She shivers. My instinct to care for her kicks in and I step closer, tugging the collar of her jacket snug beneath her chin.
Her breath catches and she utters my name on a whisper. “Jesse.”
The space between us warms. The smell of our dinner still clings to her coat—chili and warm bread, a reminder of her playfully stealing my fries. She fits here. With me.
I lean in—my heartbeat loud enough to hear—forgetting where we are and what we’re doing. All I can see is her. That soft, inviting expression. The way her smile tips up the closer I get.
The world narrows to the inch between us—then explodes back to full volume. My patrol radio crackles through the silence. We jerk away as if shocked.
“Bordeaux patrol. Come in.”
My eyes are on Alex’s. She’s blushing. Even in the dim light of the headlights I can see it.
I pull the radio from my belt and press the call button. “This is Bordeaux patrol.”
“We’ve got a situation at the Dobbs home.”
County dispatch rattles off the address. “Apparently both homes are blasting Christmas music out their windows at top volume. A neighbor called in the complaint.”
“We’re on it,” I say, clipping the mic back to my belt.
Alex tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and walks to her side of the car without another word. I glance over at her as I’m buckling my seatbelt. She’s still flushed, looking anywhere but in my direction.
We’re at work. On the clock—and I almost kissed her.
Did she lean in? Or did I imagine it? What was I thinking—on duty, for crying out loud?
My grip on the steering wheel is too tight, my pulse still racing.I’ve never wanted anyone like this.And wanting her while I’m in uniform feels wrong—like an affront to my oath. Lines I’ve held my whole life shift when she looks at me like I matter. Like she wants me as much as I want her.
We handle the Dobbs-Hawthorne situation with professionalism. They each hooked up Bluetooth speakers in aneffort to out-play the other with a blaring version of a Christmas carol. The sound was deafening when we arrived. After a warning and a noise citation written for each of them, Alex and I climb back into the cruiser.
Our shift is coming to a close and our near-kiss feels like an infraction. I’m a man awaiting sentencing. Or maybe clemency.
“About the alley …” I start in at the same time as she says, “What were they thinking?”
“Grace and Stuart?” I ask.
“Yes,” she chuckles, glancing over at me at last.
“Competition will do things to people.”
“I’ll say.”
She’s finally relaxing—softly smiling in my direction.
I pull the cruiser into the station lot and park beside our cars under the glow of an overhead pole light. The stillness of the winter night surrounds us, making it feel like we’re the only two people on Earth.
“Good work tonight,” Alex says, her voice soft and hesitant.
I nod. “You too.”
I hold her gaze. She looks down at her gloved hands and back up at me. For a moment I wonder if something’s about to happen—but then, she gives me a small smile, opens her door, and says, “Well, goodnight, Jesse.”
“Goodnight, Alex.”
A rush of words crowds my thoughts—you’re the kindest person I’ve ever met … may I kiss you … let me take you out—but none of them cross my lips.
I stay, rooted in place, watching her climb into her car. Waiting for her engine to kick on. And staring as her taillights fade down the street.
