"I've been filling out forms for nine hours. This is a garlic bread emergency."
"You've earned patience and the satisfaction of a meal served properly."
"You sound like my grandmother."
"Your grandmother sounds like a wise woman."
I steal a piece of bread while he's distracted by the pasta sauce. He notices but doesn't comment, just shakes his head with the resigned affection of someone who's learned to pick his battles.
He's making pasta—something with tomatoes and basil that smells like every good thing I've ever eaten. I lean against the counter and watch him work, struck by how natural this feels. Domestic. Like we've been doing it for years instead of weeks.
"The DA thinks we'll get a conviction," I say, because the silence is starting to feel weighted. "Marsh's confession combined with the physical evidence is pretty airtight."
"That's good."
"He's cooperating. Gave us details on all three fires—timing, methodology, how he knew which buildings would be empty." I pick at the edge of the counter. "He cried during the interview. Said he never meant for it to go this far."
Aiden glances over his shoulder. "You feel sorry for him."
It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "I understand him. That's different."
"Is it?"
"He lost everything. His job, his reputation, his lawsuit. Blackwood destroyed his life, and no one held them accountable." I cross my arms, uncomfortable with the direction of my own thoughts. "I'm not saying what he did was right. But I get why he did it."
"That's what makes you good at this job." Aiden turns off the burner and faces me fully. "You see the whole picture. The how and the why."
"Most investigators just focus on the how."
"Most investigators aren't you."
The compliment lands in a place I'm still learning to leave unguarded. I look away, focusing on the pasta like it requires intense study.
"Hazel called," I say, changing the subject. "Apparently our 'relationship journey' has generatedenough positive engagement that Chief Rodriguez wants to discuss making our public appearances a permanent thing."
"A permanent thing?"
"Quarterly community events. Joint presentations at schools. Maybe a fire safety podcast." I can't keep the disbelief out of my voice. "A podcast, Aiden. They want us to have a podcast."
His grin breaks through. "Flashpoint with Riley and Aiden. I can see it now."
"Absolutely not."
"Come on, it'd be fun. You could explain accelerant chemistry, I could talk about ladder operations?—"
"No."
"We could have a segment called 'Hot Takes.' Get it? Because fire?"
I groan. "I'm breaking up with you."
"No, you're not." His hands find my waist, pulling me closer. "You like me too much."
"I tolerate you. There's a difference."
"Uh-huh." He's close enough now that I can see the warmth in his eyes, the ones I noticed that first day at the warehouse when everything started to shift. "Keep telling yourself that, Pritchard."
"Keep telling yourself I'm going to do a podcast, Gentry."
