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“No.” He tilts his head to the side, as if considering it. “Did you want me to?” he asks slowly, eyeing me. I can see a hint of a dimple in his cheek and the skin around his eyes creases as he stares at me. He’s amused.

  “No.” I shake my head, eyes wide. Well, maybe a little bit. Not, like, right now or anything.

  “Where did you get these tickets, Miss Scott?”

  “I didn’t get the tickets,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m here with a date. My date got the tickets.”

  “Hmm.” He runs his index finger across his bottom lip. They’re nice lips. I hate that I have to note that at this moment, but it is what it is. He sits back and stares at me, silent. Why is he staring at me? I think he’s trying to break me, like good cop-bad cop. Except it’s just him. That, or he’s thinking.

  “I’ll need to see your ID as well,” he finally says.

  “Um, sure.” I unzip the tiny wristlet I brought to the game. This stadium doesn’t allow bags inside so I ditched my purse at home and brought this. Wait, I never put my ID in here. Cash, a credit card, my house key, phone and a Chapstick. Don’t panic, Chloe, I’m sure you won’t be the only person who forgot their ID. While being questioned by the Fed.

  “I don’t have it,” I admit and try not to bite my lip.

  He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms across his chest, watching me, eyes narrowed. “So you don’t have any ID on you?”

  “You know how they don’t allow bags at this stadium,” I say. “I threw my stuff in this”—I hold up my wristlet—“on the way out the door. It’s not like much fits,” I add, as I empty it out across the table. My key clatters against the metal table as the Chapstick hits the table and rolls towards him before I can grab it. He unfolds his arms and slaps a hand over it before it hits the edge. Then picks it up. I think he’s going to hand it back, but instead he rolls it slowly between his fingers and examines it.

  “Classic Strawberry,” he reads from the label and then his gaze flicks to my lips. At least I think it does, it happens so fast. He rolls the tube again between his fingers before standing it up on the table in front of me so it won’t roll.

  “Thanks,” I tell him. When he doesn’t respond after a long pause I keep talking. “I don’t understand what is happening,” I say, shaking my head in confusion. “Am I in some kind of trouble? Where is Cal?”

  “Who’s Cal?” he asks, eyebrows raised in question. This seems to interest him.

  “My date. I came here with him.” I point my thumb behind me to indicate the stadium and I realize my thumb is still shoved through the stupid hole in the sleeve. I yank the sleeve lower and slide my thumb out. “Why am I here?” I ask, shaking my head. I’m starting to get frazzled now. “I am not a criminal. I’m a second-grade teacher on a really, really bad date. It didn’t start that bad, I’ve had worse. But it’s taken a definite turn into”—I blow out a breath—“lousy.” I flop back into the folding chair and it squeaks for a moment before the room is silent.

  “His name isn’t Cal.”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “The guy you came here with is not named Cal,” he repeats.

  I mull that over for a second. Maybe I should just cross ‘learn how to date’ off my to-do list without completing it.

  “And if you didn’t notice, he ditched you.”

  “Ditched me?”

  “He saw stadium security headed towards him while you were still sitting in the stands. I assume he told you he was going to grab a beer and he’d be right back?”

  I blow out a breath. “Not beer, cheesesteaks.”

  “How did you meet him?”

  “Dating website.”

  “Yeah.” He shakes his head. “You gotta be careful on those things.”

  “You think?” I retort.

  He smiles at my sarcasm. “How long have you known him, Miss Scott?”

  “This is our second date. I don’t really know him that well. Obviously. He’s a firefighter, said he got these tickets from a guy at work.”

  Agent Gallagher tilts his head at me, saying nothing.

  Oh. “Not a firefighter either. Got it.” I shake my head and avert my eyes to the ceiling for a second to collect myself. “So why am I here anyway? Are you investigating tragically bad dates?”

  “The tickets,” he says, tapping his index finger on the table next to the offending tickets, “are counterfeit.” He pauses before continuing. “There’s a lot more to it than that, but all I can tell you is that your date has been taken into custody.”

  I nod. I cannot catch a break. Also, this is humiliating. Why does this agent guy have to be so hot? I’m all flustered. If this happened to Everly she’d end up with a date. I’ll be lucky not to end up in jail.

  “Where’d he take you on the first date?” Agent Gallagher asks. He’s tapping the pen against his lip, watching me.

  “We met for coffee. I never let guys pick me up the first time I meet them. They could be criminals, you know?” I ask, then realize it’s a stupid rhetorical question since I’m on a date with a criminal. Allegedly.

  He nods. “Sure.”

  “So I met him at this great little coffee place. Really good coffee, by the way. Close to my apartment, but not too close. Super cute…” I trail off, frowning.

  “What is it?”

  “I met him at Mugshots. That coffee place on Fairmount? That’s where we went for our first date. A place called Mugshots.” I slap my palm against my forehead. “Fitting for my first date with a criminal. It’s me. I attract weirdos. He seemed nice, you know?” I say, picking up steam. “You don’t know what it’s like out there. Cal seemed nice! He didn’t even send me any POD’s, which is more than I can say for most of the guys I meet online. I obviously have no business dating if I think the criminals seem nice. I’ve been watching crime TV for a decade and I’ve learned nothing. Nothing!”

  “What’s a POD?”

  “Um…” Oh, shit. “Never mind,” I say, waving my hand. “It’s not important.”

  “Miss Scott,” he says slowly, his face unreadable, his eyes intense. They’re brown, but with all this depth. Flecks of gold and green that draw you in while still being enigmatic at the same time. I don’t think I could lie to him, even if I had any talent at lying. “What is a POD?”

  I blow out a huge breath and glance away. I am never repeating this story to Everly. “It’s a dick pic.” I dart a glance back to Agent Gallagher. “Guys send them all the time. It’s so stupid.” I roll my eyes. “I don’t know why guys do that. Why do they do that?” I don’t wait for a response. “My friend just started calling them POD’s—Proof of Dick. She thinks it’s classier or something, but I think she just wants to invent a new phrase. So yeah,” I finish in a rush and shrug. “Sorry.”

  He stares at me for another moment, not saying anything, before he sits up and drags the notepad closer and starts writing again. He’s probably making a note about dick pics in my file. Wait, do I have a file? I can’t have a file, I’m a teacher, not a criminal. Anyway, I wish he would stop writing. No one needs a mention of POD’s in his official report.

  He asks me a few more questions, then tells me to sit tight while he verifies my information so he can release me.

  Another half-hour later he returns and motions for me to follow him. “I think we’re done here,” he says. “Do you need help getting home?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “I’ll catch a cab.”

  I’m not sure he’s going to say anything else, but then he kinda smirks at me and says, “Be careful with the internet dating,” before he walks away.

  Um, thanks.

  Four

  Chloe

  “Bye, Miss Scott!” The last of my students waves and bounds down the sidewalk to one of the buses idling at the curb. I wave back, a genuine smile on my face. These kids are the best part of my day, always.

  I’ve known I wanted to be a teacher since I was a kid. School was my
happy place, my constant no matter what was going on at home. My teachers supported me with kind words and patience and made me feel needed. I couldn’t wait to grow up and be just like them.

  I head back inside to straighten up my classroom before I head to the hospital. Sophie and Luke’s daughter was born yesterday afternoon—Christine Caitlin Miller, weighing in at seven pounds, four ounces. Luke sent us a group text shortly after, a picture of a bundled Christine held by a beaming Sophie.

  I sit at my desk and jot down notes from the day, reminders to myself on the kids who are struggling with one topic or another. I take notes where the children are excelling as well. Parent-teacher conferences will be here before I know it, and I want to have good feedback for each parent. But more than that, I want to ensure every child in my classroom is getting what they need from me.

  An hour later I’m walking into Baldwin Memorial Hospital, headed for the maternity floor. I know you’re not supposed to like hospitals, but I always have. I think it’s the activity. There are so many people in a hospital, like a small city filled with people working together to heal people. Some people might think sadness lingers in hospitals, but I’ve always thought the promise of hope is what lingers. People get fixed in hospitals. Bones set, wounds stitched. And brand-new human beings come into the world here, every single day.

  I still can’t believe Sophie’s a mom. It doesn’t feel like that long ago when we were all in college. I guess technically it wasn’t that long ago, but it feels like Everly and Sophie are light years ahead of me. Not that it’s a competition. It’s not that. It’s just the thought of putting myself out there again makes me kinda ill after yesterday’s date.

  I find Sophie in her room, glowing. Her light brown hair is pulled back in a low ponytail as she waves me into the room with a huge smile on her face. Baby Christine is perfect. I hold her, breathing in her perfect baby scent while she blinks at me and scrunches her face, then yawns. Everly arrives right behind me with her little guy Jake. He’s wearing navy track pants, a white long-sleeved t-shirt and a navy tie. Everly is two-fisting paper cups from Grind Me, the coffee shop chain she worked at with Sophie during college.

  “Still with the ties?” I whisper to Everly as she sets the cups down.

  “It’s a workday,” she tells me and I try not to laugh. Jake turned five over the summer and started kindergarten this fall. He’s a good kid, if a little serious.

  “One decaf pumpkin spice latte,” Everly announces, handing a cup to Sophie. “And a pumpkin muffin.” She pulls a paper bag from her purse and sets it on the rolling tray over Sophie’s bed.

  “Ahh, this is heaven.” Sophie moans in happiness as she pops a chunk of muffin into her mouth. “You would not believe how bad the food is here. I sent Luke home to take a shower and bring me something decent to eat.”

  “Well, I figured you could use a little pick-me-up from Grind Me. Just think, if it wasn’t for their coffee you might never have met Luke and Christine might have never been conceived.”

  “What’s conceived?” Jake asks from the couch. He’s slumped back, feet dangling from the edge, listening to every word.

  “It’s how babies are made,” Everly responds without missing a beat.

  Jake slaps his palms over his eyes. “Okay. Stop.” He asks if he can have Everly’s phone and she slips it from her pocket and hands it to him as she snatches Christine from me. I scoot over next to Jake.

  “Whatcha playing?” I ask him as he taps the screen.

  “I’m catching Pokemon,” he tells me, looking up.

  “Me too!” I tell him, pulling out my phone and opening the app. “I’m not very good at it though. I don’t have very many yet, but I got this cute purple mouse.” I hold up my phone to show him.

  “Auntie Chloe.” He shakes his head at me. “That’s a rat. You can catch them anywhere.” This kid. He calls us all Auntie even though none of us are technically his aunts. It’s pretty cute though, and I’m ecstatic to be an honorary aunt.

  “Humph, maybe we should go for a walk and see if we can catch something better? I think there’s a Pokestop in the lobby.”

  “Yeah!” His face lights up. “Mom! Auntie Chloe and I are gonna go catch Pokemon,” he announces. Everly tells us to have fun and off we go.

  You have to walk to make this game work, so we investigate the hospital, walking to the cafeteria, the lobby, the chapel, the gift shop and the coffee shop. Jake tells me all about kindergarten, his teacher and his new friends at school and his cat. He catches a ton of Pokemon before we head back upstairs. An elevator opens just as I’m trying to nab another Pokemon. We step on while I fling virtual balls at a pigeon. I hold the phone in front of me, tilting the screen and my body like it’s going to help me nab the thing.

  “Did you get it yet?” Jake asks.

  “No.” I bend my knees so he can see the screen too, continuing to hold the phone in front of me with one hand and using the other to swipe the screen, flinging virtual balls. I bite my lip as I lob the next ball. I think I’ve got ‘em this time, but a man clearing his throat catches my attention before I can be sure. I glance up, knees still bent as I crouch next to Jake, phone extended in my hand… and realize that at this angle my extended hand is inches from… oh, my God, this guy probably thinks I’m trying to take a picture of his dick. I mean, I can kinda see the outline of it, right—no, stop. I shoot up, an apology on my lips before I’m fully standing.

  “I’m so sorry! We’re playing this game…” I wave the phone in my hand as I say it, but then my eyes land on his and the phone is slipping out of my hand.

  It’s the hot agent from yesterday. Only today he’s wearing a suit. A nice one. Why don’t men dress like this anymore? Clearly he’s a man, and he’s dressed like this. I mean the other men. The men whom I come in contact with on a regular basis. They don’t look like this.

  Quickly, I bend my knees and scoop my phone off the floor where it’s landed next to his shoe. Dammit, he has nice shoes too. This is so embarrassing. Get it together, Chloe.

  “There was a Pikachu on your pants,” I say, referring to the Pokemon game I was playing as I stand again and my head jerks and I stumble towards him. Oh, Jesus. A strand of my hair is wrapped around the button on his jacket. How? How does this happen to me? I reach forward to free myself when his hand moves forward and grips my forearm.

  “Stop,” he says, his tone firm. “Hold still,” he adds, and I blow out a breath and still myself. His hand leaves my arm and he untangles my hair from the button as the elevator stops. Once free I stand, sure I’m beet red. I dart a quick glance at the man. His perfect, beautiful face is now showing a hint of amusement.

  I realize the elevator is stopped so I turn to see what floor we’re on and realize Everly is standing in the hallway holding the elevator door open with a smug smile on her face. She reaches out a hand to Jake as we all step off the elevator. “I see that you two met?” she questions with… is that glee on her face?

  Wait. Oh, shit. The badge. This must be…

  “No.” I shake my head back and forth. “Nope, I’ve never seen this guy before,” I lie. I will never hear the end of it from Everly if she finds out I’ve already met Sophie’s brother—while he was arresting my date. Just no.

  “Ahh, Everly,” the man says. “It’s been a while.” He slides his hands in his pockets and glances between the two of us and Jake, seeming to realize something. “This little guy must belong to you,” he says, nodding at Jake. “My sister mentioned you got married”—he pauses—“and you’re a mom now,” he adds, looking at Jake as if the notion that Everly is partially responsible for raising someone is a confusing thought. He’s not wrong, it is bizarre.

  Everly nods. “This is Jake. And this is Chloe,” she adds, nodding towards me, with a big smile on her face. Big. When she turns back towards Boyd I shake my head, eyes wide. I hope he plays along.

  “Chloe.” He says it slowly, as if testing the name out, r
unning his eyes over me even slower. Apparently he’s got all the time in the world. I fidget under his gaze before he speaks. “No, we haven’t met.”

  “Chloe was my roommate in college,” she tells him before turning to me. “This is Boyd Gallagher, Sophie’s brother.” She smiles, before adding, “The Fed.”

  Right. Way to be obvious, Everly. Why didn’t I put this together yesterday? Because I didn’t recognize the name Gallagher. Obviously he has a different last name than Sophie did before she got married, it just never occurred to me to think about it until now. I swallow and stick my hand out. “Nice to meet you.”

  He pauses for a fraction of a second, his bottom lip tugged between his teeth, before he removes his right hand from his pocket and reaches forward to shake mine. His hand is firm and rougher than my own, and I catch a whiff of his aftershave as our hands connect. He holds onto my hand a moment longer than necessary and I like it, but it makes me panic at the same time.

  “Sorry about the elevator,” I say, backing up a foot. I need space before I do or say anything else embarrassing. He looks even better than he did yesterday. Stupid suit. He’s easily over six feet, broad shoulders, narrow waist. His tie lies flat down his abdomen over what must be perfect abs.

  He doesn’t say anything, just trails his eyes over me.

  “Pokemon!” I blurt out when I can’t take the silence. See? I’m such an idiot. “Um, okay then,” I add in for good measure and cross my arms across my chest and look at my scuffed shoes. I’m wearing leggings covered in a donut print. Jesus, no wonder he was looking me over. These freaking leggings are all the rage at my school, all the teachers are wearing them. I normally stick to the plain black ones or a modest print, but no, I let one of the other teachers talk me into these during a pop-up sale. “The kids will love them,” she told me. “You can pair it with a cute denim jacket,” she said. I’m burning these the second I get home. No wonder I can’t get laid.

  “I was just coming to look for you,” Everly says, interrupting my thoughts. “We’re going to take off. I have to get home and make Sawyer’s dinner,” she deadpans then laughs. “I’m totally kidding. I just wanted to hear what that sounded like coming out of my mouth. Jake does have soccer though, so we have to go. You can show Boyd where Sophie’s room is,” Everly states as she jabs the elevator button.