“I had a long day too,” I say, thinking about how every small sound at the bank made me jumpy, how I kept checking the parking lot for black SUVs. “I felt like I deserved a sweet treat on the way home.”
“Smart thinking. What kind of sweet treat are we talking about?”
“Haven’t decided yet. Probably something chocolate that’ll make me feel guilty for indulging.”
Sawyer’s eyes light up with amusement. “Come on, I’ll buy you the good kind of chocolate.”
“Oh no, that’s okay—”
“I want to.” He says it simply, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
We walk toward the convenience store together, our shoulders almost brushing. The automatic doors slide open with a soft whoosh, and warm air envelops us. The familiar smell of coffee and fried food hits me, along with the faint chemical scent of cleaning supplies.
“So what’s the verdict?” Sawyer asks, stopping in front of the candy aisle. “Dark chocolate? White chocolate? Something with caramel?”
I study the options, very aware of him standing close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his body. "I'm a dark chocolate kind of girl."
"Should have guessed. You seem like someone with sophisticated tastes."
"Or maybe I just like things that are a little bit bitter." The words come out before I can stop them.
But Sawyer just grins. “Nothing wrong with that. Some of the best things have a little bite to them.”
The way he says it makes me look up at him, and for a moment we just stand there in the candy aisle, looking at each other. There’s something in his expression that makes my pulse quicken—an intensity that wasn’t there during our casual bank conversations.
“This one,” I say finally, reaching for a bar with gold lettering on the packaging. “Definitely this one.”
He takes it from my hands and heads to the counter, pulling out his wallet before I can protest. The teenage cashier looks between us with barely concealed curiosity.
“Thank you, I really appreciate it,” I say as we walk back outside into the cold. “I feel like I should repay you somehow.”
“You don’t need to repay me for anything.”
“What if I want to?” The words slip out before I can stop them. “You mentioned studying for your sergeant's exam. That offer I made about helping—I'm serious about it.”
Sawyer stops walking and looks at me. “You mean that?”
“I do. I'm good with flashcards, and you look like you could use a study break from sitting alone with textbooks.” I adjust my glasses, suddenly nervous. “I could make coffee, and we could go through some material. If you want.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose—”
“You bought me chocolate and pumped my gas in freezing weather. The least I can do is help you study.”
He considers this for a moment, then smiles—not his usual confident grin, but something softer. “You know what? I’d really like that.”
“Good. Follow me home?” The words are out before I can overthink them. Inviting him to my house. The house someone is watching.
But with Sawyer there, maybe I'll feel safe for a few hours.
At my house, I unlock the front door but pause before opening it. Check over my shoulder. The street is empty, but that doesn't mean no one's watching.
Sawyer notices. “You okay?”
"Fine." I force a smile and push the door open. "Just cold."
“This is really nice,” he says, looking around my living room. His eyes land on the bookcase, scanning the titles. “You’ve got quite a collection.”
“Most of them were my grandmother’s,” I say, hanging up my coat and immediately feeling self-conscious about everything—the floral couch, the outdated kitchen covered in apple patterns, the way I’ve kept everything exactly as Grandma left it. “Can I get you some coffee? Or hot chocolate?”
