HE WAS A DAMN cop.

She recognized right off that he was in law enforcement.

The uniform. The gun. The commanding but neutral facial expression. The air of something confident and cool around him. She carefully kept her gaze away from his and tried to slink away. Ignore him. Turn into the kitchen. But oh, no. She was called over to serve him because he was sitting in her section. And since it was her first day of employment in this establishment, she had no desire to draw attention to herself by not following orders. Her job, serving at the small diner, was only attained by lying through her teeth and hoping no one would check up on the fake references or other information she had written down on her application.

Damn officer. Why did he have to sit in her section? And during the first few hours of the first day of her employment here? What was he? A sheriff? DEA? What? She couldn’t decide what branch of cop-dom he served in, she just knew he served in one of them.

And she hated law enforcement. All of them.

She had plenty of good reasons too. Cops weren’t known for being sympathetic to runaways that liked getting high and who often stole to survive and sometimes prostituted themselves. She hadn’t met too many she found exactly endearing. They were mostly rough, crass, rude, and one even bribed her into having sex with him. She gritted her teeth at the horrible memory. Yeah, cops were not the patrons she wanted to serve.

Oh, but serve she would. She supposed it was easier than many of the other things she’d done for several years. Sighing, she resigned herself to come closer to him. He slipped into a table all by himself and slid off a khaki hat that was covered in badges before putting it on the table.

Maybe he wasn’t a typical police officer. But he was definitely involved in law enforcement.

He wore dark green pants with several large, functional pockets down the sides, and a standard khaki shirt with emblems that indicated whatever rank he was. He was all tucked in, neat and tidy. Professional as all hell. His belt offered her the first clue that he wasn’t some kind of harmless volunteer. A big, intimidating, black gun was holstered on his side. There was a large walkie-talkie and other gadgets attached to the black belt around his waist. She glanced outside. He drove a beige-colored pickup with the state insignia on its sides. It looked very official with antennas that extended out the top and sides of it. She had avoided him at first, refusing eye contact, and no unnecessary conversation, as she did with all the police. She preferred to avoid authority at all costs after spending too many years on the street hiding from them. She came up to the table, slipping him the menu and pouring ice water into the clear little glass in front of him.

He had long fingers and no rings. She didn’t lift her gaze to look at his face. He had auburn hair, not quite brown, but not red or blond either. Chestnut. So what? His hair was nice. Might be the only thing to redeem him, she sneered silently.

“Hi. Today’s special is a tuna melt with a side of fries and cole slaw. I’ll give you a minute to look at the menu,” she said, speaking quickly while staring directly into his water glass. She turned to flee.

“Wait. I don’t need a minute.” The deep, even, commanding voice followed behind her.

Great. She took in a long breath to conceal her annoyance and keep her facial features pleasant and neutral. As neutral as his. She turned back to him and stepped over to the table, pulling out the small tablet the owner—a pretty, African-American woman named Chloe—had given her when she started this morning.

“You’re new.” The voice addressed her again. He was staring up at her, and she could feel his gaze. Still, she refused to make eye contact.

She nodded and mumbled, “Mmm-hmm.”

“When did Chloe hire you?”

Okay, this cop was a regular, obviously. She frowned and restrained a long sigh. Tapping the pen on her pad, she was trying to give him a nonverbal hint to hurry it up, anything, so she could slip away from him. “A few days ago.”

“I’ll have a hamburger, fries and a side salad, Italian dressing. I get in about now most days for lunch. Chloe didn’t mention me?”

She bristled. Oh great, a cop who felt so entitled, he believed she should know all about him. Perhaps she should have bowed down to him too. “No.”

A hamburger every single day? What a boring ass. She bit her lower lip to prevent any sarcastic statement from popping out of her mouth. No. She refused to lose this job. After spending the last few years doing things… too many things to get off the streets, this, finally, was her best shot at legitimacy. She wanted, craved, and longed to be mainstream, normal, and ordinary… To contribute as a real person in society. Now she was legit and she desperately wanted to find out what that meant. She couldn’t really remember anymore.

“Noted. I’ll go now and put your order in.” Your Highness.

He nodded at her but she only noticed from the corners of her eyes. Nope. Still refusing direct contact. Turning, she slipped away and rushed over to the cook. She was Chloe’s aunt and she waved at Tara, saying, “I saw him come in; it’ll be ready in a few.”

Huh. Cop-man even made the tough-talking cook, whom Tara hadn’t figured out yet how to approach, fall in line for him.

She returned to the crowds of the lunch diners. So far, she hadn’t spilled anything, mixed up any orders, miscalculated the bills, or said anything out of the ordinary or that might be considered discourteous. It was harder than she thought, first with the breakfast and then the lunch crowd. The place was called Chloe’s Corner Café. Yes, the totally cliché name made Tara cringe when she first found it, but the Help Wanted sign on the door motivated her enough to enter the establishment and fill out an application.

The café did a thriving business. There was barely an hour’s lull between the huge crowds. She kept running to the kitchen and back again for hours. Her feet were sore and bruised and her brain was full. It wasn’t hard work, just ridiculous amounts of multi-tasking. It actually turned out to be much harder than she had anticipated.

But she was nearly shocked to find she liked it. The people, ranging from young kids to old couples in their eighties, were all curious about her. It was a small, unpopulated town and she was new there, which ensued in a general curiosity concerning her.

She smiled and answered their questions, keeping things simple and reasonable as she described her history, or the history she wished she had. But the friendliness the people directed toward her was rather odd, and kind of wonderful. On the streets, when she was dirty and unsmiling, sometimes begging, or huddled up at odd places, most people disdained her, or they grimaced and looked away after clutching their purses or bags more tightly. Few people were kind. Few offered her any care or advice, much less money. Few treated her as if she were even a human being.

So seeing all the smiles on the café patrons’ faces was a welcome, if unfamiliar, treat.

Until the cop. She didn’t linger at his table or allow any platitudes to be exchanged. She dumped his lunch on her way to the next table. He apparently never paid for the lunches he ate so she didn’t go back to him. Eventually, he left an empty plate and a small tip. She took both and was glad he left, already dreading his presence tomorrow.

“Well? How was your first day?” Chloe asked. She was sitting at the counter, her books spread out before her, doing some accounting.

Tara sat quietly for a moment. Her shift was finally over. “I think my feet are bruised. This place is busy.”

“Bad busy?”

“No, the day flew by. I like that part.”

Chloe grinned, her red-slicked lips sliding over her shiny, white teeth. “You were very popular too. Even had a few comments about how polite you were. Marta, the waitress you are replacing, was practically the opposite of that. Hiring folly on my part. She was a big, strapping lady, and I thought she could eagerly handle the work load. No. Nope. She complained about everything and whined. Always short and rude to the customers, she heaved herself around here like she was being asked to do something out of the ordinary when she was only doing her job.”

Tara wondered, how long it had been since she outperformed another person in anything? She couldn’t think of a single task, let alone outperforming with her attitude and conversational skills.

“How’d the tips go?” Chloe nodded to the pile of ones and fives Tara had placed in her pocket.

Tara had to restrain the urge to pull the wad of mostly one dollar bills out and greedily count them. Chloe generously let her wait staff keep all their own tips and put an extra fee on her meals in order to tip her cook.

“I think pretty good.”

“Go ahead, you can count it.”

Tara grinned in response to Chloe’s nudge. She whipped out the cash and counted it. It was much more generous than she expected. And much needed. She had rent now.

Chloe started to speak when the door opened and a young African-American child came running in. He was skinny and small, bald-headed and adorable. Another woman waved at Chloe as she stood up and headed towards the tot.

“Thanks, Mrs. Beatrix!” Wyatt called over his shoulder. Then facing forward he said, “Hi, Auntie! Look what I made today.” He whipped out a picture of handprints all over it in the shape of the letter D.

“Look at what you can do, Wyatt. I love it.” Chloe glanced up, sharing a look with Tara. She grabbed Wyatt’s hand and tugged him forward. “Tara, this is my nephew, Wyatt. He gets dropped off here every afternoon until his dad leaves work. Wyatt, meet Tara; she’s my new server.”

Wyatt grinned and his gaze quickly left her to follow his hand. In a stealth-like manner, it was moving toward the candy dish on the counter above him.

Chloe pretend-slapped his hand. “Wyatt… no candy. I’ll get you some berries and yogurt.”

Wyatt made a face and withdrew his pudgy little hand, holding it out towards Tara while saying, “Sorry, Auntie. Hi, ma’am.”

“Hi.” Tara shook the kid’s hand, utterly charmed by his manners, his sweet little smile, and his squeaky voice.

“So do you come here every day?”

He nodded eagerly as Chloe disappeared. “Yup. Mrs. Beatrix drives her grandson and me from school. She drops me here on her way home. Mrs. B is our neighbor.”

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you.”

“I don’t recognize you.”

“No. I’m new in town.”

“Really?” His coffee-brown eyes were huge to begin with, but when he was surprised or interested, they grew even rounder. “Where you from? Anywhere neat?”

“Ah… no. Not really. Just a small town in California.” Yeah, that was the generic version of her history.

“You mean, where Disneyland is?”

“Not even close,” she said with a small smile, kneeling down so she didn’t tower over him. She had no experience with young kids. Nothing. With very few children in her life, she felt odd talking to him. Would she need to dumb down what she said? Or use a different voice? But he seemed to understand her without any problem. “I grew up a long ways from there. Not much like what you see on TV about California.”

“How’d you get here?”

Walked, hitched rides sometimes… She wasn’t even sure how she got anywhere. Nothing appropriate for little kid’s ears, however.

“I drove.”

He nodded and turned towards Chloe when she returned with his snack, scooting up on the stool to the counter. Huh. That was easy enough. Blunt and to the point, he accepted what she said, and Tara wished all people were that easy to talk to. He didn’t ask any follow-up questions.

“Want some?”

Tara tuned back in when Wyatt glanced up at her, holding out a strawberry in his hand. Startled at his sweet, innocent offering, she looked at Chloe who smiled as if to say yes. She put her hand in Wyatt’s and accepted the strawberry. His hand was moist and warm. Clammy, even, as was the strawberry. But she’d eaten enough garbage leftovers that there was nothing gross about it, and no way she’d hurt the little kid’s feelings. She popped it into her mouth and made a happy face of sheer pleasure. “Best strawberry ever. Thank you, Wyatt.”

He grinned up at her. “You’re welcome. Daddy says gentlemen always share with others.”

“Your dad seems wise.”

“He is! The wisest. And smartest. He knows everything.”

She smiled. She felt indulged and charmed. Never. Not once, did she speak that way about her own father. JR Tamasy had never treated her with any kindness. He had also never given her advice or paid any attention to her. So what did she know about what daddies did or how they were supposed to behave?

Chloe was called away by a new round of customers and she made a face. “Wyatt, behave yourself while I take care of this.”

“I’ll keep him company,” Tara said, looking around as she realized it was she who volunteered. When did she ever willingly interact with anyone? Especially some little, sticky-fingered kid? Still, he was grinning up at her.

“So what grade are you in?”

“Kindergarten. We go all day now. Last year, we only went part of the day. Now it’s all day long. I don’t like it either. I miss seeing my favorite show; it comes on after lunch. Dad says it’s good to start learning sooner rather than later... but I don’t think that.”

Dad was quoted a lot by Wyatt. During the next twenty minutes, she learned Dad was close to being a superhero. Wyatt recited all kinds of quotes from his dad. She was instantly engaged and eagerly extracting more snippets from Wyatt about his dad. Wyatt had a natural manner that was irresistible. His voice was high-pitched and it cracked when he got really excited, which was often and easy. It was impossible for Tara to hold back all the grins his little voice evoked with his constant, descriptive anecdotes.

“You should meet my daddy.”

“Your dad must be something pretty special,” she said. She beamed at Wyatt’s huge electric smile when he spoke about his unique daddy. The kid had a serious case of hero-worship towards his own father, which Tara thought was neat to see.

“Some people think so. But usually, they’re just the five-year-olds.”

Tara froze. She was facing the kitchen and her back was to the front door. She shut her eyes, suddenly sure that Wyatt’s dad had just walked in and it was his cool voice she heard between them. He stood right behind her, towering over both of them. Turning her head, the startled shock she experienced shone all over Tara’s face.

It was the damn cop!

Her mouth dropped open. She glanced down next to her, not meaning to appear so surprised. Wyatt giggled and exclaimed, “Daddy!” before jumping off the stool and launching himself at the man’s green pant legs. He seemed to ignore the scary-looking belt of violence. Wyatt’s dark little face beside the cop’s lily-white face was unexpected. Tara dropped her gaze, feeling stupid for staring, or gaping really. It was short-sighted of her to assume his daddy would have been African-American too. There was no reason Wyatt couldn’t have been interracial. She closed her eyes briefly and slid onto her feet.

“This is Tara from far away. She works for Auntie now,” Wyatt said as the cop swung the little kid up into his arms. Wyatt’s legs wrapped around the man’s thick waist, above the belt. Tara hated the belt, although it seemed half as menacing with the little kid he held in his arms. Wyatt tightened his small arms around the man’s thick neck and his fat, plump cheeks rested for a long moment against his dad’s face. He finally leaned back. “She’s pretty, huh? Like that one lady whose name I don’t remember… in that book… Aur—no, Cinderella. The blonde one who loses her shoe, right?”

“Right,” the cop said, chuckling as his gaze returned to Tara. She kept her eyes on his big black boots. They appeared menacing also. She blushed furiously. As if she liked being compared to the singing, housekeeper-slave sister whose only claim to fame was being pretty. She was also stupid enough to lose her shoe just so some rich guy could find her and elevate her to a higher station in life. Stupid fucking story, Tara grumbled in her head. But little kids always loved to hear them. And maybe her long blonde hair and serving uniform reminded the kid of the fairy tale. All of it was fairy tales and lies, of course.

She ducked her head, grabbed her purse off the counter, and stuffed her tip money into it. “I’ll let you go. It was very nice meeting you.” She scurried out the door before it even occurred to her she never officially met “Daddy.” She had no idea what the cop’s name was. Glancing at the truck that read Washington State Department of Fish and Wildlife, she paused for a brief moment. Huh. Not the authoritative agency she had assumed. What the hell did Fish and Wildlife mean? Why would anyone enforcing the wildlife laws need such a big damn gun? Were they still cops? They must be. She recalled all the paraphernalia he had attached to him. Whatever, he was still the enemy and someone she needed to stay far away from.

He did, however, have one of the cutest kids Tara had ever met.