“Would you like the lilies or the roses?”

My head bobs back and forth as I consider. The kind of flowers a man buys a woman can speak volumes. Problem is, I don’t know what message I’m trying to convey.

I love being around Naomi. She’s unlike any woman I’ve ever met, and I can’t stop thinking about her. On the other hand, I know where this kind of shit leads. I don’t need a woman clouding my thoughts, telling me what I can and can’t do, trying to control me. I like being responsible for myself. Things are far less complicated the less people are around.

I learned that the hard way, and I’m still dealing with the loss… by not dealing with it.

“I’ll take that assortment there,” I say, pointing to a safe bouquet with a variety of different flowers. I have no idea what they mean, but hopefully, it’s not the dreaded three words.

I’m not sure I’m capable of feeling those in my current condition.

The cashier nods and rings up the flowers. She slides them into a plastic bag from the bottom of the stems, the better to keep the water from leaking on me.

“Thanks,” I say, and I walk out. My thoughts are muddled. Should I have done this? I hate emotions. I’ve worked hard to keep mine from showing, though even I have to admit that the only result of that has been nightmares, where they pour out anyway.

Thoughts of Naomi drift into my mind. Her eyes sparkling beneath the starlight on my uncle’s boat. She looked so perfect draped beneath my jacket.

Beyond that, I’ve had to whack off a few times thinking about our time in her office. I want to do it again. And then maybe again after that. I remember she likes to watch, and I think up a few scenarios in which I can make that happen, all the while sliding her up and down my…

Well. Sex is one thing, but I don’t want things to get convoluted. When they do, bad things happen. I hold in a grunt of frustration. I hate not knowing what to do. The fact that I’m feeling this conflicted is a red flag. Should I walk away and leave things be? Is that the best decision here?

I step out of the flower shop and out onto the sidewalk. The air is getting colder as we edge toward October, and the leaves on the trees lining the street are tipped fiery red. A new season is upon us, a new beginning. I release a breath and start walking, forcing one foot in front of the other as I make my way over to Naomi’s place.

“Good morning, Ben.” I look up and see a young woman with a baby in tow smiling at me.

I grin back and nod. “Hi, Shelby. Having a nice day?”

Her hair is in disarray. The bags under her eyes could hold two years’ worth of luggage. She’s sporting a pair of trendy sweatpants and a hoodie, and her baby is bundled up in an L.L. Bean jacket, red plaid in color. I’ve often wondered if I have what it takes to have kids.

Before Shelby did, she was one of the most beautiful women in town. Of course, by the time I arrived, she was already pregnant, but even in pregnancy, she glowed. Her husband is a local lobsterman, and a good one. They do well for themselves, living by the sea.

Shelby shifts her baby in her holster and releases a tired laugh. “Yes, a long one. We’ve been up since four this morning, haven’t we?” She wraps her arms around her daughter as she addresses her, and her eyes are filled with love, even as they are loaded with exhaustion.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I hope you both get some good sleep again soon.”

“Me, too. For sanity’s sake.”

“Keep trucking.”

“Thanks, Ben. Have a good rest of your day.”

“You, too.”

I cast one last look at Shelby and her baby as she continues on, her shoulders slumped a little with the burden of a baby and a diaper bag. Maybe I should have offered to help carry something for wherever she’s going, but I’ve done that once or twice before. Shelby likes to take care of herself.

I continue my walk as my thoughts linger on Shelby and the baby. She’s exhausted, that much is obvious. Still, she’s happy. She’s being tortured by a tiny little person, sleep deprived, forced to meet demands every hour on the hour, and yet she still radiates pure joy.

Can love work like that? Can you accept the pain knowing that there’s joy in it, too? Where do the scales tip, and it becomes too much? It’s one thing with a baby. It’s an entirely different thing with another adult who can take care of themselves.

You can leave an adult at any time. Once you have a baby, you’re stuck.

I reach the boardwalk and inhale. The sea air clears my senses, the scent of salt and seaweed penetrate my soul. After going on tour in a desert, I never tire of the cold, clean air of the northeast. Again, I’m reminded that I made a good decision by ending my military career.

Now, if the memories could fucking leave me alone, I’ll be all set.

Naomi’s place is two buildings ahead. My hand is cold as it grasps the flowers, and it dangles by my side. My palms are sweating. Why the hell are my palms sweating? There’s nothing to be nervous about. It’s just Naomi. Sweet, beautiful Naomi, who has a thing for me.

I’m one house down when a back door slams behind her restaurant. My senses perk up, and I slide to the left, tucking myself against the building as I peek out. It might be foolish. Maybe there’s a loud door back there. I don’t think so, though. Door slamming is a language all on its own.

A second later, a man storms up the alley. I recognize him.

While I’ve been investigating the yacht case, I’ve been looking into every acquaintance old Skippy has.

The man’s name is Jordan Henderson. He’s got a record, but nothing that anyone could keep him on, and he was released fairly quickly after each capture. Never enough evidence to pin things on him, which is suspicious. It rings of corruption. He glances from side to side, and then he slams his hands into his pockets and strides off in the other direction.

I watch him until he turns a corner at the end of the wharf and disappears.

Is there a connection here?

First, Naomi had issues with Skippy and, now, Jordan. Somehow, she’s connected to them. But are they connected to the theft?

Maybe she’s been pulling wool over my eyes this entire time. Sleeping with me to keep me in the dark.

The suspicion is enough to send a thrill of anger down my spine. Still, I wouldn’t be a good cop if I didn’t obtain the facts, first. I walk around the back to the kitchen entrance, and I wrap my hand around the knob. When I twist, the door opens without hesitation.

Seriously?

I push the door open and step inside. I lift my feet as I step so as not to make a sound, and I keep my eyes peeled for Naomi. I step into the kitchen and there she is.

She’s holding a clip board and counting cans in a closet. Her shoulders are tense. Something’s wrong, but I have no idea what it is. It’s something to do with Henderson. It has to be.

“You know, you should keep your door locked,” I say, and she jumps and turns back to face me.

I can tell she’s been crying. Her eyes are slightly puffy, the skin around them red. I’m torn between wanting to comfort her and wanting information. Naomi is withholding something from me. That much is obvious. Now, I want to know what the fuck it is.

“What are you doing here, Ben? It’s early.”

“I could ask the same of Jordan Henderson. What exactly was he doing here this early?”

Her eyes narrow. “What, you’re stalking me now?”

Her tone is ice cold, and it fuels my own anger. I want to be angry. It’s an emotion I prefer over all the others.

“Actually, I came to bring you these. Imagine my surprise when I saw another man coming out your back door. Another man who happens to be a suspect in a crime you’re connected to.”

I plop the flowers on her counter. She doesn’t even look at them as her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline, her eyes still on me.

“So, now you’re accusing me of the crime you told me I was absolved of. I thought we came to the conclusion that there was no evidence to that end? Did you change your mind?”

“I have a right to, when people like Skippy and Jordan are hanging around you every day. When Skippy interrupts us by trying to steal another boat right in the middle of our date. I don’t think his presence there was a coincidence. I think it has something to do with you.”

“Oh, you do, huh? And what exactly do I have to do with this, since you’ve got it all figured out?”

“I don’t have it figured out, but clearly you know something. Why don’t you tell me what it is, and then we can go about our lives as normal?”

She hesitates, and I can tell she’s thinking. Since I can’t read minds, I’m stuck waiting for her to make up hers. She crosses her arms. Fuck, I’m not going to get what I’ve asked for.

“Why should I tell you anything? When I do, you obviously come to your own conclusions. Guilt by association, once again. Has anyone told you you’re a shitty cop? I should have known better than to get involved with someone like you.”

Her words have my blood boiling. I plant my feet and cross my arms. She wants to play this game? Let’s play.

“And the fact that you haven’t answered any of my questions about this should in no way emphasize my point? I might be a better cop than you realize, Naomi, and I’m going to figure this out, one way or another.”

“Well, you’re not doing it today! I’ve had enough this morning!”

She keeps her eyes on mine as she grabs the bouquet of flowers, then she storms through the restaurant to the front door. I have no choice but to follow. I don’t know what she’s about to do. She shoves the door open and walks across the empty street to the waterfront. She turns to look at me as she holds the flowers over the sea. I’m still on the other side of the street as I watch.

“Leave me the fuck alone, Ben. I don’t need another corrupt cop ruining my life.”

With that, she releases the flowers, and they fall into the sea. She crosses the street and pushes past me back to the restaurant door. She opens it, steps inside, and closes it behind her. When she looks back at me, she reaches up and locks it, all the while glaring up into my eyes.

Good. I walk away. I need a clear head anyway, because one thing’s for sure. Naomi Greeves is part of this somehow. Isn’t she?