Chapter 2 Reminiscing
Ethan’s Perspective
“Don’t you think you’re being a bit harsh?” Nate says, reaching for his usual chicken-and-sweetcorn sandwich from the Meal Deal fridge. “You’ve known her a week. Maybe cut her some slack.”
“I’m not being harsh,” I reply. “I’m being observant. For someone so small, she creates chaos. She talks a mile a minute. And every time I manage to say something, she turns pink like I’ve embarrassed her.”
Nate laughs and nudges my arm. “Or maybe your devastating good looks are throwing her off.”
I shoot him a look. “Or maybe I’m just a dick, and she’s trying too hard to please me.”
“Well, easy fix,” he says. “Stop being a dick.”
“I’m not trying to upset her,” I mutter. “But somehow, everything I do does. It feels like she’s walking on eggshells around me.”
“That’s just new-people awkwardness,” Nate says, checking the time. “It’ll settle. You’ll figure each other out.”
Outside, a couple are snapping photos of their kids beside our patrol car. When they notice us, they hurry the children away, looking embarrassed.
“Sorry,” the dad says. “First time in the UK. They love police cars.”
“No worries,” Nate says cheerfully. “Actually, why don’t you get a picture with my colleague? PC Anderson here is very friendly.”
I swear under my breath but put on my professional smile while Nate enjoys my suffering far too much.
Later, we’re cruising through town when Nate glances over. “You spoken to Emma lately?”
“A few days ago,” I say. “And no, she didn’t ask about you.”
He chuckles. “She will. When Spain gets boring, she knows where I am.”
I don’t say it, but I doubt my sister’s coming back anytime soon. Still, if anyone deserved her, it was Nate.
“I’m rooting for you,” I admit.
“She’s worth waiting for.”
We roll past a group of girls laughing too loudly, arms linked, clearly on their way to nowhere good.
“Miss those days?” Nate asks. “Parties. Hangovers. Regrettable choices.”
“I’m twenty-six,” I say dryly. “Not retired.”
He smirks. “Funny. You didn’t sound that young last night when you were complaining about your party-loving flatmate.”
“She was partying in my flat,” I say, reaching into my bag and pulling out a foil-wrapped bundle. “Remember how I said she’s a people-pleaser?”
Nate’s hand appears instantly. “If this is baked goods, I’m listening.”
I unwrap the foil. The smell alone makes my stomach flip.
“They’re apology cookies,” I say. “Apparently, she bakes when she’s hungover.”
“I genuinely don’t see the problem,” Nate says. “She sounds amazing.”
I hand him one. “You’re meant to be loyal to my sister.”
He takes a bite and practically melts. “Unless Emma can bake like this, I may need to rethink my life choices.”
I break my cookie in two, watching bits of oat scatter across the foil with a soft clink.
Mum used to bake all the time, just not biscuits. She was more of a cake person.
“You planning on eating that?” Nate asks, eyeing the other half.
“I was thinking about Mum,” I say, taking a bite. It tastes just as good as it smells.
Beside me, Nate brushes crumbs from his hands. “Yeah? Tell me."
I swallow. “She loved the kitchen. Never really did cookies, though.”
“What was her specialty?”
“Cakes,” I say.
The memories come rushing in anyway, warm vanilla, rich cherries, Dad sneaking a fingerful when he thought no one was looking.
Emma licking the spoon clean. Me whining that the cake was never big enough. My chest tightens before I can stop it.
“You alright?” Nate asks, turning to look at me properly.
“Yeah,” I say, forcing a small smile. “Just miss them.”
He reaches over and gives my shoulder a squeeze. “They’d be proud of you. I mean that.”
