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Stop being a bloody creep, Brad. The evening air feels heavier, and I focus on the remnants of my dinner, hoping to distract myself from thoughts that shouldn’t be there.

It’s just a trick of the light, I tell myself, a momentary lapse. I shift my attention back to the mundane conversations, trying to shake off the unsettling feeling settling in my chest.

Little did I know, those fleeting glances would become a subtleundercurrent in the years to come, weaving a connection I couldn’t foresee at that moment.

1

“Morning, Mitchell,” Daniels chirps, the cheeriness in his voice echoing through the dull police station. My eyes stay fixed on the paperwork as I mumble a greeting, fighting the urge to roll them at his overly upbeat demeanour.

Dim fluorescent lights flicker above our timeworn desks, casting a feeble illumination across the small police station. Here, time meanders at a pace slower than a lazy river’s gentle current, and the crime rate is as riveting as watching paint dry on a picket fence.

Yet, within the unhurried cadence of provincial life, I wouldn’t barter it for the hectic life of working on our family farm or the relentless bustle of city life. Xavier still gladly takes up the mantle on the farm.

Over the years, I’ve progressed from a young prospect to constable and now senior constable. Offers to transfer to Sydney or pursue loftier opportunities have dangled before me like tempting carrots,but I’ve swatted them away, one after another. I guess I’m too rooted to this town.

There’s a part of me that occasionally flirts with regret, the ‘what-ifs’ lingering in the corners of my mind. Yet, another part of me finds comfort in the snug embrace of this small town, where everyone knows everyone, and the rhythm of life—though it may seem monotonous, it bears the weight of a blessing in its comforting predictability.

“You look like you swallowed a lemon. What’s eating at you today?” Daniels continues.

“Same old, Daniels—your perpetual sunshine presence,” I mutter, the snark slipping through my usually reserved exterior.

He chuckles, taking a sip of his coffee. “Got anything exciting to deal with, or is it just the thrilling world of paperwork for you today?”

“Yeah,” I grunt, offering nothing more. I can feel Daniels’ gaze lingering, waiting for a more elaborate response, but I’m not in the mood for small talk or his attempts to inject excitement into the mundane.

Officer John Reynolds saunters in, a file in hand, and joins the impromptu morning gathering. “What’s got Mitchell’s panties in a twist today?” he asks, smirking as he eyes me.

“Oh, he’s in his usual sunshine mood,” Daniels retorts. “Today has dragged on, man… I need something exciting to happen,” he adds with a glint in his eyes.

“Good luck with that,” I quip.

Daniels jumps back in, “Well, on the bright side, you should be excited, Bradley. Less crime means more time to perfect your scowl.”

“Mhm,” I grumble, my tone making it clear that I’m not interested in pursuing this line of conversation.

Reynolds leans against the desk, laughing while flipping through his file. “Got anything exciting in that paperwork of yours, Mitchell?”

I give him a curt nod, not bothering to look up. “Just the riveting saga of unpaid parking tickets and noise complaints. The usual thrill.”

My words hang in the air, a heavy acknowledgment of the monotony that defines our days in this sleepy town.

“Come on, Mitchell. You’re just not appreciating the subtle art of small-town drama. Remember the time Mrs. Turner accused old man Mr. Whittle of stealing her prized geraniums?”

I raise an eyebrow, unamused. “Yeah, thrilling stuff. I’m living on the edge of my seat.”

Reynolds smirks, his amusement unabated. “You never know, Mitchell. One day, we might get a case that shakes this town to its core.”Yeah… that’ll be the day.

I scoff, more to myself than anyone else. “In this town? The most excitement we get is when someone’s cow wandersonto Main Street.”

The engine hums to life as I settle into the familiar leather of the police car’s passenger seat. Daniels slides into the driver’s seat.

“Ready for another patrol, Mitchell?” He grins, turning the key in the ignition.

“Just drive, Daniels,” I mutter, eyes fixed on the road ahead.

He chuckles, undeterred. “Come on, Bradley Bear, loosen up a bit. You might actually enjoy yourself.”

I shoot him a sidelong glance, my annoyance barely contained. “I enjoy doing my job, Daniels. No need for the extra frills.”