“Thanks.” She tucked a stuffed dog under her arm. It was raggedy, the fur all matted.

I reached over to switch off the lamp, then brushed a hand over her forehead. “Sweet dreams, kiddo.”

“Sweet dreams,” she echoed.

I stood up and turned around, surprised to see Cole’s tall, broad silhouette in the doorway. “Oh. I didn’t realize you were there,” I whispered.

“Just for a minute,” he said quietly, slipping past me. “Wait for me downstairs. I’ll walk you home.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I said. “I live right next door.”

“I want to.” He touched my forearm. “Wait for me, okay?”

“Okay.” My pulse raced a little as I went down the stairs, even though I knew his insistence on walking me home was probably more about his innate police officer protective streak than any romantic feelings for me.

Even so, I went down the stairs and ducked into the first-floor lavatory. I checked my hair and teeth in the mirror, redid my ponytail, and frowned at my complexion, which did not seem any more glowy than it had yesterday. What a waste of three perfectly good bananas, I thought. I could have made banana bread in the morning.

When I came out of the bathroom, Cole was descending the stairs, which creaked beneath his feet.

“Ready?” He pulled the front door open.

“Yes.”

We descended the porch steps and walked side by side down the front path, and I made sure to stroll a little slower than necessary, wishing I lived several houses down and not right next door. Our breath made puffy clouds in the cold night air.

“Listen, I’m sorry about earlier,” he said. “In my room. I shouldn’t have”—he glanced at me—“grabbed you like that.”

“It’s okay.” I wanted to keep things light. “I suppose I was taking my role as your personal stylist a bit seriously.”

He chuckled. “Maybe a bit.”

“So did you have any fun tonight?”

He shrugged as we turned onto the sidewalk between our houses. “Sure, I guess.”

“That’s not very convincing.”

“Bachelor parties aren’t really my thing.”

“Did you have one when you got married?”

“Probably. Is it bad that I don’t remember it?”

I laughed. “It’s fine. Guys like you and Griffin, who actually want to be married, probably don’t even need bachelor parties. It seems like kind of an outdated tradition.”

“I agree.” He glanced at me as we headed up my mother’s front walk. “Do you want to get married?”

Oh my God, yes! my inner teenager shrieked. I thought you’d never ask!

“Someday,” I said. “If I can find the right person. I’d really like to have kids.”

“You should. You’d be a great mom.”

“Thanks.” Even in the icy air, I felt heat in my cheeks. “Griffin and Blair are just so damn lucky that they found each other,” I said as we reached my mother’s porch steps. Then I turned to face him and blurted, “Don’t judge me, but sometimes I get really jealous of them.”

He tucked his hands in his pockets.

“It’s not that I resent them being happy,” I said quickly. “I’m thrilled for them. But sometimes it feels like love is just a numbers game, you know? Some people are lucky while other people aren’t. And I think I’m just destined to be one of the unlucky ones.”

He studied me for a moment, then shook his head. “Nah, I don’t think that’s true.”

“No?” A brisk wind rustled leaves at our feet. “Then how come I’m thirty years old and haven’t found it yet?”

He looked toward the street. “I’m not saying it’s easy to find. And there are definitely a lot of idiot guys out there who can’t see what’s right in front of them—although most of them wouldn’t deserve you anyway.” His eyes met mine again. “But don’t give up . . . it’s worth waiting for.”

A shiver moved through me, and I wrapped my arms around myself.

“You’re cold. You should go in.”

“I’m fine,” I said, thinking I’d stand out here under the stars all night talking to him like this, no matter what the temperature. “I wish you’d come in and say all that to my mother. She thinks I’m still single because I’m too picky or not making enough effort. Like my soul mate is right up there on the high shelf, but I’m not willing to use the ladder.”

“Yeah, my mom gets on me about being single too. She thinks the reason I don’t want to get remarried is because I don’t want to move on from Trisha. But it’s not that at all.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “And frankly, my friends can be just as bad, calling me a monk or constantly telling me I need to get out there again. But they don’t know what it’s like to be a single dad, raising a daughter who never even met her mom. Loving her enough for two parents. Making sure she’s safe and healthy and happy and doing well in school and has plenty of friends and gets enough attention and makes it to soccer practice on time—or Girl Scouts or ice skating lessons or her therapist—while also holding down a full-time job with twelve-hour shifts. And in addition to all that, constantly reassuring her that she’s never going to lose me.”

“I’m sorry,” I said softly, my heart breaking for him. “That must be—”

“Do they think I don’t get lonely sometimes? Of course I do. Do they think I don’t miss sex? Of course I do. Do they think it’s easy to pretend I don’t need it or want it as much as they do? Because it isn’t.” His eyes were locked on mine, flashing with fire in the dark. “It fucking isn’t. But I’m trying to do the right thing.”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. His words had knocked the wind out of me.

He put both hands over his face. “Fuck. I’m sorry, Cheyenne. You did not need to hear all that. I don’t know what’s with me tonight.”

“Don’t apologize.” I managed a smile. “You’re only human, Officer Mitchell. You might look like a superhero—especially in uniform—but underneath it all, you’re a mere mortal like the rest of us. You can admit it. And you can always talk to me.”

A small, crooked grin appeared, making him look like a teenager again. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Cole glanced behind him. “I should get back.”

“Okay.” Impulsively, I moved forward and gave him a friendly hug, holding my breath as I rose on tiptoe and wrapped my arms around his neck.

He seemed a little stunned at first, but then his arms came around me, and I let myself hold on for a few seconds and just breathe—inhaling the scent of his cologne and maybe just a hint of fabric softener or starch from his shirt underneath. Reluctant to let go, I wondered what was going through his mind as we stood chest to chest.

“I smell banana,” he said, answering my question. “Is that your perfume?”

Laughing, I let him go and rewrapped my cardigan around me. “No. There were mashed bananas in the face mask I had on earlier. It was supposed to make my skin glow. Did it work?”