Page 36 of Branded Hearts

As we step outside, the brisk air sweeps around us, causing Amelia to shiver slightly. I guide her to my Navarra, parked just down the road.

“You don’t have to take me home,” she says.

“I want to. I’d feel better knowing you got home safely.”

“Always such a gentleman.” Her voice is soft, barely above a whisper, but I catch every word. It brings a smile to my face, even though she doesn’t see it.

She passes on her address, and I navigate the streets until we reach her small brick apartment, not too far from the town square. It’s a familiar area—relatively safe and quiet. Not much happens around these streets, which also relieves me. The whole block is surrounded by similar small apartment buildings, giving the neighbourhood a snug, communal feel.

Amelia’s place is compact. The living room is snug, with a grey couch and a small TV in the corner. A small kitchenette sits nearby, cluttered with dishes and empty bottles. There are two doors leading off from the main area, probably her bedroom and bathroom. Standing in her personal space, a surge of warmth radiates through me. It feels intimate, but at the same time, like I shouldn’t be here. Like it’s forbidden.

Probably because it is.

I should get out of here before I lose control and say something I’ll regret, like how much I want her, how her being this close is driving me insane. Yet, I can’t bring myself to leave.

“Nice place,” I mutter, my tone clipped as I try to keep mydistance.

Amelia takes off her shoes, leaning against the kitchen counter, all wobbly and uncoordinated from the alcohol.

“Thank you!” she says, stumbling forward, I move instinctively to catch her before she can fall.

“Do you always drink this much?” I ask, furrowing my brows.

“N-no. Never,” she says, and I believe her. I fight the urge to smirk at her.

I move to her sink, finding a glass against a rack and filling it up with water.

“Drink,” is all I say. She gulps it all down without a word. Amelia then sways slightly, her hand reaching out to steady herself against the kitchen counter.

I fill up her cup again and hand it to her. She drinks it, then fills it up herself, finishing another cup before excusing herself to the bathroom.

What the fuck am I still doing there?

She should be fine. I should leave. But I watch her regardless, concern evident in my expression.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” I say, taking her arm to guide her. “Which door?”

She points to the door on my right. Walking inside, I’m hesitant to invade her personal space, but she moves inside and sits down on the edge of the bed, turning a small lamp on. As she does, I take in the surroundings. A double bed covered in a colourful quilt. The scent of florals envelops me, likely from the fresh bunch of lilies onher bedside table. There is also a hint of something sweet. Cherry maybe?

I wonder if they’re her favourite flower. I keep my distance and remain at the doorway, watching her closely.

“You gonna be alright?”

“Yeah,” she mumbles, nodding slowly.

I turn to leave, but her voice stops me in my tracks. “Bradley,” she says, her voice pulling at something deep inside me. “Can you—can you stay? Just for a bit?”

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I grit my teeth, feeling a mix of frustration and something else I can’t name.

I shouldn’t stay. It’s not smart. But fuck it, I can’t bring myself to leave her like this.

Part of me feels a sense of responsibility for her, especially in her intoxicated state, but I’m not sure if that’s just the police officer in me, or if it’s something more.

Maybe a bit of both? No. It’s justme.

Fuck. Now I’m feeling a bit out of sorts, which is unusual for me. I’m a grown man, accustomed to private moments with women without any fuss. Yet, Amelia’s presence ignites an unexpected nervousness within me, akin to a teenager stepping into uncharted territory on his first date.

“Sure. I can stay for a bit.”

---