Chapter 5
Steph
I wake up to the smell of coffee.
For a moment, I just lay there, disoriented, trying to figure out why my apartment smells like a café instead of the usual nothing. Then memory floods back—the alley, the arrest, Kevin driving me home, Kevin sitting beside me on the couch until I fell asleep against his shoulder.
Kevin.
I sit up, heart hammering, and look toward the living room. The couch is empty; the blanket I'd given him folded neatly on one end. But I can hear movement in the kitchen—the soft clink of a mug, the quiet hiss of the coffee maker.
He stayed.
He actually stayed.
I swing my legs out of bed, hyperaware that I'm wearing an oversized t-shirt and sleep shorts and my hair is probably doing something catastrophic. But when I pad out to the kitchen, Kevin doesn't seem to notice—or care.
He's standing at my tiny counter in yesterday's jeans and t-shirt, his back to me, pouring coffee into two mugs like he's done it a thousand times before. Like he belongs here.
The thought makes my chest tight.
"Morning," I say, my voice still rough with sleep.
He turns, and his expression softens when he sees me. "Morning. Hope you don't mind—I raided your coffee stash."
"That's..." I gesture vaguely at the mug he's holding out to me. "That's fine. Thank you."
Our fingers brush when I take it, and that same awareness from last night sparks between us. His eyes hold mine for a beat too long before he clears his throat and turns back to the counter.
"I didn't know how you take it," he says. "So I left it black."
"Sugar. Lots of sugar." I grab the spoon and the mug and pour in the sugar, grateful for something to do with my hands. "How'd you sleep?"
"Fine." He leans against the counter, cradling his own mug. "Your couch is more comfortable than half the places I've slept."
"Special ops?"
"Special ops," he confirms with a small smile. "Compared to sleeping on the ground in full gear, your couch is the Ritz."
I laugh, and it feels good. Normal. Like the world hasn't tilted sideways in the past forty-eight hours.
We stand there in my tiny kitchen, drinking coffee in comfortable silence, and it hits me how easy this feels. How natural. Kevin in my space, morning light filtering through the curtains, the quiet intimacy of sharing coffee before the day starts.
It should feel weird. Invasive, even.
Instead, it feels like coming home.
"So," Kevin says after a moment, his voice careful. "We need to head to the station today. Give our official statement about last night."
Reality crashes back in, cold and sharp. "Right."
"Martinez said he'd take them this morning. Shouldn't take long." He watches me over the rim of his mug. "I'll be with you the whole time."
"You don't have to—"
"Steph." He set his mug down, stepping closer. "I'm not leaving you to deal with this alone. Not happening."
The certainty in his voice makes my throat tight. "Okay."
"Okay." His mouth tips up at one corner. "Now, do you want breakfast? Because I make a mean scrambled egg, but I wasn't sure if raiding your fridge crossed a line."
Despite everything, I smile. "Raid away, Officer Dawes."
***
The police station is as I remember it—fluorescent lights, worn linoleum floors, the faint smell of burnt coffee and paperwork. The last time I was here was ten months ago, filing the restraining order against Carl.
Kevin must sense my tension because his hand finds the small of my back, steady and grounding.
"You're okay," he murmurs. "I've got you."
Martinez is waiting for us in one of the interview rooms, looking alert despite the early hour. "Morning. Thanks for coming in."
"Of course," I say, sliding into the chair across from him.
The statement process is straightforward but exhausting. Martinez walks me through every detail—when I first noticed the guy now known as Elliott at the bar, how many times he'd asked me out, what happened in the alley. I keep my voice steady, clinical, as if I'm telling someone else's story.
Kevin gives his statement separately, as the witnessing officer. Through the window, I can see him in the adjacent room, his expression calm and professional as he walks Martinez's partner through what he saw.
When we're done, Martinez closes his notebook. "Elliott posted bail an hour ago."
My stomach drops. "He's out?"
"Yeah. The judge set conditions—he's not allowed within five hundred feet of you or The Lucky Tap. Violates that, he goes right back in." Martinez's expression is sympathetic. "I know it's not ideal, but given his clean record and the fact that he's got money, bail was expected."
"Right." I force myself to breathe. "Okay."
"We'll keep an eye on things," Martinez assures me. "And Dawes already told me he's sticking close. You're not alone in this."
Kevin appears in the doorway, and I feel myself relax just at the sight of him.
"All set?" he asks.
I nod. "All set."
***
Back at my apartment, I expect Kevin to say goodbye. To tell me he'll check in later, that I should call if I need anything.
Instead, he follows me inside and closes the door behind him.
"We should talk," he says. "About the logistics."
I set my keys on the counter. "Logistics?"
"The fake relationship." He crosses his arms, leaning against the door. "If we're going to keep this going—and with Elliott out on bail, we probably should—people need to see us together. Outside the bar."
My heart does something complicated. "You want to... what? Go on fake dates?"
"I want people to believe we're together," he corrects. "Which means being seen around town. Holding hands. Acting like a couple." His gaze holds mine. "Is that something you can handle?"
The honest answer is, I don't know. The idea of pretending to be with Kevin—of touching him, being close to him, acting like we're together when my feelings are already so tangled—feels dangerous.
But the alternative is admitting that this isn't entirely fake for me. That somewhere between him showing up ten months ago and him sleeping on my couch last night, I started falling for him.
"I can handle it," I lie.
Kevin studies me for a long moment, as if he can see right through the words. But before he can respond, there's a sharp knock at my door.
We both freeze.
"Steph, honey!" Lottie's voice carries through the wood. "I know you're home!"
Oh God.
Kevin's mouth twitches with barely suppressed amusement. "She won’t go away."
"Town gossip," I hiss. "She's already heard you stayed over."
"Probably," he agrees, entirely too calm about this. "Want me to get it?"
"No—" But he's already moving, pulling open the door with an easy smile.
"Mrs. Carmichael," he says warmly. "Good to see you."
Lottie beams up at him, holding a casserole dish covered in foil. "Kevin! I heard you were here and thought I'd bring something for you two." Her eyes sparkle with delight as she peers past him to where I'm standing. "Can't have the happy couple living on bar food alone!"
I want the floor to open up and swallow me whole.
"That's very thoughtful," Kevin says, accepting the dish. "We appreciate it."
"Oh, it's nothing." Lottie waves a hand, but she's practically vibrating with excitement. "I just think it's wonderful that you two finally figured things out. The whole town's been waiting!"
My face is on fire. "Lottie—"
"And staying over already!" She winks at Kevin. "Moving fast, I see."
"Just wanted to make sure she was okay after last night," Kevin says smoothly, and there's something in his tone—protective and possessive—that makes my stomach flip. "You know how it is."
Lottie nods. "Of course, of course. Well, I won't keep you." She pats Kevin's arm. "You take good care of our girl, you hear?"
"Yes, ma'am."
When the door closes behind her, I drop my face into my hands. "I'm going to die. Actually die of embarrassment."
Kevin sets the casserole on the counter, and when I look up, he's grinning. "She's sweet."
"She's a menace."
"She cares about you." He crosses back to me, and his expression turns serious. "And she's right. About me taking care of you."
My breath catches. "Kevin—"
"I'm not leaving," he says firmly. "Not until Elliott is dealt with. Not while he's out on bail and knows where you work."
"You can't stay here." I gesture around the tiny apartment. "It's a one-bedroom. The walls are thin. There's one bathroom—"
"I'll take the couch."
"For how long?"
"However long it takes." His jaw is set, that stubborn look I'm recognizing. "I'm not negotiating this, Steph."
Part of me wants to argue. To tell him I can take care of myself, that I don't need a bodyguard.
But the truth is, I don't want him to leave. And that terrifies me more than anything Elliott could do.
"Okay," I whisper. "You can stay."
Relief flashes across his face. "Okay."
"But you're eating Lottie's casserole. I'm not touching whatever's under that foil. She probably put a love potion in it or something."
He laughs, and the sound wraps around me like a blanket. "Deal."
***
That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, hyperaware of Kevin on the other side of the wall.
I can hear him moving around—the quiet rustle of the blanket, the creak of the couch as he settles in. The apartment feels smaller with him here; his presence takes up more space than just the physical.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. A text from Ainsley.
Ainsley: Lottie says Kevin spent the night. SPILL.
I groan and type back.
Me: He slept on the couch. Nothing happened.
Ainsley: Yet.
Me: There is no yet. This is fake, remember?
Ainsley: Sure it is. That's why he moved in to protect you.
I stare at the message, heart thudding.
Is that what this is? Kevin moving in?
Another sound from the living room—Kevin shifting on the couch. And once again I'm aware that he's right there. Ten feet away. In my space, in my life, making coffee in my kitchen and folding blankets on my couch and looking at me like I'm something precious.
This was supposed to be simple. A lie to get Elliott to back off. A fake relationship with clear boundaries.
But nothing about this feels fake anymore.
And I don't know what to do with that.
I roll over, pulling the blanket up to my chin, and close my eyes.
On the other side of the wall, Kevin's breathing evens out.
And despite everything—the fear, the confusion, the way my heart won't stop racing—I feel safe.
For the first time in a long time, I feel safe.