Page 96 of 2045 Clementine Lane: Catherine

Point: I just assumed, based on the efficiency he runs his life with, that Aiden was one of those sunbeam people, someone who pops out of bed looking like they managed ten hours of sleep and feel like a million bucks.

And boy was I wrong.

If he’d had a cup of coffee already, I’d tease him about how tortured he looks. But, as it stands, it seems a little unfair. Uncaffeinated, he’s basically functioning at an extreme disadvantage.

As if to prove my point, he replies with, “Mhnn?” and blinks several times.

I don’t laugh at him. While he can take being the brunt of my amusement, it seems almost cruel when he’s this vulnerable. “The questions you have—about escorting—you can ask me. I’ll tell you the truth.”

He scratches the back of his head as he thinks about it. When the coffee machine beeps, he holds up a finger. “One moment.”

He turns his broad back on me to pour himself a cup of coffee, and I can’t quite hold back my grin. I don’t quite manage to hide it from him when he turns around either, the mug raised to his lips. He raises an eyebrow at me, but then closes his eyes on a sigh the moment the coffee hits his system.

I can’t help it. I laugh. “You are an entirely different animal in the mornings.”

His eyes slit open, and, although he tries to hide his smile, I can see his lips twitching behind the safety of his mug. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“It’s okay,” I wave my hand, “I live with Jules.”

“She’s not a morning person?”

“Not at all. She wakes up looking like she wants to cry and go back to bed.”

“That’sexactlyhow I feel,” he tells me with an exaggerated sigh. “Like I’m waking up seconds after I’ve just fallen asleep and would give anything for even thirty more minutes.”

“What time do you usually get up?” The question, although a default of kitchen small talk, is one I findmyself listening for an answer to. I’m curious. Iwantto know his routine, his everyday life.

“Six. I try and get a run in before arriving at work around seven-thirty.”

“And what time do you work until?”

He shrugs. “It depends. Always past seven, but never as late as ten; otherwise, I lose function.”

“You…” Confused, I re-check my math. “You work for eleven to fourteen hours a day?Everyday?”

“Not always. Sometimes, things are quieter. Sometimes, if I’m at a crime scene at night, I won’t go in early the next day. My schedule’s never the same.”

He tries to brush it off, but I finally understand why he always looks a little harried. He must be tiredall the time. I can imagine that when you have a job you’re passionate about and nobody to go home to, the crazy hours don’t seem as overwhelming. And, still, it worries me that he doesn’t take care of himself.

“I love what I do, Cat,” he says, watching my face. “Long hours aren’t a trial when you enjoy working them.”

My mind flits back to the conversation I had with Toni, about time. How we measure our lives by time spent. Timepaidfor. And how time takes on a different meaning when someone else is buying it. “I feel like all I do is look forward to time being over. Waiting for a date to start just so that it can be done with. Waiting for my turn on Home Duty or a night off so I can just relax and forget for a little while.”

Aiden puts his half-empty mug on the kitchen counter and walks to me. Taking my face in his hands, he looks deep into my eyes, almost as if he’s searching for my soul there. “You can leave any time. Right now.” He shakes his head. “You don’t have to stay there. You don’t have to keep working because you think it’ll help the case.”

“I know.” It’s a half-truth. Ido knowthat I don’t have to stay. I know that Aiden would love for me to leave. I also know he’d never ask me to.

And I can’t.

Hedoeshave an advantage with me staying at Clementine Lane. The second reason, the little lie I can’t quite own up to, is that I’m shit scared of the implications of us—Aiden and me. My life with him in it looks very different to my life now and that’s something I need time to sort through.

“You’re afraid.” It’s not a question. But when Aiden looks at me, there’s no judgment in his eyes, just cautious understanding.

“This,” I raise my hands to grip his wrists, “is all happening so fast. I don’t want to make a mistake.”

“Okay.”

“That’s it?” I ask. “You’re not going to argue? Or tell me it’ll be fine?”

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