Epilogue 2
Van
I'm off duty for the first time this week, and my first stop is the Lean To, mostly because Darren won't shut up about how good the wings are, and partly because I need a night where nobody calls me Rookie or radios me about a loose goat.
The place is packed for a Thursday, live music coming from a guy with an acoustic guitar set up in the corner, and I find a spot at the bar, order a beer, and settle in to watch the crowd instead of actually talking to anybody.
A few months on patrol with Darren has taught me plenty about reading a room, and this one's easy enough, mostly regulars, a few groups celebrating something, a couple on a date near the back booth.
I'm three sips into my beer when a woman slides onto the stool next to me, ordering something fruity from the bartender, and I catch her out of the corner of my eye without meaning to stare.
Dark hair, easy laugh already going with the bartender about something I didn't catch, the kind of confident that doesn't come off as trying too hard.
"You gonna keep staring, or you gonna say something?" She doesn't even look at me when she says it, just smirks into her drink, and I feel my face go warm.
"Wasn't staring."
"Sure you weren't." She finally turns, raising an eyebrow, and up close she's even prettier than the glance told me, sharp eyes, the kind of smile that looks like it's always got a joke waiting behind it. "I'm Ella."
"Van." I shake her hand, and hers is soft but her grip's firm, no hesitation in it.
"You new around here, Van? Haven't seen you in here before."
"Kind of. Started a job in town a few months ago." I don't offer up what the job is, mostly because law enforcement tends to change how a conversation goes, and I'd rather she talk to me without that hanging over it for a while.
"Mysterious." She takes a sip of her drink, studying me over the rim of the glass. "I like mysterious."
The guitar player finishes his set, and something with more of a beat picks up over the speakers, enough people getting up to move toward the open floor space near the stage that I lose track of the conversation for a second, watching the crowd shift.
"You dance?" Ella asks, already sliding off her stool.
"Not really my thing."
"That wasn't a real question." She grabs my hand, tugging me off my own stool before I can protest further, and I let her pull me out onto the floor, mostly because saying no to her doesn't seem like something that's actually possible.
We fall into it easy enough, her leading more than I am at first, laughing when I step on her foot within the first thirty seconds, but by the second song I've got the rhythm of it, hands on her hips, her arms looped loose around my neck, both of us moving without needing to talk.
She's a good dancer, better than me by a wide margin, but she doesn't make me feel stupid about it, just keeps adjusting, keeps pulling me back into step every time I fumble.
"You're better than you think," she says, close enough now that I catch the smell of her perfume, something warm, vanilla maybe.
"You're just being nice."
"I'm never just being nice." She grins up at me, and something about the way she says it makes me believe her completely.
We dance through another two songs, and somewhere in there the space between us closes without either of us really deciding it, her hand sliding from my shoulder to the back of my neck, my hand pressing a little firmer against her waist. The band starts playing something slower, and neither of us moves to leave the floor, swaying instead, close enough now that I can feel her breathing.
"So, Van." She tilts her head up at me, playful. "What's the job? You said kind of mysterious earlier, but I've been dying to know all night."
"Guess you'll have to earn that information."
"Earn it how?"
I don't answer right away, mostly because I'm too busy noticing how close her mouth is to mine, how the low lights over the dance floor catch in her eyes just right, and before I can second-guess it, I lean down and kiss her.
She kisses me back immediately, no hesitation, hand tightening at the back of my neck, and it's better than I expect it to be, warm and easy, like we've done this plenty of times before instead of just meeting an hour ago.
When we finally pull back, she's got a smile on her face that tells me I did something right.
"Well." She laughs, a little breathless. "That's one way to answer a question."
"Figured actions speak louder."
"Bold move for a guy who claims he doesn't dance." She loops her fingers through mine, and we sway there a second longer even though the song's already shifting back into something faster. "I like bold."
"Yeah?" I pull my phone out, feeling more confident than I have all night. "Then let me get your number, so I can be bold again sometime that's not tonight."
"Smooth." She takes the phone from me, typing her number in quick, then hands it back over. "There. Don't be weird about it."
"Wouldn't dream of it." I glance down at the screen, ready to save the contact, and realize I never actually got her last name. "What's your last name? For the contact."
"Kepler." She says it easy, already reaching for her drink she left back at the bar. "Ella Kepler."
The name lands wrong in my brain for a second, like it's familiar but I can't place why, and then it clicks all at once, hard enough that I nearly drop my own phone.
Kepler.
Darren's last name is Kepler. Darren Kepler. My training officer, the guy who's spent the last few months drilling into me every single lesson about respect, about doing this job right, about never crossing lines you can't uncross.
And I just made out with his sister on a dance floor an hour after meeting her.
"You good?" Ella's looking at me funny, clearly picking up on whatever just happened across my face.
"Yeah. Fine." I clear my throat, forcing my expression back to normal even though internally I'm running through every possible way this conversation with Darren is going to go once he finds out.
Son of a bitch. I'm fucked.
Van & Ella's story will be released on October 23rd!