It’s none of my business.

I repeat those words over and over to myself, trying to get myself to sleep, but it’s not working. Finally, the sky turns a light shade of pink and orange, and I climb out of bed. I give up.

It’s my day off anyway.

For a moment, while drinking my coffee and trying to pretend I got any rest at all, I convince myself that I’m not going to think about Rafe today. But I don’t get far. Because on my second cup, I remember my best friend from nursing school, Jillian, who works at the health department and was always a fan of a little rule bending.

As I pull up my phone to text her, I pause. I can’t seriously be thinking of this. I could lose my licence to practice. I could lose everything. It’s a stupid, stupid risk.

But I have to know.

Jillian is off today too, so after a quick catch-up session, she agrees to come out to Wicked today to meet for coffee and help me with whatever devious things I’m up to (her words). As I sit at the coffee shop on the boardwalk, I keep second guessing this plan. It’s a major invasion of privacy, not to mention incredibly illegal.

There’s a new coffee shop attached to the locally owned bookstore on the main drag where Jillian finds me taking up a small table in the back with my cappuccino. She throws her arms around me before sitting across from me.

“I can’t believe you moved to the beach!” she squeals. “I’m so jealous.”

“I love it.”

Immediately she digs into my love life, because Jillian is nothing if not a major gossip queen. Which is just another reason why I know she will help me. After some small talk and catch up conversations about her new fiancé and my life living as a hospice nurse, she finally starts digging into what I need to know.

“Okay, so tell me whose file I need to find for you,” she smiles with a cup up to her lips.

Except for an older couple reading in the corner, it’s just us and the young woman who’s working in the aisles of the store. I look around nervously before I talk discreetly over the table.

“It’s an old friend from high school. He was in foster care as a kid, and I know there are files with CPS.”

“A new boyfriend with some emotional baggage?” she asks.

“I’m worried about him. He’s...struggling, and I just want to help him.” This much is true, more so than I even realized until now.

“Well it might take me some time, but I can probably dig it up for you. They don’t keep those things forever, though. Just a heads up.”

My stomach turns. This is wrong.

“I feel awful for even asking.”

“Don’t. Your intentions are good. Plus there’s like no oversight on these things anymore, so you don’t have to worry about getting in trouble. They have their hands full with plenty of other stuff.”