His eyes sharpen just slightly, but it’s enough that I notice. “Good to know.”
There’s something in the way he says it, not teasing but not quite serious either, or the way his eyes flick over me so quickly that I nearly miss it.
File that away for later.
I shift my weight, glancing briefly at his arm again and the way the fabric pulls over his bicep.
Focus, Liv. Focus.
“You still shouldn’t be back out here so soon,” I say, slipping into a safer and more professional topic. “Even being as shallow as it was, that wound could-”
“I heal fast.” No elaboration.
Of course you do.
“Are you always this stubborn with medical advice?” I ask, perking a brow at him.
“Only when it’s unnecessary.”
I huff a quiet laugh and roll my eyes. “That’s what they all say.”
His mouth twitches again, barely there but I’m starting to recognize it. A near smile.
I think that’s worse than the actual one.
A charged silence settles between us for a moment. My gaze drifts, and that’s when I notice it.
At first, it’s nothing. Just the clean line of his shirt, the way it sits against him. But then… there. A faint outline beneath the fabric. Not bulky enough to be obvious, but not sloppy enough to be accidental. It’s structured and layered.
“Are you wearing-” I start but then stop myself.
“Work clothes,” he says simply, eyes assessing me for my reaction.
“Of course,” I murmur. I knew it was there; the knowledge just hadn’t caught up with me. But now that I’ve seen it, I can’tunseeit. Not just the vest but the way he carries himself. The constant scanning of the street. The subtle shift of his stance that keeps his back near the car and keeps his line of sight clear. He’s not just standing here, he’s watching.
“Busy day?” I ask lightly, even though I already know the answer.
“Something like that.” Vague, intentionally so.
My curiosity spikes.
Before I can push further, a shout cuts through the air from half a block away. “Hey! Watch ou-”
A crash follows, the sharp and jarring sound of metal screeching against concrete draws the attention of both of us. We turn instantly.
A guy lays sprawled on the sidewalk near the corner; his bike tipped over beside him and his groceries scattered across thepavement. One of his bags has split open causing cans to roll into the street.
“Shit,” I mutter, already moving.
Alex is right behind me.
We reach the guy at the same time. He’s groaning, clutching the side of his head where he must’ve hit the ground.
“I’ve got you,” I say, dropping to a crouch beside him. “Don’t try to get up yet.”
“I’m fine,” he insists through clenched teeth, eyes still closed as he tries to push through the pain I’m sure is reverberating around in his head.
“Everyone says that,” I reply automatically, echoing what I’d just said to Alex minutes ago. “Let me be the judge of that.”
