Strings

III

"Jane." Acknowledging her arrival caused contractions in my chest. My deputy before me seemed more impish than even in her quietest moments. I stared at her. She stared at me. Finally, she summoned a thorough breath, and asked.

"May I come in?"

Barring a second thought, I stepped back to allow her entry. Her sheepish smile widened, and as I shut the screen behind her, I set to work trying to ascertain the reality of the situation. "What are you doing here?" As I questioned, I remembered that she had never been to my home before. George had, a few years ago, some of the other officers as well- but never Jane.

"I didn't want to be alone." Was her decided answer.

It occurred to me that she was still living with roommates. "But you have-"

She predicted my sentence's destination, and stood her ground. "I needed to be with someone who understands what's going on."

That shut me up. Today had been hell. I skirted around her- respecting her personal space as much as possible- and into the rest of the living room. I surveyed the chamber. The couches were faded, my lounge chair was sunken, and despite the ample lighting, the entire place seemed dim. "I'm sorry you had to see my home like this." I paused. The issue wasn't that it was a mess, but that it looked like there was no one living here at all. My next explanation was weak at best. "I don't really get guests."

Like the experienced cop she was, Jane studied the carpet, the furniture, the wallpaper, and me. Then inquired simply, yet firmly: "Do you have coffee?" I was nearly taken aback, my deputy wasn't usually so direct with me. Then, I supposed, all bets were off when we were alone.

I croaked out my answer while diving across the room toward the kitchen nook. "Yeah." Retrieving that morning's brew that I had abandoned in the refrigerator, my hands requested to tremble. I vehemently declined. I poured the coffee, tossed the mug into the microwave, and tried not to become anxious as I waited for the ding.

I manipulated what would've been a shuffle into a stride as I returned to Jane. She had already claimed herself a space on the couch. Her sparkling eyes watched me so intently as I handed her the drink, that I worried she could see every pulse of my rapidly beating heart. I retreated as soon as the job was done, careful not to touch her hands during the interaction. My jittery gaze bounced from the cold corners of the room, to the hearth of Jane's presence.

"Is it warm enough?" I wondered of her.

Her thin brows knitted together for a moment, puzzled, as she examined the cup. "The coffee? It's piping hot."

"No, the room." I clarified, awkward. Why did I even ask?

She settled into the cushions while admitting. "I could use a blanket."

Of course- I chastised myself- this house is freezing fucking cold. I snatched the blanket that usually rested on the back of my chair, and offered it. "Here."

Jane received it gratefully, and before draping it over her back, briefly squeezed it to her chest. She sighed to me. "This whole place smells like you." I went rigid. I didn't even realize I had a particular smell. I prayed it was more after-shave and less eternal bachelor.

"I hope it's not that bad." I said.

The take seemed to shock her, and she corrected me hurriedly. "No, it's not bad." Underneath her breath, where she was sure I couldn't hear her, she murmured. "It's kinda... comforting." I was so wrapped up in the private moment I had stolen, that I barely registered her following question. "Can I ask you something a little personal?"