This is fine.
Totally fine.
We lay there in the darkness, both of us rigid, both pretending this wasn’t the most charged moment we’d had all day.
“Sapphire?”
“What?”
“Thanks.”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t trust my voice not to betray how fast my heart was hammering.
Instead, I closed my eyes and told myself I was just being practical.
That’s all this was.
Practical.
“You’re a great cop, Sapphire,” he said quietly.
Oh. I wasn’t expecting that. “Thanks.” I huffed. “But if I were, I would’ve figured out Bob was a criminal before today.”
Silence settled between us. There was just the sound of his breathing, shallow and measured, like he was trying not to move closer.
“You’re not being fair on yourself,” he said finally. “Bob fooled a lot of people for a long time. That’s what makes him dangerous.”
I didn’t respond because the truth sat like a stone in my chest. The warmth beneath the sheet seemed to intensify. I was hyperaware of everything, every breath Kayden took, every tiny shift of his weight. The space between us hummed with an energy that was wrong, and yet so, so right.
He sucked air through his teeth as he rolled carefully onto his back. “You know, I never did ask you why you wanted to be a cop.”
Shit. My chest tightened.
That was the question I’d never wanted to answer. I’d spent years dodging the truth behind that question with vague lines about serving the community or making a difference. Generic answers that satisfied most people and kept them from digging deeper.
But lying here in the dark with Kayden Branson ten inches away made deflection feel impossible, especially as I’d just made him promise to be honest with me. His family had revealed secrets tonight that had to have been damn hard to tell. Hell, they’d admitted their father had cheated on their mother. That wasn’t easy stuff to share.
Mine wasn’t either.
But here, in Kayden’s bed, with the warmth of his body only inches away, I wanted to tell him the truth.
Even after all these years, just thinking about it made my chest ache. Sadness gnawed at my stomach. I cleared my throat. “My Aunty Carol was murdered by her husband, Uncle Phil.”
“Oh jeez, Fire.” His hand slid beneath the sheet and found mine, and I let him take it. His fingers were warm and solid and careful. “I’m so sorry. Were you close to her?”
“Do you remember that I went to boarding school for a while?”
“Yeah. In Townsville.”
“You remember that?”
“Of course, I do.” A gentleness hummed in his voice. “We met in Townsville at that rodeo.”
“We met well before that,” I said.
“Only on the airways.” His voice softened. “Our first physical contact was in Townsville.”
Physical contact. It had been a hell of a lot more than that. His thumb traced slow circles against the back of my hand.
