The Captain’s Crush by Freda Ann

Snapping back from my little trip down memory lane, a blaring siren pierces my helmet. I momentarily pull my gaze from the road to check the sideview mirrors for the cause.

I catch a glimpse of the police car behind me and ease my bike into the safety zone out of its way. Upon doing so, the marked car pulls behind me. I come to a stop putting the kickstand down and shutting the engine off.

Seriously? Relaxing my arms I force a breath out and rest my hands on my thighs waiting for the cop to approach me.

Hearing footsteps closing in, I turn to face them. Despite my helmet blocking a clear view, I notice a tall, muscular figure stopping a few feet in front of my bike.

Meeting his gaze, I see a man in uniform wearing dark sunglasses and his department issued hat resting his hands on his belt.

“Ma’am.” He gives me a slight nod. “I need your license and registration, please.”

Resisting the urge to ask the common question of ‘did I do something wrong officer’, I settle for, “No problem.”

Unzipping my vest I reach for the inside pocket, where I keep the paperwork. Pulling out what I need, I hand it to him and sit up tall while he looks them over.

As he scans my driver’s license and motorcycle registration, I furrow a brow studying his facial features. But when he senses me watching him, he lowers his hand and tips his head up staring back at me.

“Is something wrong?” The cop asks.

Curiosity gets the best of me the more I hear his voice. “Have we met before?”

Giving me a boyish grin as if he thinks I’m flirting with him, he dips his head and chuckles. “Uh, no ma’am. I can assure you we’ve never met, at least not until now.”

He hands me the papers when I say, “I guess not then. So, was I speeding or something?”

“Technically Ms. Marks you were going a little over the speed limit, but that’s not why I stopped you. There’s been a bike just like yours driving recklessly and cutting drivers off for a few weeks now. I’m just trying to keep everyone on our island safe.”

“Well, I appreciate that.”

He takes a step, stopping next to me while pulling his glasses halfway down his nose, looking over the top of them. “I hope you enjoy your stay ma’am.”

Peeking at the name tag on his chest, I state, “Thank you Officer Lewis. I’m sure I will.”

When he eases his car around me, I slide the papers back into my pocket. My brows raise up as his voice and what I could see of his eyes tickle a memory. “Wait, Officer Lewis? They wouldn’t use first names here, would they?”

I stare at the back of his patrol car as he drives away. That can’t be my Lewis, no way. He didn’t live here when we met. I could never forget his voice, eyes, or smile even after all of these years.