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When we pulled up to Riker’s abode, I blinked at the quaint structure sitting like a relic from a bygone era. It was a small, unassuming house nestled in the heart of Dallas, complete with a neatly trimmed lawn and a vintage vibe that screamed 1950s Americana. The place had a quiet charm, as if it belonged to a retired superhero who’d hung up his cape but kept his bat phone.
“Nice,” I said.
“Just bought it recently,” Riker said.
A homeowner. That was stability personified.
“Didn’t peg you for a mid-century man,” I said, my gaze sweeping over the tapered legs of a teak credenza through the front window.
Riker shrugged, a half-smile playing on his lips as he led me up the walkway. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Tessa.”
“Clearly,” I said, stepping across the threshold into a time warp of atomic clocks and starburst patterns. “Next thing you’ll tell me is you whip up a mean martini and host poetry slams on Fridays.”
“Only on every other Friday,” he said, and I laughed. Despite the laughter, though, there was a thread of seriousness between us, a live wire waiting to spark. Heat seemed to be a recurring theme in my life lately, whether it was the fire of battle or... something else entirely.
“Nice digs,” I admitted, my eyes tracing the clean lines of the furniture, the vibrant pop of color from an abstract painting on the wall. “It’s like stepping onto the set of ‘I Love Lucy’ if Lucy were a brawny paranormal bounty hunter.”
“Lucy had her secrets,” Riker remarked, closing the door behind us. “Just like we have ours.”
“Except our version involves less chocolate factory shenanigans and more dodging fireballs from underworld beasties,” I added, leaning against an armchair upholstered in a fabric that probably had a name like ‘boomerang blue.’
“Something like that,” he agreed, his deep voice rumbling through the room. “Let’s sit and hash out our plan. We’ve got monsters to hunt.”
“Right,” I said, my mind already racing with possibilities. “Monsters to hunt, worlds to save, and hey, maybe some mid-century furniture to salvage when this is all over.”
“Priorities, Tessa,” Riker chuckled, leading me toward the couch with a twinkle in his eye that suggested he was enjoying this side of me as much as I was surprised by his new side. “Coffee?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Riker didn’t waste any time, the coffee machine humming to life as he scooped grounds with a precision that spoke of countless mornings doing the same. The scent of brewing coffee filled the space between us, rich and earthy. I watched, leaning against the kitchen counter, as his large hands deftly maneuvered around mugs and spoons. Domestic Riker was a revelation—who knew that watching a man make coffee could feel like the prelude to some elemental dance?
“Hope you like it strong,” he said, shooting me a look over his shoulder, a half-smile playing on his lips.
“Only way to drink it,” I replied, my own smile betraying my intrigue. There was something disarmingly attractive about this side of him, this glimpse into the kind of ordinary that felt extraordinary because it was Riker.
Mugs in hand, we settled onto the couch, its retro lines surprisingly comfortable. As I took a careful sip, letting the warmth seep into my fingers, I realized another kind of heat was unfurling within me. Maybe it was the proximity to Riker, maybe it was the adrenaline from our latest close call with the supernatural…or maybe it was the first flicker of something more dangerous than any monster we’d faced.
“So,” he began, his voice drawing me back to the present, “about Zayn...”
“Right, the djinn,” I echoed, feeling the word roll off my tongue like an incantation, while inside, the heat twisted and twirled, igniting thoughts that had nothing to do with our hunt and everything to do with the hunter beside me.
I set my coffee down, the ceramic clinking softly against the wood of the mid-century modern coffee table. It felt like a signal, a silent declaration that I was done with talk for now.
Riker’s eyes had started to smolder in a way that suggested he wasn’t thinking about Zayn either.
“Riker,” I said, my voice less steady than I’d intended.
“Tessa?” he answered, his tone low, matching the intensity I felt crackling between us.
I leaned forward, closing the little space left on the couch, drawn in by some magnetic pull that Riker seemed to exude. He mirrored my movement, a predator’s grace in the way he moved, his own heat meeting mine in the scant inches that separated us.
“Is this okay?” I whispered, barely an exhale, seeking confirmation without breaking the spell weaving around us.
“More than okay,” Riker murmured back, and that was all the encouragement I needed.
Our lips crashed together, and it was as if we’d struck a match, igniting the kindling that had been building since the moment I’d stepped into his retro sanctuary.
Since long before, actually.
