Remi nudged me. “Be nice.”
“I’ll try.”
“I don’t believe you.”
I elbowed her and she laughed... again. Like I was suddenly her personal source of amusement.
He walked up slowly, hat tipped slightly, lips twitching like he knew exactly what he was doing to my blood pressure.
“Evening, Ms. Sinclair,” he said.
“Harlan,” I replied sharply.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said.
I tilted my head. “You invited us.”
“Still. I figured you’d show up late. Maybe stage a protest.”
“Still on the table.”
His grin widened. Then, to Remi: “You look sharp, Carter.”
She smiled. “I always do, Chief.”
“You going to say the same to me?” I asked.
He turned his eyes back to me, lingering a second too long.
“You look…” He cleared his throat. “Formidable.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Careful, Chief. That almost sounded like a compliment.”
“Maybe it was.”
Around us, conversations dipped. Not stopped entirely, but faltered, like people were paying attention without wanting to look like they were. I could feel the weight of it. The unspoken curiosity. The unhidden judgment.
Remi slipped away then, off to greet someone from the housing board, leaving me standing there with a man who made my blood boil and my knees weak in equal measure.
He held out his hand.
I looked at it.
Then at him.
“I don’t dance.”
“Sure, you do,” he said. “You just don’t like being led.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What makes you think I’ll let you?”
He didn’t answer. Just waited. Like he had all night to wait for me.
And like a goddamn idiot, I put my hand in his.
The band shifted into something slower. He pulled me gently to the floor, one hand on my back, the other steady around mine.
He didn’t try to pull me close. He didn’t try to talk. He just… moved with me. Like it was easy. Like he knew the rhythm and had no intention of rushing it.
