I left the diner feeling better than I had going in, but that wasn’t unusual. Haven had a way of lifting my spirits, even after a lousy night. That was one of the main reasons stopping there had become a nightly thing. She always had a smile for me. The extras she added onto my plate were a nice bonus, too. As both a guy and a full-blooded Italian, I’ve always associated good food with positive feelings.

Haven McAlister. Graveyard shift waitress at Lindelman’s 24-Hour Diner. Light brown hair, pretty blue eyes, and a smile like an angel. I didn’t know much else about her, other than she was a great listener, never said an unkind word about anyone—except the occasional affectionate barb toward Wanda—and made a great cup of coffee.

Those pictures on her phone bothered me, though. I didn’t like the thought of strange men sending her lewd pictures of their junk. Cliché as it might sound, Haven wasn’t that kind of girl. I had a gift for reading people. Even if my well-honed instincts—a tremendous advantage on the job—hadn’t clued me in, her obvious embarrassment would have.

Someone else who was easy to read? Wanda. I’d seen the way she had left the phone right there at the counter where I couldn’t miss it, as well as how she’d discreetly tapped the screen to wake it up before doing so. Wanda had wanted me to see those pictures.

I suspected she was trying to play matchmaker. Wanda’s eyes had been on Haven and me more often than not, except when she was interacting directly with customers.

I would be lying if I hadn’t thought about asking Haven out myself more than once over the past couple months, but I always managed to talk myself out of it. Haven wasn’t the type of woman a man had a casual, no-strings relationship with, and that wasn’t something I was interested in anyway. The problem was, I didn’t have the time to invest in anything more meaningful.

I was a cop. I worked long hours and spent more time on the job than off. The limited free time I did have was spent with famiglia. With three brothers, two sisters, and a large extended family, there was always someone who needed help with something or other.

The night was pleasantly warm and the skies clear as I stepped out of Lindelman’s. The diner was located between the precinct and my apartment, a stretch I preferred to walk rather than drive. It was a way to de-stress and reconnect with the town I had not only sworn to serve and protect, but had also grown up in.

I scanned up and down the streets out of habit, alert for anything unusual or suspicious. An unknown group had been targeting small businesses. Since many members of my family had places in the area, they were at risk right along with everyone else. My parents owned a restaurant on the east side, my cousin Val had a beauty shop, and my grandparents owned a bookstore, just to name a few. Any one of them could be targeted next. I had already warned them to take extra precautions, but I still made a mental note to raise the subject again on Sunday when we all gathered together for dinner.

Solid leads on the case were few and far between, but I had my suspicions.

These guys knew exactly when to hit and how to avoid any security cameras, which led me to believe they were local and did their homework. Or, as Haven would put it, they “cased the joints” beforehand.

The thought made me chuckle. Haven had a thing for vintage cop dramas, and the oddest phrases would come out of her mouth sometimes, bringing old Bogart, Cagney, and Edward G. Robinson films to mind. That was something we had in common. I grew up watching the old black and white films, and I suspected in some way, they’d had something to do with me wanting to be a cop from an early age.

The low murmur of voices from the alleyway behind the convenience store brought my full attention back to the present. A group of guys were hanging back in the shadows. Conversation ceased when I approached, the smell of vapes and traditional cigarettes wafting my way.

“Evening, Officer,” one of them sneered, eliciting a few chuckles.

“Evening,” I replied calmly. “Everything all right here?”

“No complaints,” the same voice replied. More laughter.

I recognized a couple faces, well-known troublemakers in the community. Some were still in high school; others not too far beyond.

“That’s good. Mind telling me what you’re doing back here at one in the morning?”

“Just chillin’, Officer. No law against that.”

“No, there isn’t,” I agreed. “There is, however, a town curfew for those of you under eighteen. Anyone need an escort home?”

My statement was met with murmurs and grumbles, but it was the leader, a guy who went by the name of Slash, who answered for them. “Nah. They were just leaving.”

Unlike most of them, Slash was no kid. He owned a motorcycle shop on the edge of town and had the kind of rebellious, badass vibe these kids thought was cool. Those who were smart figured out he wasn’t. Those who weren’t ended up just like him—skulking around in back alleys, getting into trouble, and wasting their lives.

I stood by until they had all filed out, committing the faces, mannerisms, and distinguishing characteristics of those with whom I wasn’t already familiar to memory. When the last one rounded the corner, I exhaled then went to speak to the owner of the convenience store. I told him about the boys who had been hanging around and urged him to be extra cautious. He thanked me and assured me he would.

I arrived at my apartment without further incident. After grabbing a quick shower, I dragged my tired ass to bed, groaning when I looked at the clock. Technically, my next shift didn’t start for another fourteen hours or so, but I had a nine-a.m. court appearance I had to make.

My last thoughts before I drifted off were of Haven. Where did she go when she left the diner? Did she walk or drive? Did she live alone, or was there someone waiting for her? A family, perhaps? A significant other?

I scowled into the darkness. It was none of my business. I had already overstepped by impulsively programming my personal number into her phone in case she needed me. It wasn’t completely unheard of—I’d given it out before—but only in special circumstances.

Haven is special, an inner voice whispered.

Yes, there was something special about her. She was kind and thoughtful, a gentle soul who deserved someone who could offer her a lot more than a lot of lonely nights worrying about his sorry ass.

Being a cop had its risks. That was just part of the job. I couldn’t imagine being anything else, though. I’d never wanted to be anything else. After God and family, it was the most important thing in my life, and sometimes, a little sacrifice was necessary.

La mia famiglia, my matchmaking grandfather and mother especially, didn’t believe my career choice precluded me from having a wife and kids of my own, but I wasn’t convinced. I had seen plenty of evidence that suggested otherwise. The risk, the focus, the long hours, the uncertainty—those things put a lot of stress on a relationship. I hadn’t found a woman yet who understood that, nor willing to step back and occasionally take second place to my job.

I turned over and punched my pillow when another image of Haven crossed my mind, one of her smiling shyly as I teased her about something or other. She knew what I was, what I did. Maybe, I thought as I felt sleep start to overwhelm me, she would understand ...