"So, to the Bronco, I take it?" he muttered with a little grin, as we finished up the morning shift. "We got an hour today for lunch."

I really needed to talk to him and screwing in the back of the Bronco wasn't going to do it today.

"Why don't we go somewhere to eat first?"

He blinked in confusion at me.

"You know, the food here ain't half bad. Coulda saved us some time and made ourselves a tray, given ourselves the whole hour to—"

"I think it would be good to talk."

"Talk," he grumbled, his smile fading. "Right. You, uh, on the rag or something?"

"Uh… yes. Yes, I am," I replied quickly, lying through my teeth while nodding like a half-wit. It was such a crude thing to ask, but I'd replied to it all the same.

He seemed to relax a bit. Phew.


We walked into the fast-food restaurant and fear began to build in me with each step towards our booth. I wasn't a big fan of telling Harris that Lassard and Mahoney were going to be coming to the homeless shelter tomorrow, and the deal I'd made with them. Today was about feeling him out about being offered a promotion, and if all went well, to let him be totally surprised tomorrow. If I told him that they were coming, he'd put on some kind of irritating, contrived show for them, something completely insincere. They needed to see him, the real him that wasn't trying to impress higher-ups.

He arrived at the seat first, sliding in with a grimace.

"So, what are you gonna get to ea—"

"How's the C.O.P. program going?" I blurted, hoping to break the ice in a kind, non-threatening way. He was already on edge; that I could tell.

"Uh, well, it's going," he said, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously. "I put up flyers around the shelter so I can attract some of the homeless to my sessions. They could benefit from having a kind of watchdog group at their homeless camps. Rather than live alone, this might convince them to live in groups and have someone always on patrol for anyone who would mess with 'em."

"I took one, if that's alright," I said smiling and pulling out the flyer. "I can put it back up—I just loved seein—"

"Bad girl," he said in a husky voice. "You know how much a copy is at the library, let alone a color copy? Don't make me use my handcuffs on you."

"Ooo, I'm glad that you still have those," I said, and immediately regretted it when I saw his face fall. "Sorry," I added. "I meant—you know…"

"It's alright," he said, gesturing dismissively with his hand. "I just never thought I'd be here at this point in my life. Working for nothing. I need to start looking for a job."

"Wait—you mean, you don't like volunteering at the homeless shelter?"

He grimaced.

"You think I like wasting my weekends serving that slop to those dirtbags? What do you take me for, anyway?"

"Then why are you doing it at all?" I asked. "What, are you trying to win someone over or something?"

"Why, is it getting you all hot and bothered, seein' me in there servin' those dirtbags?" he said, chuckling.

"Dirtbags?" I said, making my disappointment clear on my face. I hadn't meant to make it so obvious, but it was disappointing knowing he felt that way. I'd really believed there was some selfless, charitable side to him.

Immediately he began backpedaling.

"I mean, you know I call everyone dirtbags," he quickly corrected, looking mortified. "D squad just the same; you know how it is. I'm not saying those folks in there are particularly unclean or anyth—"

"It's okay," I said, waving my arm. "Never mind." Welp. He certainly kept up a convincing front. I wish I hadn't learned the truth, and now I wasn't sure what to say, so I fell silent.

"It was a couple years ago that I swore to God that I'd feed the poor if I managed to survive a near fatal fall off a skyscraper," Harris started to explain. "That asshole Proctor recorded every word, playing it back to me time and again like a damn jingle in my head. It's not that I don't benefit from helping the poor; I know I do. It's just, I gotta eat, you know?"

"Here, lemme get us something to eat," I said, immediately feeling guilty as I slid out of the booth. Here I was, the black sheep heiress to a fortune, and I was proposing to eat food that cost money for our talk, rather than eat free homeless shelter food.

"You don't gotta do that, April," he said, standing up as well. "I can cover this cheap crap. I'm not destitute."

"Please. Let me. I was the one to suggest it."

With a loud sigh, he sat back down.

"Fine."


I came back with two some run-of-the-mill burger meals, and Harris dug into his like it was a filet mignon steak.

I could only stare at him in wonder. Was he truly not eating because of all this?

"So where were we," I said, trying to steer the conversation back to where I wanted it, a nice natural-seeming segue. "We were talking about volunteering."

"Yeah, well, it don't pay the bills," was the reply.

"Have you considered going back to the force?"

He froze in mid-chew, gaping across the table at me.

"My little press conference wouldn't seem so sincere if I was to sidle right back to the force right after, would it? They all hate me enough as it is."

"They don't hate you," I blurted. Shit. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at me.

"And how would you know that?"

"Uh, well, I'm at the academy, for one," I quickly explained. "I sit near the instructors' table. I can hear, you know."

"So you've heard people sayin' nice things about me? Like who?" Just then his shoulders slumped and he looked down. "I'm tellin' you, if you heard it from the instructors' table, then it's no one who matters."

"You always said you wanted the respect of your fellow instructors. What if your making that speech finally earned it?"

"Yeah, well, for what I said to mean anything requires that I follow it. Which means, I can't just go back."

We ate our meals for a little while, the silence and tension growing more and more uncomfortable. Eventually I couldn't wait any longer.

"Do you regret quitting?"

"What do you think?" he said, frowning. "I grew up in a family of cops. I've wanted to be a cop since I was a kid. My brother was killed 'cause he was a cop. I was destined to die a cop."

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, doing my best to frown and look down at the table. Secretly though, I was encouraged that maybe this whole thing tomorrow would work out, because it was apparently all that Thaddeus ever wanted.

"It's not your fault," he replied. "I should never have run my mouth about Tackleberry in the first place. Funny that the one time he doesn't shoot first and ask questions later, it's to save my ass."

"Right. Well, we all make mistakes," I said. "If I wasn't so difficult, I'd be a real heiress, with glittery gowns and country club parties and no need to attend a police academy. No stealing Corsicas. I'd probably have some luxury car and a beautiful house—"

"Is that what you want?" he interrupted.

"Ha," I spat with amusement. "Can you see it, me standing around eating hors d'oeuvres while wearing a gown that cost more than six months' rent?"

"Nah. Not now that I've seen you naked in the back of a Bronco," he replied with little grin. "That and the sweatsuit you wore one of the first days of the academy, that soaking wet sweatsuit. You looked like a drowned rat. There's no comin' back from that."

These cute little exchanges would have been nothing but smile-inducing if I wasn't so damn insecure about myself. Predictably, I pushed further, my mouth spewing out the words before I could stop them.

"I guess you hope I'll inherit quite the chunk of money, even if I don't know how to dress the part."

Now Thaddeus was frowning, his entire expression going sour.

"What are you talkin' about?"

"I mean, I am a Carnegie. The first thing you learned about me was that I was an heiress. If it's not for that hope that I'll be rich someday, I really don't know what you see in me."

"Are you kiddin' me right now?" he said, eyes widening as he exclaimed his reply uncomfortably loud. "It was only a little bit ago that I asked you to marry me, and it was you who said no. So don't gimme this fishin' for compliments bullcrap."

I was taken aback.

"That doesn't answer my—"

"Your last name means nothin' to me—it's just a name. In fact, I'd rather you take a different last name, as you learned the other day. Besides, I think my getting your future brother-in-law arrested burned those bridges with your loaded folks."

He grabbed my hand, his face going serious.

"I love you, April. Not your last name or your folks."

I felt faint. Had Thaddeus Harris just said that word? I didn't even get a chance to reply to it before he continued speaking.

"Anyway, it's me who's screwed now," he said, a hand on his chest. "Who's gonna want a soup kitchen volunteer with no income?"

"Then just quit doing it," I said with a shrug. "Clearly you aren't doing it out of the goodness of your heart; rather because you made a promise."

"I mean, it's really not all bad," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I know I sound like an asshole, but there's no one workin' in that shelter who can honestly say they love doing it. And if they do love it, then it's clear they're doing it to get their own rocks off."

I was taken aback that he'd put the word love out there in regards to me, not waiting for me to say it back or even leaving an uncomfortable pause. He just continued talking, as if he hadn't said such heavy words. Of course, he had proposed to me not very long ago. Maybe this would just be his style now, inserting heavy romantic phrases into his normal conversation.

"So now I'm left with no career, and the only pleasure I get out of any of this is some weekend screws and having some poor schmucks thank me for givin' them advice on keeping their junk safe."

"Sounds like you like helping people out with the C.O.P. thing," I stated with a hopeful smile.

"Man, you are tryin' so hard to make me into some kind of good guy," Harris replied, shaking his head. "I don't think I fit that mold. I mean, I am on the right side of the law, havin' been a cop and all, but does that make me good? Hard to say."

"You don't think you're good?"

"You yourself made it quite clear that I'm an unmarriable asshole," he said, holding his hand up as I tried to interrupt, "but I get it; I do. I didn't get on everyone's shit lists by being a nice guy."

"I don't think that. Not anymore," I clarified, finally able to speak. "Look at you—you're volunteering your whole weekend to the homeless, treating them like people, even if you are faking it. You're not trying to show off, and you're doing that C.O.P. program to improve their lives. Even the speech in the cafeteria that started all this was incredible."

Now I could see him narrow his eyes.

"So what are you saying? That if I asked you again, you'd say yes?"

Oh, shit. Now I felt like an opportunist. Tomorrow Mahoney and Lassard would be coming to the homeless shelter and not only offering Harris his job back, but also a promotion back to the rank of captain. I would never be able to fake my surprise about this visit tomorrow, at least, not for long. And yet, if I even hinted that something was going to happen tomorrow, he'd be suspicious and he wouldn't be himself at all. Perhaps I could keep some of it secret.

"Wow, you sure know how to put someone on the spot," I replied, self-consciously running a hand through my hair.

"That's not an answer."

"Well, your question is oddly phrased," I said, shrugging. "I don't even know what to say to that."

"Say yes."

"Say yes to what? Yes that I would say yes? Hardly romantic."

"It's not meant to be romantic," he said. "I won't take it as a yes yes. Just a yes to maybe yes."

"So if I say yes, that other question still remains unanswered?"

"Yes." He nodded animatedly to drive home the point. I swallowed before replying.

"Then yes."

Now a sly grin had spread across his face, his head turning to look around the fast-food joint. We were the only ones there aside from the workers; Harris's lunch break had been later than usual today. I looked around as well, wondering why he'd gotten such a sudden interest in the place after my yes to maybe yes.

When I looked back at him, there the ring was again, in the palm of his hand. Now I could see that it had a dark red stone on it. I looked down at it and back at his face. This time he didn't look so sure of himself, almost sheepish, in a way.

"So, I uh, would have preferred to do this in another place," he began, "like a restaurant with a dress code, for one, but I've already wasted enough t—"

"No," I cut in. "It's okay."

"You know what?" he said, tucking away the ring. "Never mind. You deserve a better proposal than an empty fast-food joint at lunch. I don't even have a job. I'm getting wayyy ahead of myself."

"Yes," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. Oh God. What was I saying?

"Yes, what?" he blurted. "Yes, I'm getting ahead of myself?"

"No." I started to feel hot in the face. I'd never felt so awkward in my life.

"No, I'm not? So what was that first yes for? Like yes you'll marry m—"

"Can I just say something first? It's important."

I could see his face redden.

"Okay," he said, looking anxious. "You're not a serial killer, are you?"

"Ha," I spat, holding up my hands in surrender. "Nope, just a former Corsica thief and ash tray litterer. I want to tell you about tomorrow."

"What about tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow Commandant Lassard and Captain Mahoney are coming to see you and offer you a promotion. I wasn't going to tell you initially, but I had to. I couldn't let you make some big—"

"Wait," he interrupted, holding up a hand, "why weren't you gonna tell me?"

"I wanted it to be a surprise," I said matter-of-factly. Of course, I wasn't going to tell him it was also because of the fakeness he'd display, knowing they were coming. I was still going to keep an element of surprise as to when so he would be caught off-guard, being himself at the homeless shelter; I was going to tell him that they were coming later in the day and not to the homeless shelter, if he should ask.

"What time?"

Ugh. At least I'd considered that he'd ask. I had my reply ready.

"Tomorrow evening. So I should probably go back to the academy earl—"

"Huh," he interrupted. "I guess you were trying to hint at that, saying you knew they didn't hate me and that you hear things. What, they come to you? Or you go to them and file a complaint?"

"They called me to the commandant's office, in fact. They haven't been able to get ahold of you."

"Huh, well, isn't that interesting," he said, a sly grin growing on his face, eyes staring off in the distance. "My, my. Mahoney and Lassard, kissing my ass…."

Now he looked at his wristwatch, a frown growing on his face.

"Well, I oughta get back," he said, grimacing. "Thanks for telling me, April."

"What do you think you'll do?" I countered, making a face, surprised at his curtness.

"I'll definitely live it up for awhile, let 'em really beg," he replied, his grin returning. "This'll probably be the only time I'll ever see this… if it even happens, that is."

Now he slid out from behind the booth, giving me a little close-mouthed grimace of a smile. I followed him out to the Bronco and we drove back, a tense silence between us. Wow. So now that he was destined to be a captain again, all that marriage talk had instantaneously disappeared, never to be mentioned again. Maybe he really had considered the idea that by marrying me, he'd have access to the Carnegie fortune. Had that just been an act of desperation on his part? Guess I'd never know, but I didn't want to push the subject, anyhow.