5. Chapter 5

LA could take a cue from Paradise's most popular restaurant, the Garden of Eatin'. On the outside, it's just the kind of kitschy place you'd expect to find in a small town named Paradise. Unassuming, in an old brick building with a sun-faded sign hanging haphazardly above the door.

Inside, it's a different story. The décor is all soft lines and minimalist, similar to IKEA, but higher-end. And sturdier. The kitchen is mostly open, which means there's no hiding how the food is made. That's always a good sign. And, unlike so many trendy restaurants in LA, the food here is as simple and unassuming as the restaurant itself.

I've spent the past two days sitting on Georgia's couch reading or binge-watching cozy mysteries, but she insisted I can't stay in on Friday night. For a night out, the Garden of Eatin' is our best choice, not only because it's basically our only choice, but also because the food is too good to resist. In fact, it's absolutely incredible.

The menu alone could keep the place packed with people from as far as a hundred miles away, but on weekends, the restaurant's owner, Adam, play live music with his band. According to Georgia and Evie, they're really good. But Adam is also Evie's husband and Georgia's brother-in-law, so I take their claims with a grain of salt.

Especially when I see who's on drums: Bear Thomsen.

I should have known he'd be part of the band since he's Adam's brother, but here we are. Bear behind the drums, and me twenty feet away, working very hard to not look at the guy who's decided to hate me just because we both want the same old building.

Except he wants to use it to store a broken-down old car that doesn't do anybody any good. I want to bring books to a little town where the kids need something to do while they're waiting for the irrigation pond to freeze.

Not that there's anything wrong with a little hockey. I enjoy hockey as much as the next person. At least…as much as the next person who isn't from LA, where there are a lot of pro sports teams to cheer for. And maybe not as much as some people around here who have plastered their trucks with Salt Lake Miners bumper stickers.

The point is, books are better than hockey. And cute bookstores are better than run-down, boarded-up auto shops. Or, auto Shs, as the sign says.

Not that I've decided about anything. I'm just sayin'.

The live music starts a few minutes after our food arrives, and as much as I hate to admit it, Georgia and Evie were right. The music is good. Almost as good as the simple, Scandinavian-inspired fish dish Adam has created.

I know little about drums, but whatever Bear is doing to them—I refuse to look—is impressive. The beat vibrates through my whole body, pounding in my chest and sending my pulse racing, tempting my eyes toward the stage.

Just as I'm about to give in and look at Bear, my phone buzzes with a notification that I've got an email. I should ignore it and listen to the band. Pretend it's not the email I've been expecting all week and wait until I'm back at Georgia's to open it when I'm alone in the guest room. But I'm too nervous, so I excuse myself from the table and make my way to the bathroom.

After locking myself in a stall, I pull my phone from my jacket pocket and open the email from the Police Deputy Chief's Department. I have to read it twice to make sure I understand what it's saying. The words my brain has to digest are that I'm being put on administrative leave for thirty days while the department investigates my complaint against Captain Markham.

I knew this was a possibility, but it still hits hard. Technically, I haven't lost my job. I'll still get paid. I can keep my badge and my weapon. But the captain has a lot of friends in the LAPD, so even though the investigation will be conducted by someone outside our division, I have little chance of my accusations being believed.

I don't have eye-witnesses. Markham is too careful about what he says in front of whom. Basically, this is a he said/she said kind of case. I've worked a lot of those, and they rarely work out in she's favor.

So now I have to decide whether I should use this news as a sign—or an excuse—to turn in my badge or wait and see how the investigation shakes out. Moving forward with the investigation means charging into a losing battle in order to feel as if I'm not a quitter. Both choices suck.

A heavy drumbeat makes its way from the stage to the bathroom, shaking the walls with the steady beat of We Will Rock You.

When I played high school basketball, this song got me pumped and ready to go. But right now? Sitting on a toilet, knowing my career is spiraling down the drain in front of my eyes? It's the perfect background music for my defeat. Instead of Adam, Captain Markham could be singing the words himself.

To make matters worse, when I walk out of the bathroom, I have a direct line of sight to the band's drummer. I'm not only losing the will to fight Markham but also the will to not look at Bear.

He's so focused on the drums that he doesn't look anywhere but directly at them—through them, almost. I lean against the wall leading to the bathroom and watch him. The intensity he uses to strike the drums and work the foot pedal makes me wonder how many sets of drums he might go through in a year. I don't even know if that's a thing, but he seems to work out a lot of stress on this set.

My eyes drift from the swift, pulsing movement of his drumsticks to the hands that hold them. They're large and strong, but he holds the sticks gently, moving so quickly they become a blur. So I let my eyes travel the length of his forearms to his shoulders and torso, which are very much not blurry.

Defined is the only word to describe what I'm looking at.

The form-fitting tank he's wearing hugs his chest as if it were custom-made body armor, showcasing the shape of his pectoral muscles while also revealing every arm muscle in clear sight.

And it is a magnificent view…

Which he has to know and is probably the reason he's wearing a sleeveless shirt in the below freezing weather. He's showing off.

I roll my eyes, but when they're immediately drawn to Bear again, I notice sweat beads popping on his forehead. His arms glisten with the effort of marking the beat, and by the next song a slow stream of sweat trickles its way down his shoulder through the crevices of his biceps and triceps, all the way to his elbow. Drops of perspiration fall to his drums, down his nose, between his pecs.

And I am here for all of it.

All. Of. It.

But then his eyes snag on mine, and he misses a beat. Then another, and he glares at me until he picks up the beat again, as though I caused his mistake. As though it's my fault he messed up.

Just like it's my fault he doesn't have the money to buy his grandpa's place. And my fault his hockey team won't have somewhere to practice if I buy the shop.

I've been through all this before. My fault I'm "pretty" and too much of a distraction to work the hardest cases. Yet also somehow my fault that I don't have enough experience working hard cases to get promoted.

I push away from the wall and send Bear a withering look on my way back to my table. Britta is taking a break from the hostess stand and sitting with Georgia and Evie. They're laughing and talking like they're a big, happy family. Which they are, and I hate that I'm a little jealous that I'm not part of it.

I have a good relationship with my parents, but they've been divorced for a long time. Mom lives in Arizona with her new husband. My brother's on the force in the Bay Area, and we see each other once or twice a year. Dad used to be LAPD too, and probably the reason I joined the force. It's given us a way to connect.

But I wish I had sisters like Georgia does now. Or even friends like Evie and Britta are to her. I haven't had a lot of time to form meaningful friendships since I became a cop, and while I have plenty of friends at work, Georgia's really my only not-work friend. Funny, LA is a huge, sprawling city with literally millions of people I could be friends with, but its size makes it harder to meet people.

This is another part of the reason I wonder if it's time to leave my job and LA. The pressure of dealing with bad guys day in and day out makes it hard not to see everyone as one poor choice away from being a bad guy, too. It's getting harder all the time not to let that attitude affect my relationships—the ones I already have and the ones I could have.

By the time I return to the table and Georgia fills me in on what they're all laughing about, I feel as though my entire life is veering off course. If I'm not a cop, what am I? I'm not a Thomsen. I don't belong here in Paradise any more than I belong back in LA, working a job that—even without Captain Markham—weighs me down more and more each day.

"What's up, Buttercup?" Georgia nudges my knee, and I realize I've missed something. "Something bothering you?"

I force a smile and shake my head. But a few minutes later the music stops, Evie gets up to talk to Adam while the band is on break and Britta goes to the kitchen to help Zach clean up. So Georgia presses me again to tell her what's wrong.

"Something with work?"

I stab at the ice in my drink with my straw, then nod. "It's official. I've been put on administrative leave while my complaints are investigated."

"That's a good thing, right? That means they believe you, doesn't it?" I shake my head. "They didn't put him on leave."

Georgia purses her lips, and I go back to stabbing ice cubes until she breaks the silence.

"Let's say the investigation turns out in your favor and your captain gets fired—or whatever they'd do to him. Would that make your job better? Would you love being a cop again?"

I move from stabbing to stirring my straw around in the glass while I consider the questions. Georgia and I were roomies during the hardest years of my job before I got promoted to detective. The years when a few bad cops brought opinions about peace officers to an all-time low, and I was verbally assaulted regularly. I couldn't wear my uniform without worrying whether I'd be yelled at or have something thrown at me.

When I put in for a promotion, peace officer and community relations were getting better, but I thought I could do more good as a detective. I thought I could make a bigger difference investigating crimes than enforcing laws.

Instead, being off the streets put more distance than the uniform did between me and the people I'm supposed to protect and serve. The work itself is interesting, but my focus is on solving the crime rather than helping the victim. I'm assigned to the Organized Retail Crime Task Force, so a lot of times the victim is a faceless corporation—a Target or Walmart—that's been robbed. Markham doesn't put me on the flash-mob-style robberies that might be more interesting, even if the victim was still a corporation.

I'm all about enforcing laws and putting criminals behind bars. That's just not necessarily why I became a cop.

I finally shake my head. "I don't think I'll ever love it again. I'm not sure I ever did. I went into the job too idealistic. I thought police work was about helping people, but investigations are so removed from people. And the work environment is hard. I thought it would get better over time, but … it hasn't."

"I'm sorry, Cass," Georgia reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. "Service is your love language. You should have a job where you feel fulfilled, not belittled, because you want to help people."

Georgia knows how to wield a hammer both literally and metaphorically. With her insight, she's hit the nail on the head. Working as a detective isn't fulfilling in the way I thought it would be, and I can't blame Captain Markham entirely for that. If I'm being honest, the major reason I joined the LAPD wasn't just to help people, but to connect with my dad. After eight years on the force, I don't feel any closer to him.

But what if I do the same thing with opening a bookstore—idealize how my life will look, only to find out later that I've made a huge mistake?

"You're right," I say to Georgia, "I do need to find something, but I don't know what. I don't know how. If I'm not a detective, what am I? Besides a failure for walking away when the job got too hard?"

Georgia's brow knits together, and she holds my gaze with hers, looking more serious than I've ever seen her. "Life comes with pivot points that often masquerade as failure until you really step back and examine them. Use your investigative skills here, Cassie. Stop judging yourself and your situation so critically. Look at all the facts in front of you, and maybe you can see, rather than being forced to pivot, you're being given a new opportunity."

Her words wash over me, first rocking me, but then swaying gently to soothe me.

If she wants me to investigate my situation, I'll start by questioning her. "Are you implying that buying a bookstore could be the new opportunity I'm looking for?"

She answers with a shrug, one side of her mouth lifting with her shoulder.

"How would owning a bookstore help people?"

"It's not about owning a bookstore, it's about providing books for people." Georgia's half-smile grows to a full-fledged grin. "Think about it. You could give this community something they don't have: a place to fall in love with stories. You could bring in authors for signings. Plan community events. Create a gathering place for people who want to escape the real world."

I resist smiling back, even as her marketing tactics work their magic. Gathering place is playing on repeat in my head to the beat Bear, with his cousin Seb on bass guitar, are messing around with—a song I can't recognize because of the liberties he's taking with the riff. "I'm not sold yet, but I'll give you this, you really know how to turn lemons into lemonade, Georgia Rose."

"True." Georgia sits up as Evie slides back into her seat. "But I also know how to breathe new life into something everyone else has given up on. I can help you do that with the auto shop, and I can help you do it with your life if you'll trust me and take a chance on yourself."

"What's going on?" Evie asks, and I'm grateful for the few seconds I have to rein in my emotions while Georgia tells her why I need to follow my dream.

Adam and another guitarist join Bear and Seb on stage and pick up the beat. Immediately I recognize the song I couldn't suss out before. Come Together by the Beatles.

"I hope you'll buy it! I'd love to have a bookstore here." Evie bubbles with so much excitement, it threatens to spill over onto me. "I'll help you with whatever you need."

I glance from her to Georgia. "I haven't made up my mind yet."

"You don't have to. You've got thirty days to consider after you make an offer. But in the meantime, we can put together the loan paperwork and renovation plans."

I shake my head, but I'm not saying no. I can't deny the feeling that, even though my life in LA may be coming apart, things could come together for me in Paradise. I give into Georgia's prodding, the background music, and the smile I've been fighting.

"What about Bjorn? Won't he be mad at you for helping me?" I ask Georgia, then look back at Evie. "And you too, Evie?"

"Bjorn?" Georgia laughs. "No one calls him that. He hates it."

I shrug. "I don't know him well enough to call him Bear. And, the point is, he'll be mad at both of you for helping me."

Georgia and Evie are both Thomsens now, and my decision to buy the shop would affect their brother-in-law. They may believe my bookstore is a better use of the site than Bear's current hoarding there, but their loyalty should be to him first. He's family.

"Leave Bear to me," Evie says. "He's almost as stubborn as Adam is when it comes to wanting Paradise to stay the same as it's always been. I convinced Adam change isn't so bad and if people see you're serious, most will catch your vision. Even Bear."

Her eyes go to her husband's, who's back on stage with Seb and Bear.

He sends her an adoring look, then catches the kiss she blows him, which is so cute I want to gag a little.

When she turns back to me, her goofy smile is gone, and she's all business. "Here's the thing, though, Cassie. The best decision I ever made was listening to Georgia and starting over in Paradise. I have a job I love, and a man I love even more. I know it seems like dreams can't come true, but they really can. If you want this, we can help you make it happen and Bear will be okay in time. He's had a year to get his vision together, and it hasn't happened. You don't need to put your dream on hold for his sake."

Evie's assurance quiets the worries flooding my brain. Between her confidence in Georgia and Georgia's confidence in herself, I might have the courage to let Georgia make over my life. But thinking that suddenly makes it so I can't breathe for a second. Moving from a big city to a small town, giving up being a cop for owning a bookstore? That's a Hallmark movie, not real life.

But my real life kind of sucks right now, and I have thirty days for everything to unfold with both my dream and my reality. So why not see what happens?

If the bookstore doesn't work out, and I lose my job, maybe Paradise could use an experienced police officer. In a small town, I could actually get to know the people I was hired to protect. Maybe I would do both. Like Adam being the cook and the guitarist. And isn't Bear a plumber and a coach and, apparently, a very sexy drummer?

My chest loosens, and I can feel in my bones that I need to take a chance. It might be the only chance I have to redefine my future. "Let's give it a go. I might be rushing into things, and I'm for sure getting in over my head, but I want to try. It feels right."

But as soon as the words are out, despite Georgia and Evie's excited grins, my already unsteady confidence trips.

"That is, if I can get the funds in place," I add quickly. "I don't even know where to start. Who's going to loan me money for a bookstore when people don't read anymore?"

Georgia pulses with an excited energy almost as intense as Bear's drums. "Let's brainstorm the money tomorrow. I'm sure I can help. I'm also sure At Home With Georgia Rose could use an episode or two about an old auto shop being converted to a bookstore. That will drum up online business. You're not just serving the people in Paradise, you're giving readers everywhere what they want. Right, Evie?"

Evie's energy matches Georgia's. "Absolutely! And there are plenty of people in town who read. Adam loves to read. So does Bear. I don't read as much as the two of them, but I love wandering the aisles of a bookstore, smelling the pages, searching for the perfect story."

"Me too." I take a deep breath, almost smelling crisp pages and black ink under the aroma of meat and potatoes that permeates the restaurant's air.

Of course, the new book smell isn't really there, no matter how hard I try to imagine it.

But with the notice about my leave, I can finally imagine the possibility of leaving behind the craziness of my job in LA for a more quiet life. A life that might restore my faith in humanity, and my faith in myself to make the world a little better place.

I like both possibilities.

What I don't like is the scowl on Bear's face as he watches the three of us talking excitedly while Georgia sketches out some ideas on the back of a napkin. He knows we're talking about the shop, but his scowl helps me push away my last conflicts over his feelings. Healthy adults manage their own emotions.

He can scowl all he wants because I will make this bookstore happen. I have to. If I walk away from a fight with Captain Markham, I'm running head-on into this dream.

Even if I have to brawl with a Bear to make it come true.