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The air carried the sharp tang of salt and the low murmur of conversation. The bar, a trendy spot with a view of the ocean, was Angela's pick for their monthly get-together. Honestly? Tim hated it. Sand clung stubbornly to the soles of his dark jeans and irritated his skin. He'd thrown on a simple navy button-up, sleeves rolled to his elbows. Against the bar's relaxed, beachy vibe, he looked slightly out ot place.
But he was there, a solid presence amid the loud crowd, all because Lucy had insisted he needed to "have some fun". And as he looked at her, he found himself not just tolerating the night; he was actually starting to enjoy it. Lucy stood out like a splash of color against the darkening sky - a cheerful contrast to his own tight and quiet stance. Her yellow, knee-length dress caught the last rays of sunlight, and her hair fell in soft waves around her face. She was beautiful, and it was a quiet, dangerous thought he tried hard to suppress.
He watched her as she gestured animatedly, laughing at something Grey had said. The group was in full swing: Wesley trying to explain some weird and obscure legal precedent to James, Nyla trading playful insults with John, and Celina telling a story about the time a dog ran off with her pepper spray. Tim stayed mostly quiet, happy to watch the chaos unfold around him. Still, his mind ran its own silent patrol. He noticed the way Lucy leaned in when she spoke, her effortless smile and the occasional subtle glance she would sent his way.
Tim drained the last of his beer, the amber liquid gone, and set the bottle down. Lucy's outrageously colorful drink was empty too. He grabbed his empty bottle and stood, feeling her gaze follow him. "I'm getting us another round," he said, his voice barely audible over the music and the talking. Lucy's eyes met his, and a small, private smile played at her lips. "Go be a hero, Tim," she teased, the words light, a playful challenge that made his chest tighten in a way he wasn’t used to.
He made his way through the crowd, posture straight, movements deliberate, like a soldier on a mission. He ordered his beer and her sickeningly sweet, almost fluorescent drink. Returning to the table, Tim took a slow, careful sip from Lucy’s drink before handing the glass to her. Her smile faltered for a heartbeat, then softened with quiet understanding. It had become a ritual for them, a silent promise: he would always make sure her drink was safe, and he'd be her first line of defense.
"You know,” Lucy said, her voice low, meant only for him, “at this rate, people are going to start thinking you actually like these sweet drinks of mine.”
He didn’t reply immediately, just looked at her, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t know how you stand these things,” he said with a shake of his head, a quiet tease. “I can’t wait for the day you order something actually drinkable.”
Around them, conversation and laughter continued, but their world had narrowed to just the two of them. Tim noticed the way the lights caught the edges of her hair, the faint warmth of her hand when it brushed his, and the subtle cadence of her laughter that seemed to linger even after the sound faded. Hours slipped by almost unnoticed. The group slowly began to drift away: Nyla, James, John and Bailey left first, laughing over some private joke, followed by Angela and Wesley, who lingered at the bar for a last drink before heading out. Eventually, it was just Tim and Lucy, the empty glasses and scattered plates in front of them a quiet testament to the night.
“Come on,” Lucy said, her voice soft but insistent. She stood and held out her hand. “Let’s go for a walk.” Tim let out a long-suffering sigh. “On the beach? Lucy, I’m wearing jeans. And socks.”
“Take them off,” she said, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “You’re at the beach. You have to feel the sand. You just have to.”
He stared at her for a long moment, then at the moonlit stretch of sand. He hated sand, it was abrasive, messy, impossible to keep off you. And yet, he knew he’d walk through a field of broken glass if she asked.
“Fine,” he said, the word escaping like a quiet surrender.
They walked slowly, the sand cool beneath their bare feet. The rhythmic crash of the waves filled the quiet between them. Moonlight caught the folds of her dress, turning it a soft, pale gold. He watched her move, her stride effortless and graceful, so different from his own measured steps. A lump formed in his throat at the unspoken thought he couldn’t keep at bay: he would walk at the beach every night, if it meant walking beside her.
Lucy turned, her eyes wide in the dark. She grabbed his arm, pulling him closer to the water's edge. Tim rolled up his jeans to avoid the incoming tide, feeling the wet sand between his toes as he did. She stood beside him, watching the waves with quiet amusement, and he felt a small jolt at the closeness, the simple presence of her next to him enough to unsettle him.
Tim followed her as she began walking again, her eyes scanning the sand for something. Every few steps, she bent down to pick up a shell; a small, intricate gift left by the sea. She held it up to the sky, showing it to him with before gently returning it to the sand.
"Why don’t you keep them?" he asked, "They’re beautiful."
She shrugged, still focused on the ground. "I can’t. They belong here. I can't take them away from where they’re meant to be." She finally looked at him, her smile gone, replaced by a thoughtful solemnity. "It’s like… a memory. You can look at it, appreciate it, but you can’t take it."
The weight of her words settled over him. He thought of his own life, full of heavy memories he carried like stones in his chest: of his father, his military days, Isabel. He had tried to box them up, to bury them and move on, but they always resurfaced, raw and unyielding. And here was Lucy, gently reminding him that some things are meant to remain where they are, to be observed, respected, and left untouched.
The night was young, and the waves whispered a secret rhythm, one that seemed to dare them to let go, to abandon control. Lucy stopped suddenly and faced him, her eyes glinting. “You know the real reason, right?” she murmured, voice teasing but low.
He grunted, that familiar sound that betrayed his attempt to hide a smile. “Real reason for what, Chen?”
“Why you hate the beach,” she said softly, “because it’s chaos. Tides you can’t predict, sand you can’t master, wind that slips through your fingers… nothing is under your control. And you, Tim Bradford, are a total control freak. He froze, stoic on the surface, but the corners of his mouth twitched. She was right, and he didn’t need to admit it.
Pretending to examine a shell, she slipped her hands into the cold water and then, with a swift motion, splashed him across the chest. The icy droplets made him shiver, eyes widening in shock, but she only laughed, taking a careful step back, her body radiant in the silver light. He exhaled slowly, his voice low, deliberate. “Five.”
Her eyes flickered, puzzled for a heartbeat, then widened in realization. “Four,” he said, stepping closer. “What? Wait!” she squeaked, spinning to run, and her laughter made the night feel alive.
“Three.”
Her feet pounded the sand, yellow fabric flashing, and Tim dropped his shoes, long strides eating the distance. He laughed too, a deep, unguarded sound, echoing across the shore in a way that made him feel lighter than he had in years. He caught her at last, hands firm at her waist. She yelped, trying to wriggle free, and in their struggle, they tumbled into the sand, limbs entwined, bodies close, hearts racing.
They lay there, side by side, the sand cool beneath them, staring up at a sky smeared with stars. The waves rolled gently, the rhythm syncing with their breathing. Slowly, laughter faded, replaced by a quieter, more intimate sound.
“Wow,” she whispered.
“What's that?”
“I never thought I’d see Tim Bradford lying on a beach with this much of his body touching sand,” she said, voice soft, teasing, but with an edge of something more.
He turned to her, eyes locking with hers, and the playfulness faded, replaced by a weighty intensity. The chase was over, but the closeness remained. The night, the waves, her warmth - it was all real. And he realized, with a thrill that made his chest tighten, that this moment, this intimacy, was something he didn’t want to escape. And for the first time in a long time, he let himself think about kissing her.
The cold reality of the situation washed over him like a wave. His mind began to list every reason why this was a bad idea. She was his former rookie, younger, still under his command, and a friend to all his friends. This was inappropriate. This was a violation of every professional boundary he had ever held. He was supposed to be a mentor and her partner, not... whatever this was. He was a man with a past full of wreckage, an ex-wife who had vanished under his watch and scars that didn’t belong to anyone else. He wasn't good for her. He would only end up hurting her, just as he had inadvertently hurt everyone else who had ever gotten close to him. He had to stop this. He had to stand up, shake the sand from his clothes, and tell her they needed to go home, to forget this ever happened.
He opened his mouth to speak, the words cold and rational and right on the tip of his tongue. He was about to suggest they leave, to salvage what little was left of his self-respect. But then she smiled. A slow, effortless curve of her lips, reaching all the way to her eyes, pure and unguarded. No malice, no agenda - just happiness, simple and honest. And in that moment, all the reasons, all the rules, all the caution he had held onto, evaporated. The only thing that mattered was her. The only thing that existed was her.
Tim shifted, rising onto his elbows until he hovered above her. The sound of the waves faded into the background, the world narrowing to the fragile space between them. He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. His hand lingered, fingers tracing the delicate line of her cheek. Lucy’s eyes fluttered closed for a breath, a silent surrender that showed her own vulnerability.
His gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips, and the last protest of a man who had always lived by the book slipped out in a broken whisper. “We shouldn’t.”
Her hand rose, warm and steady against his cheek. She met his eyes, her voice no more than a breath. “Let go, Tim.”
That was all it took. He didn’t need another reason. He didn’t need permission. He only needed her. They leaned in, meeting halfway, and when their lips touched, the world seemed to exhale with them. The kiss was slow at first, tentative, as though testing the line they had both sworn never to cross. But then the restraint dissolved. Her hand slid to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, on top of them, and she pressed into him with a hunger that had been buried for far too long.
She tasted of salt and sweetness, like the ocean breeze tangled with the remnants of her drink, and the sensation sent a shiver down his spine. Her fingers curled into his shirt, and the heat of her touch bled straight through the fabric to his skin. Every inch of him burned with the realization that this wasn’t just desire. This was need, raw and undeniable.
For years he’d told himself he couldn’t want this, that she was off-limits, untouchable. But in that moment, lying together in the sand, it didn’t matter. There was no past, no rank, no distance between them. Just her lips, her breath, her heartbeat against his chest, anchoring him in a way no one else ever had.
It wasn’t like kissing anyone else for both of them. It was like finally finding the place you were meant to be, the thing you’d been searching for without even knowing it. It was surrender, and it was freedom. It was everything.
And for the first time in a long, long time, Tim let go.
The kiss deepened, and when Tim finally broke from her lips, he didn’t pull away. Instead, lowering his mouth to her neck, leaving slow, deliberate kisses against her skin. Her breath hitched, and when he trailed down to the hollow of her collarbone, leaving a wet trail, she let out a soft moan that sent fire coursing through him.
It was that sound, the raw, unfiltered truth of her, that made him stop. He pulled back just enough to see her face, her lips parted, her eyes wide and shining. They were both breathless, their chests rising and falling in sync, caught in the weight of what had just happened.
They didn’t notice an old couple strolling by until the woman muttered under her breath, something about how “People have no discretion these days.” Lucy stifled a laugh, her cheeks flushed, and Tim shot her a look that was equal parts sheepish and shameless.
Finally, he forced himself to shift back, though his hand stayed in hers, reluctant to let go. Their eyes locked again, and this time, there was no hiding, no pretending. Whatever this was, whatever it meant, they were in it together.
“Take me home, Tim,” she whispered. Her voice was steady, but her eyes betrayed the storm inside her.
He nodded, pushing himself up with a groan, brushing sand from his shirt. Then he extended his hand to her. She took it without hesitation, and he hauled her to her feet. The moment she was up, he grimaced, looking down at himself. Sand clung to every inch of his clothes, his arms, his neck, his hair.
“Ugh,” he muttered, his face twisted in disgust. “This is exactly why I hate the beach.” Lucy’s laugh rang out, bright and unrestrained, and even through the sand and mess, Tim couldn’t bring himself to care. Not tonight.
She slipped her hand into his as they started walking back, her shoulder brushing his. “You should be grateful for the sand,” she said, her tone light but edged with meaning. “Pretty sure it just earned you a shower pass.”