Chapter Six #3
He grins, a slow, almost teasing smile, but he doesn’t reveal whether the shirt choice was intentional or not. His grin is infectious, and for a moment, I find myself caught up in the easy confidence he radiates.
Now that I’m seeing him up close in the daylight, his age is easier to pin down than it was last night when shadows distorted his features.
He’s definitely older than me, but not by a lot.
Maybe four or five years, which would put him in his late thirties.
There’s something about him that feels grounded, experienced, but without the weariness you often see in people who’ve lived through too much.
“Did you get any sleep after I left?” he asks, stepping inside the cabin like he’s done it a hundred times before, his presence filling the room.
“Not much, but I’m okay,” I reply, closing the door behind him, my voice a little lighter than I intended. “You?”
“Not any, but I’m okay,” he says, flashing that same slow smile, the one that feels just a little too knowing, a little too intentional. I don’t know if he means for it to come off as seductive, but there’s something about the way he holds my gaze that feels . . . different.
And I don’t know what to do with that. Normally, I can hold my own in moments like this, especially when it comes to flirtation, but the fact that he’s wearing a wedding ring keeps me in check. I don’t flirt with other women’s men. I’ve always drawn a firm line there.
But then again, this isn’t about me. Reya—my character—would flirt with him. That’s how her affair with Cam begins in the book, after all. She latches on to every flirtatious smile he throws her way, turning it into a game, letting it pull her deeper into the affair that eventually consumes her.
As I stand here, watching Detective Saint move through my kitchen, a part of me wonders how much writing I could get done tonight if I let myself slip into Reya’s skin for a little while.
What if I became her, just for a moment?
What if I allowed myself to step out of my own reservations, to lean into the flirtation and see where it takes me? It might inspire me, might help me push past this creative block and meet my deadline.
There’s a strange thrill in the idea of letting go, of becoming my character just long enough to capture her essence on the page.
The detective is making a slow spin in the kitchen, his eyes scanning the high ceilings and the deceivingly modern style of the cabin.
“I’ve always wondered what the inside of this place looked like,” he says, his voice filled with genuine admiration.
“It wasn’t at all what I expected when I walked in last night.
This might be the nicest cabin on the whole lake. ”
“I usually stay on the other side of the lake,” I reply, gesturing toward the wide windows that overlook the water. “It has the best sunset views. But this one is really nice.” Too nice.
He nods appreciatively, glancing toward the large windows overlooking the lake. It’s dusk now, so there’s a warm glow being cast over the room. “Is it not two-story? It looks multilevel from the outside.”
“Nope,” I say, shaking my head. “Just the one. All the rooms have ceilings this high.”
He gives an impressed nod, his eyes still scanning the space as if he’s taking mental notes.
And I can’t help but watch him, my mind wandering again to Reya and Cam, and how easily this interaction could slip into something more if I let it.
I force myself to stay grounded in the moment, but the line between fiction and reality feels thinner than ever.
He brings his eyes back to mine, locking me in his gaze with an intensity that makes my pulse quicken. “It’s gorgeous,” he says, his voice low and casual.
I nod in response, trying to keep my cool, but I’m not sure he’s talking about the house anymore.
There’s something in the air that shifts the atmosphere.
Neither of us speaks for a moment, and the silence between us becomes thick, almost palpable.
I can feel it pressing against my skin, making me more aware of every breath, every movement.
My mind clamors for something to say, anything to break the tension.
“What name do you go by?” I ask him, desperate to keep the conversation going. “Nathaniel? Nate?”
He tilts his head slightly, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Saint, actually.”
Oh, I nailed it.
“Saint,” I repeat softly, more to myself than to him. The name lingers in the air between us, and I can’t help but think about how perfect it would be for a character.
Saint—it has a certain strength to it, an edge that makes it stand out more than the typical names I’ve used.
It would make a better character name than Cam by a mile.
But that would be too weird. Cam is already beginning to look exactly like this guy in my mind.
I can’t make his name the same too. It would be too much.
“So,” I say, shifting the conversation back to safer ground, “you need a statement from me?”
Saint doesn’t answer right away. He stares at me quietly for a moment, like he’s weighing his words before he speaks. “Not anymore,” he finally says. “It’s all on dash- and body cam. Nothing to dispute.”
Those words jar me for a moment. Reminding me that with the advancement of technology, there are probably many things recorded digitally for eternity that no one would want a record of. That poor man.
But also, I have no idea what he did that made him a wanted man. I almost open my mouth to speak up and ask for more details, but Saint makes me nervous with his ease.
He leans against my kitchen island, crossing his legs at the ankles, looking so effortlessly breathtaking that I suddenly feel completely out of my element.
There’s a confidence about him that makes me feel like I’m stumbling over my own thoughts.
But then I remind myself—Would Reya feel out of her element right now?
No, she wouldn’t.
Reya would be composed, in control. She would take whatever flirtatious energy was simmering between them and use it to her advantage. She wouldn’t back down.
“If you don’t need a statement,” I ask, crossing my arms casually, “then why are you here?”
He quirks an eyebrow at me, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. “You said you needed to pick my brain.”
Oh, right. I did say that, didn’t I?
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat as I try to remember what questions I planned to ask him.
But now that he’s standing right in front of me, my mind feels like it’s short-circuiting.
Every carefully crafted question I had seems to vanish into thin air.
I don’t want to look down at my list like an amateur, so I scramble to come up with something—anything—to keep the conversation from veering into awkward territory.
“Why do you wear a uniform if you’re a detective?” I blurt out, mentally kicking myself for how weak the question sounds.
“It’s a small town,” he replies, unfazed by my flustered state. “I only do detective work when it’s needed. Most of the time, I patrol, so I have to be in uniform.”
I nod as I search for a follow-up question, but none comes to mind. The silence creeps back in, and I can feel it growing between us as I chew on my lip, trying to think of something else to say. But then, before I can manage another weak question, he speaks up again.
“I have a confession,” he says, his tone suddenly more serious.
I blink in surprise, tilting my head slightly. “You do?”
He nods, and for a moment, I feel the air shift again, like whatever he’s about to say might change the dynamic between us. “I didn’t sleep when I got home, but it had nothing to do with my job.”
My brow furrows slightly in confusion. “Why couldn’t you sleep?”
“I googled you,” he says, his tone matter-of-fact, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Watched a lot of your TikTok videos.”
Heat floods my face, and I instinctively cover my cheeks with my hands. “Oh, God. Not those.”
He laughs, a deep, easy laugh that seems to fill the entire cabin. “You and your friend . . . what’s her name?”
“Nora,” I mutter from behind my hands, still mortified.
“Yeah. Very entertaining,” he says, clearly enjoying my embarrassment. There’s something playful in his voice that makes me want to hide and laugh at the same time. “Why’d you stop? I couldn’t find any newer ones.”
I lower my hands, feeling the flush creep down my neck. “I just . . . it’s been a rough year. We did one in my private group the other night, but I don’t venture onto TikTok anymore.”
“Well, that’s a shame,” he says, his gaze never leaving mine. “In your text, you said you wanted to pick my brain. About what? You writing about a cop?” He says it with a sexy emphasis.
“I am, actually,” I reply, feeling the heat in my cheeks intensify.
His lips twitch into a small smile. “What a coincidence.”
I can feel the embarrassment climbing up my neck, spreading across my face like wildfire. “Yep,” I say again, my voice barely above a whisper. “But to be fair, my character was a cop long before last night. This book has been in the works for over a year and a half, unfortunately.”
He chuckles softly, and the sound of his laughter sends a shiver down my spine.
There’s a moment where our eyes meet, and I feel something in our look.
The tension that’s been simmering beneath the surface suddenly feels more real, more electric.
And for just a second, I wonder what Reya would do in this moment.
Would she let herself lean into the friction?
Would she allow herself to blur the lines between what’s fictional and what’s real?
I’m tempted to find out, but instead, I smile, feeling both flustered and exhilarated.
And guilty. We aren’t two single adults standing in a room together. This isn’t innocent fiction.
“What’s your question?”
“I have lots, actually. A lot of . . . cop questions. I don’t even know where to start.”