Page 4 of Shadows in Bloom

She pulls in a drag, holding the smoke in her lungs, like she’s debating how to answer—if at all. “About ten months,” she says as she releases her breath. “I’m assuming you’ve been here since you left?” Her question isn’t bitter, but it’s not entirely friendly, either.

I suppose I deserve that; I did just up and leave without a word.

Swallowing the unsurprising flash of shame, I mumble a weak, “Y-yeah.” I clear my throat. “I got a job offer—a promotion. And it—it just felt right to take it.”

Fiona stares at me, her dark eyes peering through me. Her full lips curl inward in contemplation before she tugs one between her teeth to chew on it. And then, the blatant awkwardness just… falls away. “That makes sense. You like your job, then?”

Her right cheek dents into a dimple when her mouth twists to the left, and it’s so ridiculously charming, I feel myself smiling for no real reason at all.

“I love it, even if it does break my heart,” I answer honestly, utterly rapt at the way her lips curl around the filter of her cigarette, lipstick staining the paper. “How about you?”

She blinks slowly, and her long, dark lashes flutter against her shapely cheekbones. “Hmm?”

“Do you like your job?”

Her smile falters slightly, but she covers it by taking the last drag from her smoke, turning her back on me to put it out. “It’s a job. I’m good at it.” She drops the filter in the garbage before turning to face me. And she’s so fucking gorgeous, it breaks my heart a bit.

“Are you okay, Fiona?” I ask softly, sensing she needs gentleness, but I can’t deny the way my skin is pulled taut with the desire to know, my instincts pulling me in.

I don’t miss the subtle twitch of her eyes or the way her nostrils flare slightly. She curls her lips in again, and I just know she’s trying to come up with a plausible lie.

“You don’t have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable. I know we don’t, erm—we don’t really know each other anymore, if we ever did. I don’t know. But, mmm… shit.” I reach behind me to tug on the end of my ponytail, pulling it over my shoulder to play with the ends.

“It’s cute, how you still stumble to just talk to me,” Fiona quips, flipping the conversation one-hundred and eighty degrees. My eyes flash to hers in confusion at the abrupt switch. A grin dances across her face, all signs of her earlier distress gone in a flash. “You’re still so… shy.”

That makes me frown, and my arms cross on instinct. Shy? “What does that mean?”

She laughs loudly, and it’s as light as air. “Exactly.” Her eyes twinkle in the yellow light, and fuck me if I don’t fall right into the pool of her deep, brown eyes. The air smells of sweat and cigarettes, and the cool breeze flits into the gap between both sides of the building.

The thump of the bass is muted out here, but its vibration has its own distinct twinge in the air. My eyes narrow slightly as Fiona readjusts her tank top, pulling it down to expose more of her tattooed cleavage, eyes still scanning the small, enclosed area.

“Well, I?—”

“You’re trying to distract me.”

We both speak over each other, but my sentence wins out.

I don’t miss the way her eyes bounce between mine. And don’t think I’ve missed the way you haven’t stopped looking around, is what I want to say, but really, what fucking right do I have?

After an intense minute, Fiona blows out a breath before pulling her thick hair back into a messy ponytail. The purple streaks catch in the light as she runs her inked fingers through them, twisting and pulling until it’s piled high on her head and secured with a scrunchy.

“I almost fucking forgot you’re a cop,” she mumbles, almost to herself, as she shakes her head, looking down at the ground.

I lift a brow at her, and once I have her attention, I flip my hand in a vague gesture over my body. “I would come into the bar in my uniform, nearly every single time.” It was unintentional, but her eyes follow the movement of my hand regardless, and my face heats in her slow perusal.

Shifting on my feet, I clear my throat. “Anyway…” I grip my nape. “I’m a detective now.”

Fiona’s eyes widen slightly with surprise, and I don’t know if I should be offended or amused. Before I can ask, she answers for me.

“That’s—really amazing. What—” She clears her throat.

“Cold cases,” I answer softly, and she winces, nose crinkling slightly. “That’s why I said it breaks my heart, but the one’s I’ve been able to solve since I got here make it worth it.”

Her smile is sad. Mine is, too.

“That’s good,” she says softly, and it’s not until she’s walking past me, arms crossed over her stomach in a protective gesture, that it hits me. I reach out, fingers wrapping around her forearm and pulling her to a stop.

She looks up, and I feel the urge to ask her so many things. Why she looks flighty and why she’s deflecting. Why she is here and if she can stay.

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