“I usually stay on the other side of the lake,” I reply, gesturing toward the wide windows that overlook the water. “It has the best sunset views. But this one is really nice.”Toonice.
He nods appreciatively, glancing toward the large windows overlooking the lake. It’s dusk now, so there’s a warm glow being cast over the room. “Is it not two-story? It looks multilevel from the outside.”
“Nope,” I say, shaking my head. “Just the one. All the rooms have ceilings this high.”
He gives an impressed nod, his eyes still scanning the space as if he’s taking mental notes. And I can’t help but watch him, my mind wandering again to Reya and Cam, and how easily this interaction could slip into something more if I let it. I force myself to stay grounded in the moment, but the line between fiction and reality feels thinner than ever.
He brings his eyes back to mine, locking me in his gaze with an intensity that makes my pulse quicken. “It’s gorgeous,” he says, his voice low and casual.
I nod in response, trying to keep my cool, but I’m not sure he’s talking about the house anymore. There’s something in the air that shifts the atmosphere. Neither of us speaks for a moment, and the silence between us becomes thick, almost palpable. I can feel it pressing against my skin, making me more aware of every breath, every movement. My mind clamors for something to say, anything to break the tension.
“What name do you go by?” I ask him, desperate to keep the conversation going. “Nathaniel? Nate?”
He tilts his head slightly, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Saint, actually.”
Oh, I nailed it.
“Saint,” I repeat softly, more to myself than to him. The name lingers in the air between us, and I can’t help but think about how perfect it would be for a character.
Saint—it has a certain strength to it, an edge that makes it stand out more than the typical names I’ve used. It would make a better character name thanCamby a mile. But that would be too weird. Cam is already beginning to look exactly like this guy in my mind. I can’t make his name the same too. It would be too much.
“So,” I say, shifting the conversation back to safer ground, “you need a statement from me?”
Saint doesn’t answer right away. He stares at me quietly for a moment, like he’s weighing his words before he speaks. “Not anymore,” he finally says. “It’s all on dash- and body cam. Nothing to dispute.”
Those words jar me for a moment. Reminding me that with the advancement of technology, there are probably many things recorded digitally for eternity that no one would want a record of.That poor man.
But also, I have no idea what he did that made him a wanted man. I almost open my mouth to speak up and ask for more details, but Saint makes me nervous with his ease.
He leans against my kitchen island, crossing his legs at the ankles, looking so effortlessly breathtaking that I suddenly feel completely out of my element. There’s a confidence about him that makes me feel like I’m stumbling over my own thoughts. But then I remind myself—Would Reya feel out of her element right now?
No, she wouldn’t.
Reya would be composed, in control. She would take whatever flirtatious energy was simmering between them and use it to her advantage. She wouldn’t back down.
“If you don’t need a statement,” I ask, crossing my arms casually, “then why are you here?”
He quirks an eyebrow at me, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. “You said you needed to pick my brain.”
Oh, right. I did say that, didn’t I?
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat as I try to remember what questions I planned to ask him. But now that he’s standing right in front of me, my mind feels like it’s short-circuiting. Every carefully crafted question I had seems to vanish into thin air. I don’t want to look down at my list like an amateur, so I scramble to come up with something—anything—to keep the conversation from veering into awkward territory.
“Why do you wear a uniform if you’re a detective?” I blurt out, mentally kicking myself for how weak the question sounds.
“It’s a small town,” he replies, unfazed by my flustered state. “I only do detective work when it’s needed. Most of the time, I patrol, so I have to be in uniform.”
I nod as I search for a follow-up question, but none comes to mind. The silence creeps back in, and I can feel it growing between us as I chew on my lip, trying to think of something else to say. But then, before I can manage another weak question, he speaks up again.
“I have a confession,” he says, his tone suddenly more serious.
I blink in surprise, tilting my head slightly. “You do?”
He nods, and for a moment, I feel the air shift again, like whatever he’s about to say might change the dynamic between us. “I didn’t sleep when I got home, but it had nothing to do with my job.”
My brow furrows slightly in confusion. “Why couldn’t you sleep?”
“I googled you,” he says, his tone matter-of-fact, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Watched a lot of your TikTok videos.”
