I shake my head, and her soft laughter spills out, filling the quiet gaps between the show’s dialogue and my heartbeat trying to keep up.
22
Sebastian
Phones ring. Keyboards clack. Radios buzz faintly through Bradley’s office door. I’m midway through laying out a case summary to Stokes when Constable Lee wanders past with a folder.
“Lee. Push that rego check through again,” I bark out, sharper than I intend to. “And chase the CCTV from the service station.”
“Jesus, Daniels,” Stokes says with a smug grin. “You’re starting to sound more and more like Mitchell.”
“Hard. Though it’s more like listening to a younger, slightlylessscary version of him,” Woody adds, milking it.
“I’m older than him, you idiot,” I deadpan.
Woody’s mouth drops. “No fucking way.”
“Oh, come on, Hudson Wood,” Stokes adds his full name for the effect, “as if you didn’t know that.”
Woody blinks. “Have I been living under a rock?”
“Yes,” the room answers in perfect unison.
He shakes his head, regrouping. “Well, shit. Anyway, youarestarting to sound like Mitchell.”
Reynolds strolls past with impeccable timing. “Oh, yeah. Give it a few more weeks, and you’ll have the same stick up your ass. Then we’re all done for.”
I rub a hand over my jaw. “Remind me to transfer before that happens.”
“Too late. You’ve already gone full Bradley,” Stokes calls out. “No pub nights, no jokes, no fun. Just spreadsheets, call-outs, and that permanent frown.”
It pisses me off that they’re not wrong. I won’t ever admit it out loud, but it still guts me no less. Between Teddy still shaking off that persistent cold and the ever-present storm cloud that is Olivia Mitchell living rent-free in my head, I’ve been wound tighter than a drum. That last Friday, when she stayed till late, way past the appropriate time, something shifted. I let my guard drop. Laughed too easily. Let her in too far. And now? Now I know better. I’ve been keeping my distance ever since—for good fucking reason. Because the second I relax around her, it starts happening. The flirting. The ease. The dangerous kind of comfort that makes me forget why I built walls in the first place. And that’s what scares me most. Because she’s the one pulling me back to those old parts of myself. The ones I buried for a reason.
And what happened at her farm? Well, fuck. That can’t happen again.
Not the kiss, not the hands, not the way she looked at me like I was someone worth wanting. It was a line I never should’ve crossed, and every quiet moment since has been spent trying to convince myself it was just the rain, the adrenaline, the timing. Nothing more.
I push back from my desk, the sharp scrape of chair legs cutting through the noise like a warning. I need a break. Or food. Or something stronger than either.
The kitchen greets me with the bitter stench of burnt toast and stale coffee. I yank open the fridge, grab my lunch, and sink into a chair. Popping the lid, I draw in a slow breath through my teeth at the sight of a bright yellow sticky note. The handwriting’s familiar, all looping letters and playful curves.
Try not to let that stick climb too far up your ass.
Don’t forget to take five, Grumpy. xx
A low laugh escapes before I can stop it. The universe really does have a sick sense of humour. Of course she’d say that. And of course, it happens today, the exact morning half the team decided to call me out for the same thing. She’s noticed it too. A chill slides through me that has nothing to do with the cold air in here.
God, she gets under my fucking skin in a way no one else can.
“Something funny, Daniels?”
I look up to find Reynolds leaning against the counter, grinding beans. Christ, has he been there the whole time? My perception’s gone to shit.
“My lunch,” I mutter, folding the note and tucking it into my pocket before he can see it. “Tragic stuff.”
“Sure,” he drawls, a smirk already in place. “So, how’s Bradley’s sister going as your babysitter?” His tone is too casual, too…knowing.
“Doing fine.
