Page 19 of Catch
There was something about Loxley. Something bigger than the talent she showed the world. From the moment she snapped at me over her speeding ticket, she’d been a bundle of fire and charm. Sure, there were moments when she’d slip into something heavier, but then she’d bounce right back into being her bright and sassy self, singing aboutpork chops.
“Speaking of pork chops…” I said, shifting gears. “Tomorrow’s Sunday, which means I’ve got dinner with my grandparents. I’ll be heading straight there after work.”
“Wait!” She gasped, sitting up straighter. “Tomorrow isSunday?”
I nodded, amused at the shock on her face. I supposed it made sense because whywouldshe know what day of the week it was? Before I pulled her over, her days had been likeGroundhog Day—the same endless cycle of work, expectations, and obligations. Since then, she hadn’t turned her phone on or paid much attention to anything outside my four walls.
“Well, I’m gonna be just fine here, Officer,” she said, dramatically sipping her wine and giving me a salute. “I quite enjoy the peace and quiet that comes along with this little escapade I’m on. Who knew running away could be soliberating?”
“I think liberation isexactlywhy people run away.”
She waved me off like I was missing the point, making me chuckle. Then, as if an idea struck her, she grabbed her notebook, clicked her pen, and looked at me with sudden intensity.
“Don’t move.”
I barely had time to react before she started scribbling furiously, her eyes flicking up every few seconds to steal glances at me. Each time I caught her, her cheeks pinked slightly beforeshe ducked her head, diving back into whatever had sparked her creativity.
I didn’t move a muscle.
There was something mesmerizing about watching her work. I couldseethe wheels turning, the tiny spark in her eyes as she pieced things together. She wasn’t just jotting words onto a page. She was crafting a melody that didn’t even need music to exist yet.
“Oh!” I jolted upright, excitement hitting me before I realized I interrupted the spell she was under.
“What?”
Holding up one finger, I set my wine down and jogged toward the back of the house. The third bedroom was technically my home gym, but the closet still held a graveyard of old hobbies and half-finished projects.
Buried behind a set of dumbbells, and a forgotten punching bag, wasit. The guitar I once thought I’d learn to play.
Grabbing it, I ran back to the living room, holding it above my head like I’d just won the Lombardi Trophy. “I don’t know if it sounds good anymore, but this might help you.”
Her reaction wasn’t what I expected.
Loxley’s eyes widened, something likefearflickering across them as she started to shake her head. For a split second, I thought,maybe she doesn’t know how to play. Just because she was a musician didn’t mean she played instruments. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I had never actually seen her with a guitar. Not on TV. Not in the concert I went to.
“Can you?—?”
“Of course I can,” she cut me off, standing to take the old six-string from my hands. “It’s just beenso longsince I’ve beenallowed to.”
Allowed to.
Something about those words didn’t sit well with me, making my hands clench at my sides. It was just one more piece of proof that sheneededto be here, that I was doing the right thing by helping her disappear.
Loxley strummed lightly, testing the tuning, humming a few soft notes. The sound was low, like something waking up from a deep sleep. Satisfied, she set it carefully against the couch and shook out her hands, like she was trying to bring warmth back into her fingers.
When she glanced back at me and found me watching her, she grinned and scooted closer. “You some kinda angel?”
I laughed. “Doubt it. Maybe you just decided to go eight miles per hour over the speed limit in the right jurisdiction.”
She scooted even closer. I leaned forward, reaching out without thinking, taking her hand.
“No other cop inanyother town would pull someone over for doing eight over,” she scoffed, but she didn’t pull away. She let me intertwine my fingers with hers, anddamn, I hadn’t realized just how badly I needed to touch her, until I did.
“I normally wouldn’t have either,” I admitted, my voice low. “But something told me there was trouble behind the wheel of that old Nissan.” My thumb brushed over her knuckles. “Turns out, I was right.”
She looked at our hands, smiling before lifting her gaze back to mine. “I don’t think I’m the only one causing trouble,Mr. Officer.”
Touché.
