A Diamond-Dennison Short Story

Carefully carrying two bouquets of flowers, Matt stepped onto the stairs leading up to the white stucco home with the red tile roof. Off to his right and up the hill stood the famous “Hollywood” sign. If he’d had his slingshot, he could hit it easy. Jitters, the likes of which he hadn’t felt since high school, shook his usual swagger, and he tripped. Both bouquets flew out of his hands. Whoa, cowboy! He scooped up the flowers and straightened out the crumpled cellophane. With a deep breath, he pressed the bell.

A handsome man answered the door, every inch the Chief of Police, from his thick white hair down to his polished black shoes. No smile, no greeting.

Matt coughed. “Hello, I’m Matthew Dennison.”