Page 37 of Flashpoint
"Fair enough."
The documentary shows a hillside in flames, firefighters silhouetted against the blaze like figures from mythology. I watch it without really seeing, my mind drifting to the case files in my bag, the forms waiting on my desk, the trial that's still months away.
"Hey." Aiden's voice pulls me back. "Where'd you go?"
"Nowhere. Just thinking."
"About?"
The instinct to deflect is automatic. Keep the heavy stuff inside, process alone, don't make it anyone else's problem. But Aiden's hand is warm on my back, and his heart beats slow and calm under my ear, and somewhere along the way, I've startedtrusting him with things I don't trust anyone else with.
"My dad used to say that the job never really ends," I say slowly. "That even when you close a case, there's always another one waiting. Another fire, another investigation, another puzzle to solve."
"Sounds exhausting."
"It was, for him. He loved the work, but it consumed him. He was always thinking about the next case, the one he couldn't solve, the evidence that didn't add up." I take a breath. "I always thought I'd end up the same way. Married to the job, nothing else."
"And now?"
"Now I'm lying on a couch with a firefighter who makes me pasta and reads my incident command books." I prop my chin on his chest. "It's not what I expected."
"Good unexpected or bad unexpected?"
"Good." The word comes easier than it would have a month ago. "Really good."
His smile is soft, private—the one that's just for me. "I'm glad."
"Don't get cocky."
"Too late for that." He wiggles his hips suggestively.
"Aiden Gentry, stop that."
"You love it."
"I tolerate it."
"Same thing."
I settle back against his chest, letting the tension of the past week finally drain away. The wildfire documentary plays on in silence, and outside the windows, Copper Ridge glitters in the darkness like always.
My father was right—the job never really ends. There will always be another case, another fire, another puzzle demanding to be solved.
But for the first time in my career, that doesn't feel like a burden. It feels like purpose. A calling I can carry alongside everything else I'm building—this relationship, this partnership, this unexpected life that started with a viral video and a fake romance and turned into something more real than anything I've ever known.
Aiden's breathing evens out beneath me, slipping toward sleep. I close my eyes and let myself follow.
Tomorrow there will be forms and meetings and the endless machinery of justice grinding forward. But tonight, there's just this: warmth, quiet, the rhythm of another heartbeat syncing with mine.
My father taught me to follow the evidence wherever it leads. I've built a career on that principle.
And every piece of evidence—every touch, every conversation, every moment Aiden shows up without being asked—points to one undeniable conclusion: this is worth keeping.
Chapter 10
Aiden
The dress uniform feels like armor.
