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“I’m switching off of beer; I’ll grab the next round.” Lucy stands up and picks up the empty pitcher, walking away from the table and up to the bar. She flags Charlie down and orders the drinks, then leans one hip against a barstool to wait.
She’d thought it was a thing of the movies, someone’s shadow being big and dark enough to fall noticeably across her in an already poorly lit bar. But it happens, the space around her growing even darker as he steps up next to her.
When Lucy turns to look, the man on her right is massive. He’s got to be at least twice her size, thick sideburns connecting a scraggly beard to the line where his hair disappears beneath a turned-backward baseball hat.
“Hey, cutie.” Lucy looks him up and down, observing his heavyset build, the way his faded motorcycle T-shirt pulls tight across his midsection. “Got anyone buying your drinks?”
Great. Her stomach flip-flops when she realizes why he’s looking at her.
It’s been almost a year since Caleb, and everything that came after; she’s gone on a handful of dates, but still can’t shake the sense of dread that comes over her when a man approaches her before she can size him up.
“I’m just here with my friends.” She nods in the direction of the table. He doesn’t look.
“Well I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if you went home with someone else. I’m Dwayne.” He holds his hand out, but Lucy doesn't acknowledge the gesture. She’s too busy trying to get a good read on him, and besides, she’s not going to reach out and give him an opportunity to grab ahold of her.
He’s probably harmless. Sure, he’s sleazy, but there’s a lot of ground to cover between ‘sleazy’ and ‘kidnapping serial killer.’ But if he does try to pull something, she knows that her best chance is to stay a step or two ahead of him, keep him on his toes. No one is ever expecting someone her size to pick a fight with anyone who looks like Dwayne.
Not that she wants to. She remembers how everyone had looked at her when she tackled the guy during speed dating, the spectacle she had become. If he moves to touch her, she knows she can take him down. But there’s no law against being creepy, so the only thing she can do for now is keep rebuffing his advances.
“They wouldn’t mind, if I wanted to,” she emphasizes, trying to make her message clear.
Dwayne doesn’t get it.
“Well,” He leans closer, bracing one of his arms on the bar top right in front of Lucy, effectively caging her in with his body. “We can see where the night takes us.” He drops his voice low, and Lucy is pretty sure that it’s an attempt to sound sexy. It doesn’t work; he just sounds like he needs to lay off the cigarettes that she can smell radiating off of him.
But he hasn’t tried to touch her, and there’s nothing dangerous about talking to someone. Even if he’s being way too cocksure and making her uneasy, that doesn't mean he’s going to try to hurt her.
But if he so much as twitches … Lucy looks back at the table, tries to figure out how long it would take her friends to back her up. She could definitely hold him off until they got there, probably even longer if she had to.
“Maybe it’ll take me back to my friends. And you … wherever you came from.”
“C’mon, honey, surely you’ve got room for one more. We can pull up a chair, it’ll be real cozy.”
Lucy doesn’t even dignify that with a response, just cranes her neck around him to see what the holdup is. Even a frozen drink shouldn’t take this long, but Charlie is just pouring the ice in the blender. She’s got a couple more minutes to wait, at least. Her head turns the other way, staring across the dining room at her empty chair.
“Is it just me, or are these the slowest beers we’ve ever gotten?” Jackson tries to turn around in his seat, but can’t twist far enough to see Lucy at the bar. Tim sits up a little straighter, across the table from him, and sees her standing just inches from a burly biker-type.
“She’s talking to some guy.” He rolls his eyes and leans back into his seat. Across from him, Nyla raises her eyebrows.
“Ooh, is he hot?”
“How would I know? Big guy, beard. Probably … 6’5, 6’6. Some logo on his shirt, but I can’t make it out.”
Angela turns from her seat around the corner of the table from Tim, leans around the people milling about to see what’s going on.
“Eh, a little grunge, I think.” Like clockwork, Nyla turns to see what Angela is describing. Tim bites down on the inside of his cheek to swallow a scathing remark about how she can’t just take Angela’s word for it, she has to look herself.
“Yeah, that is an acquired taste. Think he’s ever trimmed that face fuzz?”
“Hey, whatever she’s into.” Angela shrugs, taking the last sip from her pint glass.
Tim straightens up again, looks at the way Lucy’s holding herself. She’s not leaning toward this stranger, has her body angled toward the bar and her arms crossed over her chest.
“Doesn’t look very into it to me,” he mutters. Before he can find out if anyone else heard his remark, Lucy’s head turns and she’s staring straight at him. He can’t place the look on her face, but he knows it’s not anything positive. She’s practically scowling, refusing to look at the guy who’s talking to her. Tim looks around the table, says his next sentence at full volume. “I’m going to go see if she needs a hand with the carry.”
He’s standing up before anyone can respond, rolling his shoulders back to draw himself to his full height. This guy outsizes him, by several inches and probably a hundred pounds, but Tim knows how to carry himself with a commanding presence. He can single-handedly break up fights between four or five people, so putting one guy in his place shouldn’t be a problem.
He steps up beside Lucy, positioning one foot between her and the stranger, not quite standing between them but close enough to be an interruption. A quick glance over his shoulder tells him that the rest of the group can still see what’s going on, and that Angela is pretending not to watch.
“Hey, everything alright?” Tim shifts his weight enough to turn his back on whoever the guy is, studying Lucy’s expression carefully. He maintains that she doesn’t look into whatever it is that’s going on here, but Angela is right, whatever she’s into. If this is all legitimate, if Lucy really does want this guy to hit on her, Tim won’t stand in the way of that. He’s careful to leave his tone curious, not aggressive, like he really is just asking her about the next round.
He’s leaving her an out, the chance to blow him off and do … whatever … with some stranger, if she wants to take it.
No matter how much he hopes she doesn’t. Because this guy doesn’t seem like Lucy’s type, and if she’s not interested, he should take the hint and move along.
But as his eyes run over her face, he can see the hesitation in her eyes, the look he couldn’t quite make out from across the room. Whoever this guy is, Tim is pretty sure that Lucy doesn’t trust him. When she looks at him, something subtle shifts in her expression. It’s a look that Tim is inclined to call ‘relief,’ but she still doesn’t say anything, so he tries again.
“Need a hand? Six glasses are a lot, if Charlie doesn’t have a tray.”
The stranger steps closer to Tim. The cheap smoke carries up to his nostrils, and it's all Tim can do to keep from wrinkling his nose in distaste. The smell is far from the worst thing he’s ever encountered; if he can stay professional while he stands three feet from a decomposing body, then he can pretend not to notice this odor too.
“I can help the little lady with anything she needs.” Dwayne directs the comment toward Tim, even though he’s still staring at Lucy. If the smell of smoke hadn’t been enough, the hoarse rasp in his voice gives away that he’s a smoker, and probably a pretty heavy one.
At that, Tim does roll his eyes and turn to look at the other man.
“I didn’t ask you, did I?” he bites the words out and glares. “So how about we let the ‘little lady’ decide for herself. Lucy?” Tim looks back at her, finds that she’s already staring at him.
She doesn’t say anything, not right away, but Tim has worked alongside her long enough that she doesn’t need to. He picks up on the newfound fear written across her face, a quick flash of panic that he can’t find reason for. She draws her bottom lip between her teeth and lets her eyebrows knit together just enough that she looks like she’s getting ready to beg Tim for mercy on stoplight pushups.
But she doesn’t ask him anything. Instead, she reaches over and grabs his hand in both of hers, clinging to it like a lifeline.
“Thanks, babe,” she leans closer to his side and emphasizes the pet name enough that Tim can tell that she’s asking him to play along. “An extra set of hands would be great, just as soon as the drinks are up.”
Tim narrows his eyes at her, just a little bit, and waits for her tiny nod, almost imperceptible to anyone who’s not looking for it. When she shifts closer to him again, he pulls his hand away and wraps his arm around her shoulders, drawing her against his side.
He reaches across his torso with his other hand, leaving it close enough that Lucy can take it if she wants to. She relaxes against him, reaching for his fingers, and Tim feels the tension seep out of his shoulders too.
He’s never held her like this, has only held her once before, under vastly different circumstances. That afternoon, he’d thought it was the end of his adrenaline and the relief that she was alive again. But he feels calmer now, too, even if she’d never been in any actual danger tonight.
If the close proximity and contact comfort him this much, he can only imagine how Lucy must feel.
Of their own accord, his fingers start tracing idle lines along her skin, up and down her arm, almost the full length from shoulder to elbow. Her shirt is sleeveless, so it’s his bare skin on hers. Tim knows he’s never touched her skin before, not this far up. Since she’s started wearing short sleeves, he’s brushed her forearm a handful of times, but never past her elbow and never with this much intention.
It should feel … something, he’s pretty sure. Weird, maybe, or at least new and different.
But it doesn’t. It’s maybe the most natural thing he’s ever felt, the repetitive motion coming to him as easily as driving down the streets of LA.
Neither of them say anything to the stranger, and after a minute or so longer, he gets the message. As he walks away, he growls something about how Lucy shouldn’t have led him on, but Tim isn’t listening closely enough to hear every word. He watches where the man goes, sees him sit down alone at a table against the wall.
Not quite in Tim’s eye line, from where he’ll be sitting when they have the drinks, but close enough that he should be able to keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn’t try to pull anything else.
It’s just the two of them now, but Tim can feel the stranger’s eyes boring holes into the side of his head, so he doesn’t let go of Lucy. He can’t resist the urge to tease her a little bit, though.
“Babe?” He asks, tipping his chin down far enough that he can whisper in her ear.
“Thanks,” she says, by way of an answer to his question. “He wouldn’t leave me alone, but I didn’t want to make a scene.”
Tim chuckles, feeling the way her body moves with the vibrations in his chest.
“As much as I’d have paid to see that, you know I’ve got your back, Boot.”
Lucy shifts against him, and he’s pretty sure she’s about to say something, but Charlie appears in front of them again, with five pint glasses and some bright orange frozen thing with an umbrella sticking out of the top.
She perks up when the glass hits the counter, pulling away just far enough to take a sip from the bright green straw. Tim raises an eyebrow, and she wrinkles her nose at him.
“I told you I was switching from beer. I don't know, the mango-rita sounded like a good treat. Something fancier than usual.” She shrugs and takes another drink. “Didn’t know it would take this long though.”
Tim rolls his eyes at her, but grins when he picks up three of the pint glasses and follows Lucy back to the table. They pass the beers around, but everyone is still chatting when Lucy sits back down around the corner of the table from where Tim’s seat is. She engages a little bit, interjecting here and there, but Tim notices that she keeps looking over his shoulder, toward where he knows the guy is sitting.
The next time Lucy sets her glass down, Tim reaches for her hand again, rests it in his own on top of the table, in clear view of anyone who cares to look.
“Easy,” He leans over to talk to her, bracing his other arm against his hand when Lucy startles at the contact. “I’ll walk you out later. It’s not going to happen again.”
He knows exactly what’s on her mind, because it’s on his too. But she’s jaded now, totally disinterested in picking up a stranger tonight. Good, bad, or otherwise, she knows how risky it can be. And Tim is here tonight, smarter than he was before too. If Lucy doesn't trust this guy, if even a single fiber of her being is saying that she shouldn’t go with him, then Tim isn’t going to push her in that direction.
“Uh, Bradford?” Harper’s voice interrupts his thoughts, and when he looks up, she’s staring pointedly at his hands. “Something you care to share with the class?”
Tim looks down too, sees the way their fingers fit perfectly together.
“Not really.” He shrugs and takes a sip of his beer as Angela’s face appears close in his periphery.
“Something you care to share with me?” Her voice is half a shade too loud for how close she is, trying to be heard over the din of the other patrons. “Your best friend?”
Tim turns his head, drops his chin next to her ear and speaks in a true whisper.
“We’ll talk later.”
Thankfully, she takes it as an answer and turns back to the conversation she and John are having about kitchen countertop installation. Tim thinks about tuning in, tries to remember what he and Isabel had picked out for their own home so many years ago. But before he can remember if they went with granite or Formica, he hears Lucy’s voice, too quiet for him to make out the words.
When he looks over at her, he realizes that she’s not talking to him, or to anyone. She’s singing under her breath, following the tune of the music he can halfway hear over the speakers.
He doesn’t recognize it right away, but he knows he’s heard it before, the sort of pop music that plays in bars. No song is that different from any other, all carrying the same upbeat tone, but he can hear the way that Lucy’s voice matches the lyrics perfectly, singing about Roman calvary choirs and Saint Peter and ruling the world.
The song isn’t over, but it seems that Lucy only knows the chorus, because the quiet singing fades into even softer murmurs when the next verse starts. Her leg starts bouncing under the table, though, keeping time to the rhythm.
Tim looks down when he feels the movement beside him, the table jittering every so often when her knee knocks into the underside. Her jeans are worn in, faded from frequent washing. Or maybe she bought them that way; he’s never been able to tell, but remembers Angela explaining to him that women’s pants cost so much more than men’s because they buy them pre-distressed. He didn’t get it then, and he doesn’t get it now, but they look soft and comfortable. Her boots look comfortable too, a far cry from their matching, city-issue duty gear. These are all soft and suede, tiny tassels on the outside.
It’s exactly the sort of thing he’d expect Lucy to wear, when she’s not in uniform. She’s never stricken him as one to take appearance over practicality, but it’s clear that she puts thought into how she looks.
But that doesn’t mean that she’s trying to attract the attention of strange and overbearing men, he thinks, shifting in his seat just enough to look over his shoulder. Sure enough, he’s still there and still watching.
The last notes of the song fade out, and Lucy follows Tim’s gaze, her face clouding with worry when she sees the man.
“Hey,” Tim nudges her foot under the table, trying to get her attention.
“Dwayne, he keeps looking at me.” She bites her lip, and Tim leans forward just far enough to block her view.
So he’s got a name now. If only there were few enough ‘Dwayne’s in LA for him to be able to do anything with it.
“Stop looking back.” It’s a demand, not a suggestion, but he knows that Lucy will ignore him if she wants to. He’s just counting on some part of her knowing that he’s right, wanting someone to tell her what to do so she doesn’t make the wrong move. “He’ll get the message.”
Tim hopes. He thinks he will; he can’t imagine the man who’d keep staring at a woman who’s holding hands with someone else and not paying him a damn lick of attention. Sure, he’s worked the calls where those kinds of men force themselves on women, but he still can’t fathom something like that happening to Lucy.
Really, that had been the only mercy Caleb had offered her.
But he can’t think about that now, when Lucy is craning her neck to peek over his shoulder.
He can tell from the look on her face that she doesn’t want to be looking, but can’t help herself. It's like her first homicide, staring at the body and trying to put the pieces together, instead of working the perimeter and putting up crime scene tape like they’d been ordered.
That morning, Tim had asked her to tell him the five closest medical centers. Tonight, they’re not at work, and they’ve had close to two years to build a closer personal relationship. So instead of drilling her with questions from her rookie days, he scoots his chair a little closer to hers, making it harder – but not impossible – for her to see around him.
“Elaine.” He’s not whispering, but his voice stays low enough that none of their friends will hear.
“What?” Lucy looks at him and narrows her eyes.
“Your middle name,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’ve never mentioned it. Elaine?”
“Lucy Elaine? Ew, no.” She rolls her eyes, but looks back at him after. “I never would have survived high school; sounds too much like Loosey Lane.”
“Fair enough.” He’s not sure quite what that meant, but it does sound like the sort of thing teenagers would make a dirty joke out of. And besides, he’s not here to belabor any points, just distract her from the biker sitting over his shoulder. “Bet I can guess it.”
“Bet you can’t.” She’s smiling now, and it feels like a victory, even if it’s hesitant.
“Ethel.” Lucy shakes her head. “Claire.” Her lips press into a thin line, but her eyes still smile. “I don’t know, Hortense?”
At that, she snorts, and given how close together they’re sitting, Tim is incredibly thankful that she wasn’t taking a sip of her drink.
“Hortense?” She echoes, squinting at him, her nose scrunched in confusion.
“Hey, be nice,” Tim laughs and takes a sip of his beer. “I had a Great Aunt Hortense.”
“Yeah, a great aunt. No one’s used that name in 50 years!”
“Fine.” Tim rolls his eyes, hoping the affection is easy for her to read on his face. “Mae?”
“Nope.”
They go back and forth until Tim runs out of guesses. He tries all the most popular girls’ names he can think of, but she’s not Lucy Elizabeth or Lucy Grace or Lucy Jane. Nor is she Lucy Paisley, Lucy Imogen or Lucy Ophelia.
But after a while, the game runs on. Lucy’s still smiling, but she’s less engaged than she was, the distraction wearing thin.
Tim knows he’s only got one more trick up his sleeve.
“Lucy Marie.” He’s not asking this time, because he knows that he’s right. Has known, if he’s being honest, since his first guess.
“How’d you know?” She’s surprised now, a little impressed by the look on her face.
“It’s in your LAPD file.” She smirks at him and he laughs. “What, you think I didn’t do my homework when you started?”
“So you cheated?”
“I studied,” he corrects.
“OK, fine. My turn. I bet I can guess yours.” She’s smiling again, a glint in her eyes to rival the night she “evaluated him” with the rookies’ bar tab.
“You won’t get it.” Tim shakes his head. “But go ahead and try.”
She studies him for a second, like she’s hoping it’ll appear in a tattoo across his forehead.
“Hmm … Patrick.” She’s confident, he has to admit that, especially for a first guess with no hints to go on.
“Nope.” He shakes his head again.
“Oh, I know!” She giggles a moment later. “Cornelius!”
Tim raises his eyebrows, staring at her incredulously.
“What?” Lucy holds up the hand not wrapped in his, half-shrugging. “You thought mine was Hortense!”
“Is that your concession?” He doesn't have a good retort, is surprised every day at how well Lucy keeps him on his toes; even when he’s trying to keep her distracted, she manages to be a step ahead of him.
“Ugh, fine,” she nods after a moment. “You win.”
“Angela,” Tim looks over his shoulder. “What’s my middle name?”
“Ryan. Why, did you forget it?”
“Nah, just checking.” He looks back at Lucy, but turns around again at Angela’s next comment.
“I was wondering when you’d realize that we’re still here.” This time, he looks around more carefully and notices the two empty chairs at their table. Angela is talking to Jackson again, he’s pretty sure about some TV show.
“Harper and Nolan?” He asks into the room, not directed at any one person in particular.
“Gone,” Angela responds at the same time as Jackson opens his mouth.
“Her sitter had to leave. And Grace’s shift ended, so there went Nolan.”
“Oh,” Lucy is looking around too, puzzled at their friends’ departure.
“Yeah, you two were pretty lost over there. You’re sure there’s nothing we should know?”
“Well, Tim kept me from fighting a biker.” Lucy shrugs and takes a sip of her mango-rita, and Tim can’t help laughing when Jackson’s eyes try to fall out of his head.
“He what?”
“For?” Angela is less alarmed, more curious, as she looks at Tim. He’s not sure, though, if she wants to know why Lucy was going to fight the guy, or why he stopped her.
“Being creepy and not taking ‘no’ for an answer.” Lucy doesn’t seem so shaken anymore, but Tim is too relieved to wonder why.
But Angela is still staring at him like he’s been holding out on her, so he knows there’s a record he needs to set straight.
“To be clear,” he begins, leaning forward without letting go of Lucy’s hand. “I didn’t stop her; would have loved to see her kick hiss ass. My presence just diffused the situation.”
Angela and Jackson look at each other, and Tim doesn’t care to think too much about their expressions, because he’d be forced to admit that they’re knowing looks.
And that he’s still holding hands with Lucy. And that Lucy is still holding hands with him, even though she doesn’t seem worried anymore.
Luckily, Angela saves him from that particular thought spiral when she stands up and pulls her jacket from the back of her chair.
“Anyway,” she draws the word into extra syllables. “I’m calling it a night. Wes wants to cook me breakfast in the morning. So, y’know, I’ve got to be awake for the romance.” She rolls her eyes, but Tim sees the happiness on her face.
“Yeah, yeah,” He waves her off with his free hand. “You guys are sickening. Go have your domestic crap, see you tomorrow.”
“We’ll see if I’m the only one.” She’s teasing, he can tell, but Tim doesn’t know what she’s teasing about.
She’s walked away before he can ask, though, and Jackson is standing up right behind her.
“Yeah, she’s right, it’s getting late. Ster doesn’t cook, but he’s got … other ways … to get my morning off to a pleasant start.”
“Ew, gross, Jackson! God, go away, get out of here, ugh! I’ll see you at work!” Lucy is grimacing, her whole face wrinkled up in disgust and even in the dim lighting, Tim can tell that her skin is turning bright red.
He’s immediately stricken with the realization that she’s adorable; it hits him completely out of left field, even though he knows he’s noticed before that she’s attractive. “Adorable” feels different, somehow, less objective and more like the sort of thing he’d want to act on.
Which is not the sort of realization he should be having when her fingers are still tucked between his. But he can’t let go now, not without raising suspicion. He’s not sure which would be worse, Lucy asking him what happened, or Lucy thinking he doesn’t want to hold her hand.
So he leaves things as they are, and takes another sip of his beer, even though it’s getting close to room temperature.
Neither of them say anything for a couple minutes, then Lucy sighs heavily.
“OK, I’m sorry, I have to go home and bleach my brain now.” Tim can’t help but laugh at her outburst; sure, Jackson had overshared, but they’re all adults, and God only knows he’s heard about more than a few of Angela’s adventures over the years. “It’s like … seared into my eyelids!”
Tim is still chuckling, but he drains the last swallows of his beer and stands up, tugging gently at her hand.
“C’mon,” He looks over his shoulder and confirms that Dwayne is gone, but turns back to Lucy anyway, even after seeing the empty table behind him. “I promised I’d walk you out.”
He pulls Lucy to her feet; she drops his hand just long enough to push her arms through the sleeves of her jean jacket, then reaches for it again and lets Tim lead her through the door and into the parking lot. It’s warm out, but a nice night by LA standards, a gentle breeze blowing through the air as they walk hand in hand.
They’re halfway across the parking lot when Tim stops abruptly. Lucy isn’t expecting it, so she keeps walking until her arm stops moving and drags her backward.
“Tim?” She looks at him, but his name is hardly out of her mouth before he’s holding their hands up over her head and spinning her around. It takes a moment for her to catch on, but as soon as she’s turning with him, she’s laughing.
It’s the happiest sound he’s heard all night. Maybe longer, if he’s honest with himself.
When the twirl ends, he steps close enough that she has to bend her neck to look up at him.
“There, did we spin the horror away?” He smiles at her.
“Most of it.” She’s smirking at him now, one end of her mouth twisted up and her eyebrow quirked. “Might need one more, just to make sure we got it all.”
He rolls his eyes playfully, but indulges her. This time, he lets her spin around twice before she stops, teetering slightly with the motion. The smell of her perfume wafts up to his nose, something he can’t quite put his finger on. It’s a clean fragrance, something floral he thinks, but either way. It smells like Lucy, and if he didn’t know for sure he’d only had three beers tonight, he’d swear he was drunk on it.
This time, he pulls her in close to his side and finishes the short walk to her car. She leans against the side of the Datsun, one foot propped against the wheel, elbows resting against the faded orange paint.
Tim steps back and tucks both hands into his pockets, rocking on his heels while he waits to see what Lucy does next.
“Have a good night, Tim.” But it doesn’t sound like she’s brushing him off, eager to cut the evening to its end. He could be imagining things, but he thinks she seems a little reluctant, the way she keeps looking at him and doesn’t actually make a move to get into the car.
“Yeah.” He leans back again, then rolls forward far enough that he’s addressing Lucy directly, even though there’s no one else around. “Hey, for the record? You could have fought him off just fine. You didn’t need me.”
He wants her to hear it, wants her to know that she can take care of herself when she needs to. He’ll come to her rescue, whenever she asks, but she can handle things on her own too, and it’s important to Tim that she knows that. She needs to know that, and she needs to know that he knows it too.
“I know.” Good. She’s smiling at him, a little shy thing that Tim returns without having to think about it. “But it’s nice to have a partner sometimes.”
Lucy shrugs, and Tim takes a half-step closer to her.
“Well, you know where to find me.”
“Yeah.” She takes a breath. “I do.”
It feels like the moment has played itself out, like this might be where their night ends, and Tim starts readying himself to step back and cross the parking lot to his own truck, drive back to his own house, spend the rest of the night in the empty quiet.
But she’s taking another breath, deeper this time, steeling herself for something. So Tim waits a little longer, lets her gather her nerve and tell him what’s on her mind.
She stammers a little bit, looking for her footing at the beginning of the sentence, but once she’s found it, her voice is sure and steady.
“Maybe sometime you’d want to grab another drink? Um, officially? Not just helping me get away from some creep?”
So it hadn’t all been in his head.
He’d started to wonder, when she was calm and collected again, why she hadn’t let go of his hand. But clearly, she hadn’t wanted to, and even if he didn’t know why, Tim wasn’t going to go looking for trouble.
Especially not when their fingers fit together so perfectly.
“I’d like that,” he replies, and the relief on her face turns quickly to exuberance. “What are you doing now? Could go for a cup of coffee; there’s that place around the corner, we could walk. Call it a nightcap?”
“Sure.” Lucy stands upright, tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Maybe next time he can do that for her, run his fingers along the edges of her face. The intimacy of the thought startles him, but not as much as the beeping noise when Lucy tucks her keys back into her pocket.
Tim raises an eyebrow, looking between the battered old car and its owner, and she giggles.
“I had them update the security, after my first day on the job.” The headlights dim as she steps forward and reaches for his hand. It feels familiar already, like they’ve been holding hands for years, not just a couple of hours in a bar. Tim uses the connection to tug Lucy closer to his side, until their legs are almost bumping together when they start to walk.
“Probably should have updated the whole car, Boot.”
“I like her. She’s got character.” Lucy looks up at him to stick her tongue out, and he chuckles.
“Whatever you say.”
They’re walking underneath a streetlight now, its orangey glow making Lucy look even warmer and more comforting than usual. Tim can’t help himself from stopping and twirling her around again, relishing in the way she laughs as the edge of her jacket swings away from her waist.
This time, he steadies her with a hand on her hip, keeps her from stumbling when the spinning stops.
They can see the coffeeshop now, not even a block ahead when they start walking again, and when they get there, Tim steps ahead of Lucy to pull the door open for her.
She smiles at him when he settles a hand on her back as she passes in front of him. Time freezes for a second, a moment Tim knows will define whatever future he and Lucy build together. On impulse, he leans down to press a kiss against her cheek as he moves behind her to walk through the door.
The bell chimes behind them, rattling against the glass when the door closes, and it breaks the haze just enough for Tim to see the way Lucy is smiling at him again.
They study the menu for a second, then step forward to order. As he’s reaching for his money clip, Tim feels Lucy slip her hand into his and squeeze lightly.
He returns the gesture, can feel it in his bones that he and Lucy are starting something tonight, the sort of something that will hopefully last a lifetime.
But however many more nights they share, however many more beers and frozen drinks, faded jeans and white dresses lay ahead of them?
Tim knows that tonight, their first night, will stay with him forever. It’s just like Lucy.
Unforgettable.