered who he could ask. Leaning back in his chair, he scoffed. Jeremy would never let him live it down if he went sniffing around her without actually asking her out.
Shifting his thoughts, he tried to imagine her home compared to his. Hers would be filled with cheerful colors, soft blankets, and candles that smelled like the ones he’d noticed in the gift section of Stuart’s Pharmacy.
Would she take one look at his place and find it dull?Hell, how could she not?Then an unbidden thought hit him.Would she go out with me and think the same?
He shook the thought away, finishing his meal before rinsing the dishes and wiping down the counter. Queenie had wandered back into the living room, settling in for a bath in the middle of the floor. He followed, flipping on the lamp beside the sofa. The music channel hummed softly from the TV as he grabbed his book off the end table.
It was quiet. Peaceful. Just the way he liked it. Another thing he and Sally learned early was to stay quiet or suffer the consequences. No music. No TV unless their dad had it on. No playing loudly. The noise that came and came often was from his parents' fights. Their dad yelled about their mom spending too much money, and she screamed about the gambling and women he spent his on.
Even though he lived alone and could make as much noise as he wanted, he craved peace and enjoyed his time alone. But for the first time in a long time, he wondered what it would be like to have something more.
