“Uh,” he seemed surprised by the question.
I realized it may have come from an inappropriate place and regretted it.
Roy shrugged it off. “Yes. And being distracted is dangerous, but I also think it’s for a wonderful reason. What I’m saying is...”
Knowing he had been thinking about me was a nice boost to my ego, but it was countered by the part of me that can’t stand to see someone suffer. “Thanks. I’ve thought a lot about this, too.”
He sat back, easing into his seat. “I’m so glad. It’s great that we could get together tonight, that’s all.”
“Agreed. Though I—”
Squish-squish. Molly returned. Pot of coffee in one hand, a large iced tea with a slice of lemon in the other.
She glanced at me, then Roy. “Sorry to interrupt.” She filled my mug and placed his glass on the table. “I’ll disappear in a wink. You just holler for me when you’re ready to order.”
“Thank you,” answered Roy, as I said, “Actually, we may be ready—”
We looked at each other and chuckled.
Molly cocked an eyebrow at me. “You don’t say?”
“Y’know what?” said Roy. “I think I could order now,” and nodded my way. “Go ahead, Miranda.”
“Thanks. As I said, I’ll change it up and take the pastrami on rye with a side of fries.”
“And two pickles?” nodded Molly.
“Well, yeah. Some things are sacred.”
“And you, sweetie?” she asked Roy.
“Everything I’ve had so far has been great. I’ve loved it.”
I dreaded the inevitable “but” that was sure to follow.
Unlike me, Molly’s smile doubled. “Just one more reason we love having you here.”
“But—”
The sick feeling of being right and knowing someone is about to talk trash about something you love filled my stomach.
“Both times I left here thinking, I should’ve had that Montreal smoked meat that Miranda had. So, tonight, finally, that’s what I want, please.” Smiling, he lifted his drink into the air with a nod to Molly and me.
Molly grinned. “I’ll make it a double so you have a little to bring home with you.”
“Perfect. I’ll take it for lunch tomorrow and make the guys jealous.”
“That’s what I do,” I said, with a chuckle.
The moment Molly left, I had to ask, “So, those jealous guys...do you work with a big crew? I’ve never done security. Any time I’ve been to the mall or a bank and seen security on duty, it’s just one guy working solo. Do you—what shifts do you usually work? I’ve been getting crushed with a ton of extra time and I can’t imagine what it would be like to work a nine to five again. Y’know?”
It was curiosity and frustration getting the best of me. The original plan had been to avoid asking questions about work and exposing myself to that line of conversation, but I’d slipped. Come on, Miranda, head in the game.
His answer was slow coming.
He started out with a “Hmm” that was deep in his throat and drawn out.
Then moved on to fiddle with his straw before taking an extra long drink, until coming back with, “The hours vary based on need. I love my job, and the people I work with depend on me, so I hate to say no to any extra time. Believe me, I’d like a little more rest, but I didn't go into this blind. This job is how my parents met and they put in the hard hours until retirement.”
It was all I could do to stifle the look of disbelief and the questions forming in my head. In particular, A family of mall cops? Who’d ever heard of such a thing?
I’m far from perfect and pride myself on having respect for everyone, regardless of their job, but from the moment he told me that he worked security it stuck out in my mind and left me unsettled. Despite mulling it over at length, I couldn’t put my finger on why. There’s a significant need for security, heck, a lot of off-duty cops I know pull extra shifts as off-duty security, but...
Maybe that was our problem. Some inherent bias on my part. If so, that sucked. He’s a sweet, hard-working guy and I’m a snob. Or maybe I'm just jealous that he can live that life. One with much less on the line and hours that allow him to have a life separate from work.
If I missed anything while I was in my head, it appeared he didn’t notice, and had continued to explain his job to me. “Most of my time is spent solo, but everyone’s just a call away.”
He sat back, chin high, smile large, and folded his hands on the table.
As expected and greatly dreaded, he served it back to me. “How about you? I admit that I don't know much about doing community outreach for a living.” His eyes lit up with what I assumed was an epiphany although I prayed it was a change of subject. “You’re sure you didn’t mean community service, like someone who wound up on the wrong side of the law and is doing penance?” The delayed chuckle that followed suggested he was more serious than kidding.
“Hey, I would rock one of those prison rompers.”
Roy’s voice became all late night soul and silky smooth as he said, “Yes, I bet you would.”
I didn’t want to like it—but I did—and that put my guard up. “Nope, never me. Never the wrong side of the law. Would be hard to help the community if I did.”
The urge to just be honest welled up inside me. Just tell him, Miranda. What does it matter? It's unlikely we’ll see each other again. Hot looks and a sense of humor aren’t enough to make him Mr. Right. Plus, you’ll be doing him a favor by sparing him a life of trying to deal with a partner who's never really off the job.
Then my brain switched tracks and brought me back to keeping the secret. If he’s not the guy, there’s no reason to tell him.
The truth of the matter is that I’m darn proud to be a cop. I love it. People talk about a calling. A purpose. This is mine. It’s more than a job, it’s an extension of who I am.
It was never a lie to say I do community outreach. Every day the goal is to make a positive impact in at least one life each shift. Unfortunately, I’ve had to accept that what I do isn’t well-received by many people. Somehow we’ve become viewed as the bad guy. The days of people being attracted to a person in uniform are long gone if you wear the shield. Telling the wrong person would leave me vulnerable. I’d seen it happen too many times to both men and women on the force. It was one reason dating only other cops made sense, but that had always wound up creating its own set of problems. Dating a guy like Roy was the chance to find what others call a normal life. It’s also why so many of us kept the job under wraps until we were sure we’d found the right match.
“Y’know what, Roy? About my job...” My palms went sweaty and my mouth went dry.
Squish-squish. Molly appeared to my right with two mountainous sandwiches spilling meat onto what had to be classified as platters due to their necessary size.
I sighed with relief and covered up by turning it into a gasp of excitement that matched Roy’s at the wonderful sight and smell Molly was easily muscling our way.
“Such flattery,” said Molly, sliding the plates in front of us before stepping back to adjust her apron and give everything a look-over.