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the way to the hospital.
    I barely had time to settle in at work before we were bombarded with patients. I soon realized the majority of Belfast had come to see me, curious and nosey, but not ill or injured.
    "Gossip fodder," a deep voice said with a chuckle.
    I looked up to find a uniformed officer smiling under a greying moustache. "Chief Peters," he announced with a firm handshake. I immediately liked him.
    "Don’t mind the locals," he told me. "They'll lose interest in you when someone new comes along."
    He talked of his town like it was in his blood and told me he , meaning the entire town of Belfast, was pleased to have me. He asked me how I was finding it, and I told him how I did a bit of sightseeing yesterday and how my housemate showed me around.
    "Ah, the painter... Trent Jamieson," he recalled. "How's the house coming along? Is he nearly done?"
    I remembered the real estate lady telling me my housemate would only be staying in Belfast for as long as he was painting the house. "Still a bit of work to do," I said. "It’s a big old house."
    Chief Peters launched into the history of the house and who'd lived in it for the last however many years. I didn’t pay much attention because my mind was stuck on Trent leaving town.
    And I wasn’t sure I liked that idea.
    "He seems like a nice kid," Chief Peters said, "a bit of a wanderer." Then he grinned. "The women of Belfast won't know what to do with two new youngbloods in town. Tongues are wagging, hearts are aflutter already," he laughed at his own not-funny-at-all joke, and I smiled obligingly, though I wasn’t about to tell him the women of Belfast were wasting their time.
    He told me his daughter worked at the hospital pharmacy, and I thought I knew who he meant. My suspicions were confirmed when the mousy-brown haired girl I’d seen a few times today walked out and called him 'dad'. Chief Peters put his arm around her, and they walked out, her head was down as she mumbled something to him. I thought it was sweet.
    The day wrapped up, nothing too strenuous, more administration than anything else, and I headed home. It was late and I didn’t expect to find Trent awake, but he was. He was watching TV with Bentley's head on his lap.
    His eyes glistened, and he smiled his one-dimple-smile when I walked through the door. "So, how was your first day?" he asked.
    He rolled his eyes when I told him how the entire female population stopped by to see what the fuss was about, but apart from that, nothing too exciting to report.
    "Oh, I met Chief Peters," I said, taking a seat next to him. "It’s nice that his daughter works at the hospital."
    He looked a little baffled by my comment, so I explained, "It was great to see placement positions for people with learning difficulties in small communities."
    He huffed out a laugh, but still looked confused. "What?" he asked.
    "The Chief's daughter, Danielle, Dani? Is that her name?" I asked, and Trent nodded. "She has cognitive impairment... doesn't she?"
    Trent burst out laughing, scaring the dog. "No Nathan, she doesn't."
    I thought back to every time I saw her that day. "Oh, but she... every time I saw her, she... " and then I got it.
    Trent leaned toward me, but he was laughing. "Every time she saw you," he said through his laughter, "did she have a glazed-over look in her eyes with her jaw hanging open?" And he imitated the exact look, a thoroughly stunned look, the very look the Peters girl had when she saw me.
    I nodded, and he laughed louder. "Oh my God," he croaked "That’s priceless! She’s totally hot for you. Please tell me you said something to the Chief about his daughter having diminished learning capabilities. What did you call it? Cognitive impairment?"
    I pushed his shoulder, but started laughing myself. "No, thank fucking God I didn't."
    He was chuckling at my expense and smiled brilliantly. "I don’t think he'd have shot the new doctor."
    I got up and walked into the kitchen, leaving him still laughing on