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Lucy Chen approached at an unhurried pace, the morning chill nipping at her skin.
“Hey, what’s going on?” she asked, forcing casual into her voice.
Tim Bradford stepped down from the van, the morning light catching in his hair, his expression already half-resigned, half-fondly annoyed.
“Angela and your roommate have too much free time.”
Lucy huffed a quiet laugh, glancing over her shoulder like she half-expected Lopez and Celina to pop out with popcorn.
“Oh, they... they wanted to get us alone.”
Tim nodded once, jaw tight.
“I'm sorry.”
Lucy searched his face, reading the apology beneath the apology.
“No, it's fine. I mean, they're right. We... we do need to talk.”
She glanced at her watch, habit more than necessity, nerves suddenly buzzing.
“Yeah,” Tim said. “I mean, let’s—come on.”
He moved them farther from the van, scanning instinctively. His hand settled gently at the small of her back—familiar, grounding—as he guided her, wary of any eavesdroppers like Miles.
Lucy felt it. Of course. That touch was pure Tim.
They stopped where the dock widened, sunrise spilling across the water in front of them.
“Well,” he said, clearing his throat, “I guess I should start by apologizing.”
She folded her arms, not defensive—just bracing.
“Strongly agree. It’s been like three days.”
He winced. “Oh, I know. I should have called sooner, I just…” He swallowed. “…I was scared.”
Lucy’s expression softened immediately. That was Tim—brave in every way except the ones that mattered most.
“What if we get back together and it’s not like it was before?” she asked quietly.
His voice dropped, rougher. “Even worse, what if you... realize you don't love the new, less toxic me.”
Lucy blinked, emotion rushing up so fast she almost laughed at it.
“Trust me, becoming emotionally healthier? That... that is...” She bit her lip, cheeks warming. “...that's a turn on. Not the opposite.”
Tim let out a quiet breath, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction.
“So you're not worried?”
She didn’t sugarcoat it.
“Of course I am. You broke my heart.”
The words landed. Tim visibly flinched—like he’d been bracing for it but it still hurt. Guilt flashed across his face, eyes dropping like he’d been physically struck.
Lucy saw it—and softened, stepping closer; mischief creeping in to soften the blow.
In a teasing voice, deliberately dramatic, she admonished, "The scar is so deep it might never fade.”
He chuckled despite himself, shaking his head.
“But, you know, I'm hoping it'll make us stronger,” she pressed on, earnest and steady. “You know we both know what we lost. Hopefully we'll fight to make it work.”
Tim didn’t hesitate.
“We will.”
He looked at her fully then, sunrise catching in his eyes.
“I love you.”
Her chest tightened, but the fear didn’t win this time.
“I love you too.”
They stood there, suspended in the moment, the world politely holding its breath. A gull cried somewhere overhead. The water lapped against the dock.
Lucy blinked first, a grin breaking through the emotion.
“Okay, now ask me out.”
Her voice went playful, almost childish, like she was daring him.
Tim’s brows shot up.
“No. Nope.”
Her smile faltered. For a split second, every emotion crossed her face—surprise, confusion, a flash of hurt.
“No, I—” Tim rushed, hands lifting. “I actually wasn’t, uh, going to ask you out.”
Lucy’s heart kicked hard in her chest.
He stepped closer, voice steady but charged.
“I want to ask you to move in with me,” he said. “I’ve spent enough nights without you that I want you all the way in my life.”
She stared at him, stunned. “Is that right?”
“Yeah.”
The sunrise crested fully then, light spilling across the docks like it was timed on purpose.
“So is... is that a yes?”
She laughed softly, overwhelmed.
“Oh God.”
She moved closer, tilting her head up to look at him, eyes shining. Her lip caught between her teeth again—nervous, hopeful.
“Do you promise to be a better communicator?” she asked, raw and soft and so very Lucy.
Tim immediately panicked—in the most Tim way.
“Oh yes,” he blurted, shoulders hiking as the ramble spilled. “I mean, I... I promise to be THE best communicator. Not a SINGLE thought that I will keep to myself. Every—”
She cut him off, beaming, utterly smitten by his earnest chaos.
“Just say yes.” Teasing-soft, with a laughing plea. “Please.”
Their eyes locked, the air humming. “Yes.”
She kissed him.
Slow. Gentle. Like she was relearning him and confirming he was real all at once. Her hand slid to the back of his neck, fingers curling there as the sunrise painted them gold. A lone bird soared behind them, as if on cue.
She pulled back just enough to breathe—then kissed him again, deeper this time, both hands wrapping around his neck.
Tim melted into it, hands splayed across her lower back. The sunrise warmed their skin, casting long shadows on the weathered dock planks, while the harbor's briny scent mingled with the faint vanilla of her shampoo. His heart thudded steadily—therapy had taught him this vulnerability, but Lucy made it feel like victory. No more walls.
When they finally separated, Lucy grinned and immediately went playful, tugging lightly at his pockets in the most childish voice.
“Where are the keys?”
Tim laughed, catching her wrists—low and rumbling, the sound rare enough to make her stomach flip. “Not on me.”
She gasped theatrically, then kissed him again anyway, her laughter muffled between them. Her lips brushed his with feather-light pecks, playful nips, turning the moment into pure, giddy joy. Tim's free hand found her waist, thumb tracing the edge of her windbreaker zipper, anchoring them amid the rising gulls' calls and the soft slap of waves against pilings. This, he thought, this is what I fought for. No more lonely nights staring at an empty coffee mug, wondering if he'd ruined the best thing in his life.
A pointed throat-clearing sounded behind them.
They froze.
Angela Lopez stood a few feet away, arms crossed, one eyebrow arched sky-high. Her detective sharpness cut through the romance like a knife through fog, but her lips twitched with barely contained glee—the ultimate wingwoman.
“You two done making out like teenagers, or should I give you another minute?”
Lucy yelped, pulling back, cheeks blazing a shade pinker than the dawn sky. She smoothed her ponytail frantically, shooting Angela a mock-glare that dissolved into giggles. Tim cleared his throat, suddenly very interested in literally anything else on the docks—the rusted chain links dangling over the water, the distant hum of a fishing boat motoring in. Heat crept up his neck, but he couldn't summon real embarrassment; not with Lucy's hand still brushing his.
Angela smirked, shaking her head as she adjusted her vest. “Good. Let’s get back to work.” She turned on her heel, boots thudding purposefully toward the van, but not before tossing over her shoulder, “And Timothy? You’re welcome.”
Lucy leaned into Tim one last time and whispered, “I’m getting us matching keychains.” Her breath tickled his ear, eyes shining.
He snorted, guiding her forward with a hand at her elbow—protective habit die-hard. “No.”
“Oh, yes. Something very pink and pretty,” she added sweetly. “And sparkly.”
That sounded absolutely repulsive. Tim could already picture it: glittery fobs clashing with his tactical keys, drawing stares all around. His inner sergeant recoiled. But Lucy's grin—wide, triumphant, utterly disarming—cracked him open.
Tim smiled anyway, squeezing her hand as they followed after Angela. He’d do anything for her after all. Even endure sparkly humiliation if it kept that light in her eyes.
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Tim woke first.
It was a habit. Years of early mornings and worse nights. For a moment, he was disoriented—warm, content, the weight of something perfect against his side. Then Lucy shifted in her sleep, her hair tickling his chin, and everything clicked into place.
She’s curled into him, bare shoulders warm beneath the sheet, one hand resting on his chest like it’s always belonged there.
The night had been… a lot. Emotionally. Physically. Everything in between. They’d ended up tangled in the sheets, skin pressed together, and now he was left with a tired, satisfied ache that ran through his body.
He watched her breathe.
This—this—is what he almost walked away from. What fear almost convinced him he didn’t deserve.
She shifted in her sleep, murmuring something unintelligible, her cheek pressed against his shoulder. Tim turned his head, studying her face—the softness of her expression, the way her lashes rested against her skin. He felt something warm and steady bloom in his chest.
His hand slid over her arm, slow and careful, not wanting to wake her. For a moment, he considered staying like this—holding onto the quiet, letting her sleep a little longer.
But patience had never been his strongest virtue.
Tim leaned down, brushing a slow kiss along her cheek, then her jaw, then the tip of her nose. She stirred, and he couldn’t resist pressing another quick kiss to her lips, grinning when she twitched awake.
“Well,” he murmured, voice low, “was it worth the wait?”
Lucy cracked one eye open, wiggling her toes against his calf. “It was a long wait.”
“Just answer the question.”
She smiled fully now. “You’re cute when you’re insecure.”
“It was worth the wait,” she added, softer this time.
She shifted closer. “I guess we should talk about the timeline for me moving in.”
Tim’s eyes widened.
Without a word, he grabbed the edge of the sheet, rolled off the bed completely naked, and wrapped the entire thing around himself like a human burrito.
Lucy stared after him; stunned, eyes sweeping over him before she burst out laughing. “What the hell, Tim?”
He peeked his head out, dead serious. “Come here.”
She shook her head, still smiling, but climbed off the bed anyway. Tim opened the sheet just enough to let her in, wrapping it back around them both. They shuffled together, bumping shoulders and laughing quietly, wrapped in warmth and cotton.
Tim pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
Lucy nuzzled closer, grinning. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
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Wrapped together in the bedsheet, they stopped at the threshold of the garage.
Lucy was still half laughing, half tucked into Tim’s chest, when her eyes drifted past him.
Then she froze.
Boxes were stacked neatly along the wall—medium, large, extra-large—each one carefully taped, some even labeled in Tim’s unmistakably blocky handwriting. Kitchen. Books. Winter clothes. One box sat slightly apart from the others, marked simply: Lucy.
Her breath caught.
Tim felt it immediately—the way her body stilled, the way her hand tightened against his side beneath the sheet.
She leaned forward just enough to really take it all in.
“What were you going to do if I'd said no?”
Her voice was soft, not accusing—curious, almost tender.
Tim shrugged, sheepish. “I didn’t have a plan for that.”
Lucy turned to look at him, really look at him. His hair was still a mess from sleep, his arms were bare where the sheet had slipped, and he looked… vulnerable. Exposed in more ways than one.
Warmth flooded her chest; she smiled, hand slipping free to rub his arm soothingly outside their little burrito.
“You're adorable.”
Tim let out a quiet huff of a laugh, his hand coming up to cover hers, thumb brushing over her knuckles like he needed the contact.
“Thank you.”
They kissed—unhurried, soft, brimming with quiet promise over heat.
Then her smile turned mischievous.
“You're also gonna need more boxes.”
Her voice shifted fully into that teasing, childish lilt she saved just for him, the one that always wrecked his ability to think straight. She slipped out of the bedsheet, letting it fall open as she steps away, completely unbothered by her nakedness, already scanning the stacks like she was mentally rearranging his entire life.
Tim watched her go, the sheet still wrapped around his waist, his brain struggling to catch up.
More boxes?
He stared at what he’d thought was plenty—had measured, planned, organized—because of course he had. He’d cleared space in his closet. Bought extra hangers. Even switched to her preferred laundry detergent weeks ago, just in case.
And somehow, she still needed more boxes.
He shaked his head, a helpless smile tugging at his lips.
Because there she was—his girl—barefoot on the concrete floor, already making herself at home, already expanding into his life exactly the way she always has.
Lucy glanced back at him, catching that look on his face.
“Tim,” she said sweetly, eyes dancing, “why are you smiling like that?”
He shrugged, finally stepping toward her, letting the sheet drop as he reaches her. “Just realizing I never stood a chance.”
She laughed, hands sliding up his chest, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw. “Good.”
Her fingers curled into his hand, tugging.
“Come on,” she said, already backing toward the door. “We can inventory later.”
He raised an eyebrow. “That so?”
Lucy’s smile turned slow and knowing. “Very.”
Tim didn’t argue.