Nia’s casual mention of her family caught my attention. It was so different from how guarded she’d talked about her brother in the holding cell. She was giving me glimpses of the real woman behind the activist.
In the kitchen, Nia surveyed the contents inside the refrigerator. “How about an omelet situation?” she suggested, pulling eggs and peppers from the shelf.
“You cook?”
She pursed her lips, shooting me a look over her shoulder. “Come on now. What, do you think I survive on protest signs and rhetoric?”
I chuckled. “Nah, more like coffee and takeout.”
She bumped her hip against mine as she passed. The relaxed contact made me smile. “Shows what you know. Hand me that cutting board, Chief Pretty Boy.”
I complied, enjoying the playfulness in the sound of her voice when she used the nickname that previously felt like a dig but now, like an endearment. “Yes, ma’am. Anything else?”
“Knife. Bowl for eggs. And maybe put that coffee back on. My brain needs the boost after . . .” She trailed off and pulled her lip in with her teeth.
“After what? You need to be more specific, Dr. Price,” I teased, closing the gap, deliberately crowding her space.
She looked up at me, a challenge replacing embarrassment. “After you showed me that Birmingham’s finest has skills beyond law enforcement.”
I pressed a hand to my chest in offense. “Damn. Is that the best review I get?”
Her smile grew, eyes dancing with playful mischief. “I mean, I could give a more detailed assessment, but your ego might not survive it.”
We fell into laughter, working around each other in the kitchen like we’d done it a hundred times before. I started the coffee while she chopped vegetables. She whisked eggs while I fried bacon.
When the food was ready, we took our plates to the table by the window. Sitting across from each other, I was surprised by how natural it felt to share a simple meal after everything we’d been through.
“This is good, like restaurant good,” I commented after the first bite of her omelet.
“Told you. My mama didn’t raise no microwave chef.” She looked pleased, despite her attempt at nonchalance.
As we ate, we talked about things that would have been impossible just days ago when we were on opposite sides. Now we were just Ronan and Nia, two people getting to know each other for real.
After we finished eating, I got up to clear the plates, and she joined me without a word. We went to the sink together. I washed, she dried. It was surprisingly intimate, the way our fingers touched in the soapy water. We didn’t mention it, but we were both hyperaware of every touch.
“This is weird, right? Not bad, weird. Just . . .”
“Unexpected,” I finished for her, understanding exactly what she meant.
“After doing other things together,” she added, a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
I flicked some bubbles at her, making her yelp in surprise. “Other very good things.”
She retaliated by snapping her dish towel at my bare side, laughing when I jumped. The playfulness was freedom, like we’d both set down the heavy burdens we’d carried for too long.
When the dishes were done, I took her hand without thinking, leading her toward the back door. “Come sit with me for a bit? Deck’s the best place to watch the water and catch the sunset.”
The deck wrapped around the cabin and faced the lake, with a double Adirondack chair set up for the view. We sat close, our arms touching on the shared armrest. The water reflected the late afternoon sky, only broken by the occasional splash of a jumping fish. I understood what Todd meant now. I’d earned this peace.
“What happens when we leave here? When you put the uniform back on, and I go back to criticizing your department?” Nia asked.
I didn’t have an answer, and I suspected she knew it. “I don’t know, but I know I can’t unsee us.”
“I can’t pretend either. Not after . . . everything.”
Tomorrow or the next day, we’d have to return to that world, knowing the roles we’d inhabit might push us apart again.
We sat in silence as daylight softened around us, neither speaking about the future that waited beyond our sanctuary, both acutely aware that the hardest parts of our journey still lay ahead.
