It was a slow Sunday morning in Gabby’s café, so as customers trickled in like the last few drops of coffee into a mug, she reviewed the pages of her latest case file. Jenna Macintosh was a five-foot-nothing scraggly blond with doe eyes so big they almost made you forget she had a habit of conning suckers for their money and skipping bail.  “I’m gonna track you down,” she said to the most recent picture she had found of the fugitive, sounding more confident than she actually felt.  “Right after this shift.” Gabby flipped the folder shut again for emphasis. A certain squeak of tactical boots on tile signaled the approach of one of her old pals.  “Does talking to yourself help you catch the bad guys? Why don’t you leave this stuff to the pros?” Chester teased.  Despite his badge and gun and thick brown beard, when Gabby looked at him, she still saw the little boy from down the road she used to cause trouble with. Those were the good days, before they became the ones straightening out troublemakers. She made him his usual— large coffee, cream, two sugars. “Keep talking, Chess, and I’ll take the apple crumble off of the rotation.” He made a motion of zipping his mouth shut and throwing away the key. Smiling, Gabby slid his coffee and pastry over.  “Now scram. Go loiter around with your cop buddies.” The café was a popular hang-out spot for police officers, being that it was only a stone’s throw away from the station. Then again, almost everything was within a few minutes drive away. Gabby lived in a small, tight-knit town that seemed to be permanently blanketed in mist-like rain. Small towns had their pros and cons— and one of those cons just walked through the door. His name was Miles, fitting since Gabby wanted nothing more than to be catapulted a million miles away from him. But she had no such luck. The plain clothes cop with annoyingly perfect hair and chocolate brown eyes made his way to the register. She wanted to bury herself under a pile of croissants to hide from the embarrassment. Instead, she wiped her hands on her apron and plastered on her best customer service smile. She even resisted the urge to fix her bangs, her usual telltale sign of nervousness. But now that she was thinking about it, Miles also seemed a little nervous, which was odd.  He fidgeted with a hangnail on his finger as he spoke. “Morning, Gabriela. You look so pretty today, I bet you’d even look good in a mugshot.” Her eyebrows scrunched together with confusion. What the hell? Was she being pranked? If he was being genuine, that was the strangest compliment she had ever received, especially since it was coming from a man who had rejected her just two weeks ago. “I can’t tell if you’re arresting me or flirting with me,” she said. Miles winced. “Sorry. It was a really bad attempt at the latter. Listen, I need to talk to you, to explain myself. Do you want to get coffee sometime?” She was only half listening, his mention of mugshots had sparked an idea inside her brain. “Sure, we have coffee here,” she mumbled over her shoulder as she headed toward the extra storage room.  After entering the code to unlock the door, Gabby retrieved the other files she had on Jenna. She had spent hours pouring over that recent picture of the criminal, but not as much on the older ones. Maybe those could give her a hint as to where Jenna was. Files in hand, Gabby led Miles to a table at the back of the café. She had clocked out as a barista and was now clocking in as a bounty hunter. “You can tell me whatever you need to say while I look over these pictures,” she said, sliding into the leather booth. As much as Miles still made her pulse quicken, her work was more important.  “Gabriela.” Work? What work? The way he said her name made her head snap up. His voice was warm honey, smooth and sweet.  He sighed. “I regret turning you down,” he said, holding her gaze with so much intensity it made goosebumps prick her skin.  “I had just finished talking to Chester, and he told me to not get any more involved with you unless I was serious. He told me he’d skin me alive if I hurt you. And now I feel like I’ve done exactly what I was trying to avoid.”  She nodded slowly. This was a lot to take in. “I just needed time to think. Honestly, these past couple weeks without you have been rough— and not just because I’ve been missing out on your famous apple crumble.”  Gabby could see the exhaustion straining his face now. Like the bags under his slightly bloodshot eyes. His hair still looked perfectly soft and effortless, though. If she decided to forgive him, she’d definitely do some sleuthing at his apartment to find out what shampoo he used. Although it was probably just that 3-in-1 shit men think is the holy trinity.  “Why didn’t you tell me all of this before?” She asked. “Don’t pretend you haven’t been avoiding me.” “Some of us have multiple jobs you know,” she said, because it was easier. Easier than saying, _of course I’ve been avoiding you, you made me feel like an idiot for asking you out on a date.  _ “Speaking of jobs, I should get back to these files,” she said. He tilted his head to see the images better. “Is that Jenna Macintosh?”  “Yeah, she failed to appear in court after being arrested for another insurance scam.” “I’m looking for her too, apparently she’s a witness in a murder investigation.”  Another thing about small towns: everything is always connected. This can be a pro or a con. Gabby hadn’t decided yet which it was in this scenario.  “It seems like she’s completely disappeared,” she said, sliding down the booth so that Miles could sit beside her and study the pictures and mugshots, too. It could be helpful to have a second pair of eyes. He pointed at a small logo on the sleeve of one of Jenna’s shirts. “Almost all of her clothes are from the same brand.”  Gabby recognized it to belong to a tacky store on the main strip. “She must go to that place often then.” Standing up, Miles asked, “Do you want to come with me? You know, for efficiency’s sake and saving gas and all that.” His eyes were twinkling. “Alright. But I’m not going with you. You are coming with _me_.”  There were three vehicles in the parking lot. Miles’ squad car and a sleek Mercedes. And then there was Gabby’s, which was struggling to continue meeting the criteria needed to be classified as a car with each passing hour. Sure, it had four wheels and an engine, but it coughed up more smoke than a cigar addict and often needed a push to get started. The windows were permanently stuck closed. The passenger side door also had a funny tendency to not want to open sometimes.  But Gabby and Miles got in regardless.  He looked out the window, shaking his head. “That really was such a horrible pickup line.” “I might let you try again,” she said with a small smile, mentally adding Miles to the pros list.