Evelyn's dream of securing a scholarship to America's top ballet school shattered when her mother was brutally murdered during her teenage years. Determined to make a difference, she became a detective, ready to take on the world. Assigned to invest...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
--<3--
The next morning Evelyn felt hollowed out, as if her body had been scraped raw from the inside. Her head throbbed with every beat of her heart, and grief pressed against her ribs like a heavy stone. It wasn't only the hangover that made her sick, it was the memory of pushing Jeremiah away. She had told herself she was protecting her boundaries, that she had to resist him, but the truth was uglier. She had hurt him, and the guilt gnawed at her with sharp little teeth. It felt unnatural to run from him, yet she couldn't see another way. Her life had always been a performance choreographed to perfection: she would be a celebrated ballerina, meet a man who spoke the same language of sweat and stage lights, endure a long courtship, and eventually settle into a marriage that looked beautiful. That was the script. Instead, she found herself drawn to a man who lived outside the law, someone who should have been nothing more than one of her assignments. Attraction to a criminal. Desire for someone she was meant to investigate.
"The cut on his jacket should be enough," she whispered into the stale air, her voice dry and full of shame for her wishes.
"Enough to remind me why I should never even think about him again." With a harsh exhale she swung her legs over the side of the mattress, her bare feet meeting the cold wooden floor. The chill snapped against her, a cruel reminder that she had to get up, had to step back into her role. Sliding into her uniform was like armoring herself, the heavy fabric wrapping around her body until she almost believed in the version of herself she needed to project. By the time she straightened her collar, she carried herself with more strength than she felt. No more blurring the lines. No more weakness. She crossed the room with a deliberate stride, the floorboards creaking beneath her as she opened the door. Fake it until you make it, she repeated it like a prayer as she came down the stairs. She begged silently that Jeremiah wouldn't be in the kitchen.
Her prayer went unanswered. The faint crackle of the radio leaked into the stairwell, followed by a muffled voice that rolled over her ears. Singing, his singing. She froze mid-step, her pulse rushing hot through her body. He didn't have the kind of voice that melted hearts, but it carried something disarming, something unguarded. For a split second she allowed herself to imagine what it would feel like to lean into that voice instead of running from it. You are at work, you are not a woman in his kitchen; you are a detective.
"No, Wyatt, you can't even taste it," Jeremiah scolded lightly without turning, his back still toward her. The sight almost tugged a smile from her lips. She could picture Wyatt hovering like a child desperate to lick the spoon, but she forced the smile back, sealing her mouth into a neutral line. She cleared her throat, each sound deliberate, and walked past Jeremiah to prepare something simple for herself. He turned sharply, for a moment neither of them moved. Silence thickened the air between them.
"Hello, detective." His voice was low, resonant, carrying more weight than the words themselves. Her chest tightened. His hair fell just right over his forehead, the strands darker where the light touched them, and his grey hoodie hung comfortably over a body that moved with quiet strength. He looked maddeningly at ease, while she struggled to hold her composure.
