Chapter Twelve New Assignments
Ephram
I arrived at the station early, greeting Gail who gave me her customary coffee mug salute.
I changed into my uniform before heading to my desk.
Setting my jacket on the back of my chair, I poured myself a cup of coffee that was more bitter than I preferred, and started working through the paperwork waiting on my desk.
It was mostly routine follow-ups and sign-offs.
The kind of slow, steady work that kept things running even when no one noticed.
I was halfway through a report when my boss leaned into the doorway of my office.
“Do you have a minute, Sergeant?”
“Of course,” I said, getting up immediately to follow him to his office.
He stepped inside and shut the door behind him with casual finality, gesturing to me to have a seat. He leaned against the filing cabinet, arms crossed, expression thoughtful in a way that rarely meant good news.
“There is a new animal shelter in town,” he mentioned.
“I heard,” I replied.
“Good. I want the department involved.”
I nodded. “In what capacity?”
“Visibility,” he said. That word carried more weight than it should have and I wondered where this conversation was going. “People like police officers, and people like cats.”
I blinked. “Cats?”
“Dogs too,” he added, waving a hand. “But cats do better online.”
Online.
I felt something cold settle in my stomach.
“I want a series of short videos,” he continued. “Friendly to the public, making the police of Maple Ridge look approachable. Something we can put on… you know... MeTube.”
I kept my expression neutral through sheer discipline. “I see.”
“You’re young,” he said, nodding decisively. “You know all about this stuff.”
I did not, in fact, know all about this stuff.
I knew the procedures . I knew how to read a room. I knew how to keep my voice steady when someone else was losing control. I didn’t know how to produce social media content.
“I don’t actually have—” I started, then stopped myself.
He smiled. “Figure it out. It’s good for the department. It’s good for the shelter. We need to foster more community engagement.”
“When do you need it?” I asked.
“As soon as you can manage,” he said. “Nothing fancy. Just… genuine.”
Genuine. On MeTube.
He clapped me lightly on the shoulder and sat down, already moving on to his next problem. Taking that as my dismissal, I went back to my own desk, having a seat.
I sat very still and let out a slow breath. I stared at my computer screen, then at my phone sitting face-down on my desk. When I picked it up and unlocked it, I scrolled through my apps out of habit.
No social media icons stared back at me.
I didn’t have an account. On anything.
I had never felt the need for one. I valued my privacy.
I believed in doing my job well and letting that speak for itself.
As a police officer, my personal life was supposed to be above reproach.
I had witnessed other cops get in trouble when something unseemly was discovered on their social media so I had kept that in mind, simply not bothering to have any.
I opened my browser and typed in a few vague searches. “Police social media animal shelter." “Community outreach police video." “How to not look awkward on camera.”
The results were overwhelming and unhelpful.
Some videos were painfully stiff. Others tried too hard. A few involved dancing, which I dismissed immediately.
I rubbed a hand over my face.
This was not something I could bluff my way through. And it wasn’t something I wanted to do poorly. The shelter mattered and the department’s reputation mattered. And, perhaps most pressingly, my boss’s opinion mattered.
I leaned back in my chair and let my gaze drift toward the window.
Lydia.
The thought surfaced before I could stop it, and once it was there, it stayed.
She had casually mentioned social media before.. Like it was simply another tool she used without thinking much about it. I remembered her confidence, the way she explained things clearly, without making anyone feel small. The way she stayed calm even when she was out of her depth.
Before I could overthink it, I pulled up her profile.
The follower count made me sit up straighter.
I blinked. Scrolled. Blinked again.
That was not a modest following. That was… significant.
I studied the posts carefully. The tone. The pacing. The comments. People trusted her and responded to her. She made it look effortless, which I knew meant it was anything but.
I set the phone down slowly.
Asking for her help felt like the obvious answer but it also felt personal.
I didn’t like mixing those things. However, this wasn’t about pride, this was about doing the job correctly, even if it meant admitting I didn’t know something.
I straightened in my chair.
I would ask her. Professionally. Respectfully.
And hopefully, she wouldn’t laugh at me for saying I was a social media virgin out loud.
I finished the last of my paperwork, answered a call that could not wait, and checked in briefly with one of the officers about a scheduling issue before going out on my scheduled patrol.
The day passed both quickly and slowly if that were possible and at the end of my shift I traded in my uniform and patrol car for my regular clothes and vehicle.
By the time I pulled into the Snowdrop Inn parking lot, I was aware that I had been rehearsing the conversation in my head for most of the drive.
The truck was impossible to miss.
It sat near the side of the building, half-decorated now, greenery lining the edge of the bed in neat, restrained rows. Lights were woven through carefully, nothing dangling or loose. A wreath was attached to the front.
Lydia stood near the back, hands on her hips, listening while two of her sisters talked at once. They had a wooden bench in front of them, bungee cords in hand, while one gestured with a wrench.
I stayed where I was for a moment, watching.
This was different from the Lydia I’d first interviewed. Not unrecognizable, but steadier and more grounded. Whatever she was doing here, it suited her.
Deciding it was better to get this over with, I exited my car and walked toward the group. I cleared my throat lightly as I approached, giving them time to notice me rather than appearing out of nowhere.
She turned, surprise flickering across her face before settling into a smile. “Oh. Hi.”
“Hi,” I said. “Am I interrupting?”
“No,” she said immediately. “We’re just arguing about how to put the bench in.”
“Do you need help?” I asked.
“Dad is coming any moment,” Meri told me.
“I still think we need to undo those bolts,” Kitty stubbornly said.
“We will know for certain when Dad gets here and gives us directions. I want to make sure it’s safe,” Lydia stated firmly.
For a moment I was proud of the difference between now versus when I had first discussed the float with her. “I wanted to follow up on parade safety. Make sure nothing here is likely to fall off or catch.”
She gestured toward the truck. “Everything’s secured. We zip tied everything down and gave it a tug to see if it was going anywhere before ziptying it again.”
“I can see that,” I said. “You’ve done well.”
Her shoulders eased a fraction at that and she gave me a smile.
Kitty opened her mouth to say something, but Meri grabbed her by the arm, pulling her away to chat privately.
Here it was, the opening to talk privately. The moment where I either asked or didn’t.
“I actually had another reason for stopping by,” I mentioned.
She waited, attentive but not impatient.
“I was given an assignment this morning,” I continued. “Community outreach.”
Her eyes brightened immediately. “Oh?”
“Specifically,” I said, choosing my words carefully, “social media.”
That got a reaction.
She smiled slowly and nodded. “Okay.”
“I don’t have any,” I added.
She blinked. “Any what?.”
“Accounts,” I said. “I don’t use social media.”
There was a beat of silence. Then she laughed, not unkindly, not surprised exactly, just… delighted.
“That explains so much,” she responded with a grin.
“I was afraid you would say that,” I replied.
She leaned against the side of the truck. “What is the assignment they want you to do?”
“A short series of videos about the local animal shelter. They need to be friendly and make the local police seem approachable while also advertising the needs of the shelter. My boss mentioned MeTube,” I wryly commented .
She laughed outright then. “Oh no.”
“That was my reaction as well,” I said.
Her expression softened, turning thoughtful. “Okay. First of all, it’s very good you’re doing this. Second, this is absolutely doable.”
“I was hoping you would say that,” I admitted.
She tilted her head. “You’re nervous.”
“I prefer the term out of my depth,” I said.
“That still counts,” she replied. “But the good news is, people don’t want to follow polished media influencers. They want what’s real.”
I nodded slowly. “That I can do.”
“Exactly,” she said. “We keep it simple. Short clips. Shelter animals first. You’re present, but not performing.”
“I don’t perform. I’m a what you see is what you get type of guy,” I said firmly.
She smiled. “I’ve noticed.”
We talked it through then, standing beside the truck as the decorations rustled softly in the breeze. She explained pacing, tone, and why authenticity mattered more than cleverness. I asked practical questions. The kind I always asked when I wanted to understand something properly.
“You don’t need to sell anything,” she said. “Just show that you care. That’s enough.”
That made sense.
“So,” I said after a moment, “would you be willing to help?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”
The ease of her answer surprised me.
“We can schedule a day at the shelter,” she continued. “Nothing elaborate. Just natural interactions.”
“That would be preferable,” I said.
She laughed.
My phone buzzed then, the screen lighting up with a new message.
I glanced at it. “It appears I have also been assigned to work the Hale Lodge gala.”
She nodded. “Crowd control?”
“Yes, standard assignment." I gestured toward the truck. “I should let you get back to this.”
“Thank you for coming by,” she replied. “And for trusting me with helping you.”
“It seemed logical,” I said.
She smiled at that, something warm and genuine.
As I walked back toward my car, I looked over my shoulder once more.
The float wasn’t finished. The shelter video wasn’t filmed. The gala was still ahead.
But for the first time since my promotion, I felt like the job was expanding instead of narrowing. Less about authority. More about connection.
And somehow, Lydia was at the center of that shift.
I walked inside the inn, thinking about shelter cats, parade lights, and a woman who made difficult things feel manageable.
That, I realized, might be the most interesting development of all.