Booker was at the police station again: back to work. Wood was perusing the files he had stored in his office. They had no leads whatsoever as to who could have committed this robbery. Every path they seemed to have a chance with turned up a dud.

Booker couldn't think straight and it showed. "Are you all right, Booker?" Wood asked at one point.

"Hm? Oh. Yes sir." Booker went back to the dull work of reorganizing the files. Ah, to be a deputy sheriff, he thought wryly.

Try as he might, his thoughts kept drifting back to the night before, awake and deliciously aware of the body beside him. She was beautiful, there was no doubt, but he was sure now that he was really in love with her. This was far beyond lust or puppy love. Things had spiraled into a new and much more mature kind of love, and both of them seemed content to let it happen.

He thought back to what Jackie had said to him last night, nestled in his arms, her arms curving around his waist. "I didn't think I was grown-up enough to admit it, but I am really head over heels for you. This... this is amazing."

And he had agreed wholeheartedly. He still agreed. Nothing could outdo that experience. And now he was back in the normal swing of things, save for the letter she had handed him that morning as he left to shower and pick up a fresh set of clothes. She had kissed him hard and handed him the envelope with a mysterious smile and the direction not to open it until he had a break.

He could stand the suspense no longer. Looking at his watch, he saw that it was 1:30. "Uh, sir?"

"Yes?" Wood looked up from the papers.

"I'm going to take my lunch break now."

Wood sighed. "Go ahead. And take your time."

"Thank you, sir." Booker reorganized the papers on his own desk and left the station. He wandered down the street for a few dreamy moments, and then sat himself down on a bench near Wilsted Community Park. He pulled the envelope from his breast pocket and opened it.

Jackie's handwriting was still perfect, he mused, and began to read.

Dear Booker,

I was watching you last night. And I realized that something in you has changed. Not your appearance. You are still the same way I remember you, the way I described you in my poems for you: broad of shoulders and narrow of waist, long of leg, and handsome of face (what a sap I am, eh? And I rhyme, no less).
I know now what that change is. We've both grown up. And we've both got an idea of what real love is. I know back when we were eighteen we were in love, but it's changed. When you kissed me, when we finally did what we had needed and wanted to do for eight years, I felt a difference in your emotions.
Like I said, we've both grown up. And as for me, I can tell you with all honesty that I love you. And I can mean it with every facet of my being.
There is nothing about the past that I regret now. I know my leaving was meant to make me realize the true extent of my feelings for you. There were many guys in New York, just like you said, but none of them were you. So I wouldn't have any of them.
I was stubborn as a mule. Like you said, there were plenty of guys willing to love me. It was more a matter of my being able to reciprocate. And I couldn't.
Someone back in New York told me that finding the love of your life was a series of breaking hearts and getting your own heart broken too. I believed her. And I still do. But I think the road ends with you, just as it began with you.
I don't know if I've said everything I want to say here. Hell, I don't know if I'll ever be able to say all I want to say. Life isn't long enough to accommodate my stream of consciousness.
Anyway, I'll be at home tonight if you want to come over again. If not, call me. Maybe we can revisit the past and have five-hour phone conversations again.
All my love,
Jackie

Booker smiled and refolded the paper. How did she do that to him? Every single time. She was amazing.

His mind turned back to the disturbing thought that they still had no suspects in the stabbing case. It was proving to be tougher than they had anticipated. Wilsted was such a small town, making it either too easy or impossible to solve crimes, even though the biggest thing that had happened recently was someone stealing a cat... hardly FBI material.

Wood knew what he was doing, Booker was sure of it. He'd been in this business a lot longer. He was fifteen years older than Booker. He'd been in the Academy when Booker had started kindergarten.

He decided not to worry about it while he was on break. Life was passing him by, he thought, laughing to himself. Hardly. Not with the way his prospects seemed to be improving. There was a certain blue-eyed beauty waiting for him.

Booker decided not to make her wait a second longer. He hopped into the police car and sped off towards Freeport and South and a blue-eyed girl he was longing to see.