Chapter 3
Alex
The nice thing about living in a small town
is that when you don't know what you're doing, someone else does.
~ Unknown
The ground is blanketed with snow from the past three days. Along the roads it’s a slushy grey thanks to salt and neighborhood cars. But around my house the yard remains untouched in a fluffy batten of white. I’m unpacking more boxes, trying to distract myself from the inevitable.
I start work today—two to midnight. Four weeks of department orientation before I officially get my own rotation—the split shift.
My fridge hums—a steady companion in the otherwise quiet of my home. The scent of maple lingers in the air from my breakfast of pancakes and bacon.
“This is your fresh start,” I remind myself. No more running. No more excuses.
If I fail here, I’ll have to face the fact that maybe the problem wasn’t Marco or New York—it’s me.
I take a deep breath and my mind drifts to Saturday night.
I chuckle softly at the memory of the handcuffs.
Not exactly the way I imagined first seeing the station.
My uniform is pressed and hanging on the hook next to my closet.
I’m ready—or hoping I am. As ready as a woman can be entering an all-male station after being arrested by one of the officers.
You have nothing to be ashamed of.
Poor Jesse. He’s got to be taking a teasing for his faux pas. If this station is anything like any other group of guys I’ve known, he’s not hearing the end of my arrest anytime soon.
Detainment. I still hear his rumbly, commanding tone and the way it brushed low, right before he produced the cuffs.
My phone pings with a text. I pick it up off the counter.
Lexi: Good luck today!
Alex: Thanks.
I pause and add
Alex: I’ve got to admit, I’m a little nervous.
I barely hit send and my phone rings.
“Don’t be nervous,” Lexi says with a sweetness that momentarily calms me. “Well, be nervous. Of course. It’s your first day. But trust me. You’ll do great. Our town literally has no crime. The police here are good men—and now a woman. Even Jesse.”
The way she says even Jesse irks me just the slightest. I don’t know why.
If anyone should be upset with him, it’s me.
But there’s something about him that got to me—something that makes me want to give him a chance instead of dismissing him.
Maybe it’s the unusual combination of sheer confidence and swagger layered with a boyish insecurity—and him fainting.
I feel protective of him. I get the feeling he’d hate that.
I can’t help it. The way that whole group of women stared him down as if they weren’t surprised in the least that he bungled my arrest …
I couldn’t help but stand up for him. Not that he can’t defend himself.
I already witnessed his strong and stern side.
He doesn’t need me running to his aid. He’s a capable man—aside from mistaking me for a car thief.
I can’t shake the images of him, hands on hips, directing me to follow protocol, and then singing along to the carols in his patrol car only minutes later.
It seems there’s more to Jesse than the people of this town have acknowledged.
“Alex?” Lexi’s talking and I spaced out.
“Sorry. Yeah?”
“I was saying you’re going to do great.”
“Thanks. I think Marco did a number on my self-confidence.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Well, he’s not here. And I am. Ready to take my place in the department.” After I get a cup of coffee.
“What time do you go in?”
“Two.”
“Any plans before you head in?”
“I thought I’d check out that place you mentioned—Bean There Done That?”
“You’ll love it. I’d join you, but I’m volunteering to help with the Christmas play in Poppy’s class.”
“I’m fine. You don’t have to be my personal escort around town. I’ll find my way.”
“I know you will. Just be prepared to hear whispers of Santa-gate and your jail debut.”
“Seriously? That was only two nights ago.”
“Girl. Don’t underestimate our ability to spread news. I’m guessing your cocoa cup wasn’t even drained by the time half the town knew about Jesse’s false arrest.”
I groan, then I laugh despite myself. Small town life is going to take some adjusting.
One bad first impression won’t define me.
I lock up my house, even though Lexi told me no one does around here. I’m a New Yorker—we lock up.
My car arrived yesterday. I ordered it from Columbus.
I never needed one in the city, so driving the few blocks into quaint downtown Bordeaux feels foreign—both being behind the wheel and steering down streets without horns blaring or bike couriers darting between cars.
This place is straight out of a movie set—the gazebo, the town square, the old-fashioned shops with their striped awnings.
I half expect to see Lorelai and Rory Gilmore walk past me on their way to Luke’s.
I pull into a diagonal parking spot—one of the many open here—and try not to marvel at the lack of traffic, but fail.
The interior of Bean There Done That is hip and welcoming—brick walls, exposed ductwork, solid wood benches—but none of that compares to the smell. They must roast their own beans. The air is thick with baked goods and fresh, hot coffee. Am I drooling? Probably.
There’s a short line and I take my place at the back.
When I glance around, one thing stands out—every. single. eye. is on me.
It’s like one of those dreams where you walk into class and everyone stares—then you realize you’re buck naked and someone super glued your feet to the floor. I quickly glance down—Uggs, leggings, long sweater. Whew.
People lean in and murmur to one another. So help me. Where I come from we’ve got two modes. We either look through people or we speak out—boldly.
I guess the instinct to ignore others is a form of self-preservation in a city as crowded and busy as New York. The joke goes: You could set yourself on fire in Times Square and people would just step around you.
But, if we’re not ignoring you, we’re going to say it like it is—blunt, to the point, no beating around the bush.
And right now, I’m feeling the urge to set the record straight. No need to raise my voice—every eye in Bordeaux is already on me.
“Good morning, neighbors!” I say.
A few eyes go wide.
“Let’s just rip the Band-Aid off.” I throw my arms out to my sides, presenting myself for everyone’s perusal. “I got arrested. False alarm, no criminal empire here. Carry on with your oat milk lattes.”
The silence that follows my announcement is more pervasive than the one in my house. At least there, the fridge hums.
“Heeyyyy!” a jovial male voice rings through the shop. “Welcome to Bordeaux, Officer Alex!” The man stands from his table and approaches me. When he’s about three feet away, he introduces himself. “I’m Duke, Shannon’s husband. Thanks for being a sport about Jesse. He means well.”
“No problem. He was just doing his job.” I can barely believe my defense of him. I inwardly cringed every time Jesse repeated that same line of defense the other night.
“Everybody,” Duke addresses the coffee shop. “Say good morning to Officer Alex!”
I don’t blush easily, but a pink heat rises up my face when the entire shop joins in and simultaneously says, “Good morning, Officer Alex!”
I wave, feeling far more shy than I had only minutes ago. Little by little, everyone turns back to their conversations. Eyes drift away from me. The room exhales, and I do too—like I just ran the New York Marathon. No medal, but hey, I finished. I’m still standing.
I step up to the counter and order a double shot espresso latte. If the past five minutes are any indication of how today’s going to go, I’m going to need that second shot.
I glance around and pick a table near the floor-to-ceiling windows. Sure, I could take my coffee home, but after that entrance, slinking away would feel like the coward’s way out.
“Nice to meet you,” an elderly woman says, approaching my table and pulling up a chair. “I’m Mabel. I’m a friend of Memaw’s.”
“Nice to meet you, Mabel,” I say. “Any friend of Memaw’s is a friend of mine.”
She smiles broadly. “And don’t you pay any mind to what they all say about Jesse. He’s a good young man. Handsome too, don’t ya think?”
“I hadn’t noticed,” I say, taking a sip of my latte in an effort to hide the grin taking over half my face.
“Well, maybe you ought to.”
“I’ll take it under advisement,” I say with a soft laugh, hoping the steam from my latte hides the blush creeping up my neck.
What is it about that man? Maybe it’s just that I’m so out of my element.
I’ve gone six months without noticing anyone.
One messed-up night in a patrol car, and I’m tittering over him like a schoolgirl.
Mabel spends the next ten minutes or so regaling me with local news—“Just to keep you up on things, you being a cop and all.” I get the feeling she’d be spilling the tea either way.
“Well, I’ll be heading out,” she says after exhausting her current knowledge about all her friends and neighbors. “Got to help with one of the floats for the Christmas parade.”
We say our goodbyes and Mabel promises to stop by this week with a casserole.
Lexi warned me about the casseroles. Her instructions were to graciously receive them, refrigerate them for five days, then covertly toss them—double-bagged for stealth. I’ve never seen her so serious as when she warned me not to get caught throwing one out.
Maybe I’ll just eat them. They can’t be that bad … Or maybe they can.
I stare out the window of Bean There Done That, sipping my latte and watching life move in slow motion down Main Street.
People wave to one another—a lot. You’d think the whole town’s happily unemployed or retired, but most of them are under forty, so that can’t be right.
No one seems to be in a hurry to get anywhere—on a Monday morning, no less.
“Anyone sitting here?” a woman asks from behind me.
I turn to see Ella Mae holding a bottled green drink.
“It’s open. Join me.”
“I’m glad I caught up with you after Saturday.” She smiles warmly. “We didn’t get to talk much before the moms in our group cut the night short.”
“I guess that’s what happens when you have kids. You don’t?”
“Chris and I want kids, but we’re waiting a few years.
No one expected us to end up together—he blindsided me.
We’re just enjoying the early years before we’re knee-deep in diapers and sniffles.
Living here, you can’t really romanticize parenthood.
We see what it takes, so we’re pacing ourselves.
” She pauses, uncaps her drink, takes a swig and asks, “So, how about you?”
“Me?”
“Boyfriend? Fiance? Hopes for kids? Or … none of the above and I should mind my business?”
“Do people actually mind their own business around here?” I ask, smiling.
“I don’t know how it was where you come from, but here, if you sneeze, someone three blocks over’s going to say, ‘God bless you.’ Eyes everywhere.
And they aren’t used to outsiders. Just take it all in stride.
They’ll let you in—give it time. We’re like one big, happy, dysfunctional family.
I actually petitioned to have that engraved on the Welcome sign. ”
I laugh. “Yeah. Okay. No boyfriend. Ex-fiance. Kids … one day, maybe. With the right man.”
“Definitely not with the wrong one!”
We both laugh.
Ella Mae asks me about leaving New York. We end up talking about her social media career. I’m impressed. By the end of our time together, I think I made an actual friend. The thought warms me more than my latte.
“Take it easy on Jesse,” she says as we stand and push in our chairs.
“Everyone acts like he’s fragile,” I say.
“In a way, he is. But maybe not as much as we think. He’s been the brunt of a lot of town jokes—I know how that goes. Once you’re pigeonholed in a small town, it’s hard to change how people see you. Give him a fresh slate—even if he did cuff you at first sight.”
“Cuff at first sight,” I mutter, laughing to myself.
Ella Mae and I say our goodbyes outside the coffee shop. People pass us and each one of them says, “Good morning.” Some even use our names. No one’s whispering now. Maybe surviving your own small-town scandal is as easy as laughing along in the aftermath.
I head home to unpack a few smaller boxes upstairs, then I change into my uniform.
My house still smells faintly of maple and bacon from this morning.
The normalcy of it settles something in me— a shred of evidence that life here might one day feel like home, even on a day when I’m still the new girl trying to find her bearings.
I smooth a hand down my uniform and glance at the clock. It’s nearly time.
At one forty-five I’m sitting in the parking lot outside the police station staring at the glass double doors, only this time I’m not in the back seat of a cruiser against my will.