Page 17 of The Shield
“Got it,” he said, and there it was again—those words landing somewhere low and hot, a switch flipped I didn’t know I had. I swallowed, tried to convert the feeling into civic-mindedness before it ate me.
“You’re … new-in-town new?” I asked. “Or just passing through?”
“New enough that I still use a map and piss off beach cops,” he said, that almost-smile nicking at one corner again. “Came in yesterday.”
“For work?”
“Eventually,” he said. “I’ve got … meetings.” The pause wasn't loaded with lies. It was loaded with things he wasn’t sharing yet. It didn’t feel like a game.
“Mm,” I said, because I understood holding cards close. “You ride a lot?”
“When I can,” he said. “He—Flapjack—likes to move. So do I.”
“Where is he now?” I knew I shouldn’t picture him at a barn, sleeves shoved up, hand on that horse’s neck, body a wall the animal leaned into like faith. I did. I pictured it in IMAX.
“Stabled,” he said. “He’s fine.” It came out the way a man saysthe house is locked, the stove is off, I checked twice. Assurance, for both of us.
We passed a family in matching sunhats. A little girl stared up at Ethan like he’d walked out of a storybook that involved swords. He tipped his head to her, solemn. She squealed and hid behind her mother’s leg, then peeked out and giggled, ecstatic that giants were polite.
“Do you miss it?” I asked without meaning to. “Where you’re from.”
He thought about it like it deserved thought. “The quiet,” he said at last. “The way you can hear a creek before you see it. The sky without edges. But this—” He lifted his chin at the riot of Charleston, the colors and voices and old bones dressed up pretty. “This has a different kind of quiet if you look under it. It’s loud, but it’s … held.”
Held. The word hit something inside me. The way he noticed felt like fingers along my spine.
“Anyway,” he said, easing the weight off the moment with a practiced gentleness that made me wonder how many times he’d done that for other people. “You were out here patrolling. Don’t let me keep you from it.”
“You’re not keeping me,” I said, then heard myself and added, “You can walk with me. If you want. Since you’ve already proven you’re not a tripping hazard.”
“Generous,” he said, and fell into step again like it had been decided at birth that wherever I moved, he’d match.
Had it?
We reached a block where the storefronts gave way to rowhouses with ironwork pretty enough to be jewelry. I stopped by a grate clogged with anemone-like oak threads and bent without thinking, pushing my sleeves up. The clip in my hair held the top back, but the lower half fell forward like a curtain, catching the light. I felt his gaze slide over it and tried to pretend my scalp didn’t go sensitive just because he looked.
“Hold this?” I asked, shoving my flyers toward him. Our fingers touched. Not a big deal. Tell that to my pulse.
He held the stack in one hand like it weighed nothing and stood sentinel while I scooped muck with the other. My knees brushed brick.
A neighbor poked his head out to say thanks. I told him to text me when it rained, and he promised to bring us popsicles if we were still out. I rolled my eyes. Ethan watched the exchange like a man cataloging a new species of bird.
When I stood, he handed the flyers back. His knuckles grazed mine once—could’ve been an accident, wasn’t—and the charge slid up my arm into my chest like it knew the route home.
“What do you do for fun, Natalie?” he asked, a question that should have been ordinary yet landed like a hand on the small of my back.
“Define fun,” I said, buying time because the first three images that flashed—me naked, a toy, disappointment—were not fit for sidewalks or sanity.
His eyes warmed, maybe because he heard the pause. “I’m new,” he said, slow, coaxing. “I need a local guide.”
“I read,” I said. “I walk. I argue with my cat. I make my business partner and his wife come to art crawls. Sometimes I sit on the Battery and remember we live on the edge of a thing that doesn’t care about us.”
“That last part sounds like fun,” he said with a chuckle.
“I’m a delight,” I said solemnly.
“I can tell.” The way he said it made the joke thread taut.
“What about you?” I asked. “Besides horses and breaking ordinance.”
