CHAPTER THREE
Much later in the day, when night had fallen over the city and Miles’s eyes were starting to go dry from looking at case after case throughout the country, he sat in his car outside McGinty's Bar.
He was staring at the neon sign in the window and wondering what he was doing.
Kim had texted him that afternoon asking if he wanted to grab drinks after work.
He had said yes without thinking about it, the same way he had the other times they had met up over the past few weeks.
It had become pretty much a once-a-week thing.
But sitting here now, he felt the weight of the decision pressing down on him.
This was the eleventh time they had gone out for drinks.
The first three had been easy to categorize as colleagues decompressing after difficult cases.
The fourth and fifth had been more casual and much more comfortable.
Almost natural. But tonight felt different somehow.
There was no case to decompress from. No immediate crisis that needed processing.
This was just two people meeting for drinks because they wanted to spend time together.
Miles thought about his session with Dr. Mitchell that morning…specifically her question about romantic opportunities. He had pushed thoughts of Sarah away then, just like he had been pushing it away for weeks. But maybe he was pushing it away for the wrong reasons.
It had been nearly seven months since Elena's death.
Seven months of grief and therapy and slowly learning how to function without her.
He still thought about her every day. He still felt the absence of her presence in his apartment, in his routines, in all the small moments that used to include her.
But the grief had changed. It was no longer the raw, bleeding wound it had been in those first weeks.
Was seven months enough time? Miles had no idea. There was no rulebook for this, no timeline that said when it was acceptable to feel something for someone else. He wondered if the hesitation he felt was loyalty to Elena's memory or just fear of moving forward. Maybe both.
He got out of the car, making himself stop sorting through the reasons not to go in—reasons to text Kim and tell her he wasn’t going to be able to make it after all.
But he walked inside and felt instantly relieved that he had.
McGinty's was a quiet place that catered to professionals who wanted a drink without the noise of a typical downtown bar.
Exposed brick walls, dark wood furniture, shelves lined with bottles that actually got used instead of just sitting there for decoration.
Kim was already at a booth near the back, two glasses of water on the table in front of her.
She looked up as Miles approached and smiled.
She had changed out of her work clothes into jeans and a light blue sweater.
Her hair was down instead of pulled back the way she wore it at the office.
To put it simply, she looked really pretty.
"Hey," she said. "I got us a corner booth. Hope that's okay."
"Perfect." Miles slid into the seat across from her. A server appeared almost immediately and they ordered drinks. Bourbon for Miles, a gin and tonic for Kim.
"Long day?" Kim asked.
"Aren't they all?" Miles settled back against the vinyl cushion. "How did your afternoon go with the Elementalist’s potential Florida case? You helped with that one, right?"
Kim held up a hand. "Nope. We're not doing that tonight."
"Doing what?"
"Talking about work. I spend all day analyzing case files and running databases. I'd like to have at least one conversation that doesn't involve murder or disciples or Gabriel Kane."
Miles found himself smiling. "Fair enough. What do you want to talk about?"
"I don't know. Normal things. What do normal people talk about when they get drinks?"
"I have no idea. I haven't been normal in years."
The server returned with their drinks. Kim took a sip of her gin and tonic and seemed to consider the question seriously. "Music," she said finally. "Let's talk about music. What do you listen to?"
"Alternative mostly. Some metal. Depends on my mood."
Kim made a face. "Metal? Really?"
"What's wrong with metal?"
"It's just noise. Angry noise."
“Not all of it. One of these days, I’ll introduce you to Gojira.”
“Um, that’s okay. I’ll take your word for it.”
“What about you?” Miles asked.
"Well, I have very sophisticated taste in music." Kim took another sip of her drink, a playful glint in her eye. "I like eighties pop. Madonna, Prince, Cyndi Lauper. Music with actual melodies."
Miles couldn't help but laugh. "Eighties pop. That's your defense of sophisticated taste?"
"It's objectively better than metal. There's synth, there's choreography, there's fashion. What does metal have? Guys in black t-shirts screaming into microphones."
"You know…I’d argue with you but 80s pop does have Depeche Mode and Tears for Fears. So, I think we can find some common ground there.”
Kim laughed, the sound genuine and unrestrained. Miles realized he had never heard her laugh like this at work. She was always professional there, focused and analytical. But here, outside the office, she seemed lighter. There was an energy to her that he found himself drawn to.
They spent the next twenty minutes debating music with increasing absurdity.
Kim insisted that "Like a Prayer" was a masterpiece of modern composition.
Miles countered that Metallica's "Master of Puppets" was objectively superior in every measurable way.
Neither of them was taking the argument seriously, which somehow made it more fun.
"Okay, different topic," Kim said when they had exhausted the music debate. "Food. What's the best meal you've ever had?"
Miles thought about it, maybe taking a bit longer than was necessary.
"There was this little Italian place in Boston.
Elena and I went there on our second date.
They made this carbonara that was just perfect.
The pasta was fresh; the sauce was creamy without being heavy. I still think about it sometimes."
He mentioned Elena's name without hesitation, watching Kim's reaction. She didn't flinch or look uncomfortable. Just nodded like it was the most natural thing in the world to talk about.
"That sounds amazing," Kim said. "My best meal was in San Francisco. There's this dim sum place in Chinatown that my parents used to take me to when I was a kid. I went back there last year and it was exactly like I remembered. Same sticky rice, same egg tarts, same everything."
"Food memories are powerful. I read about that somewhere…some book or article a while back. If good food stands out while you’re doing something of a positive nature, it’s easier to recall."
"They really are." Kim finished her drink and signaled the server for another round. "What about travel? Where's the best place you've been?"
"Iceland. The landscapes were like being on another planet. We did this hike to a glacier and it was just the two of us and all this ice stretching in every direction." He realized he’d said we, again referencing Elana without evening saying her name.
"I've always wanted to go to Iceland,” Kim said. “Did you see the Northern Lights?"
"Yeah, on our last night there. It was…well, I was expecting it to be beautiful, you know? But it was sort of like…almost spooky, I guess. Ethereal.”
Kim was quiet for a moment, her expression thoughtful. "You talk about her really naturally. That's good."
"It's taken a while to get here. For a long time, I couldn't say her name without feeling like someone had punched me in the chest."
"And now?"
"Now it still hurts. But it's a different kind of hurt. Less sharp, more like an ache." Miles took a drink. "My therapist says that's progress."
"It sounds like it."
Their second round arrived and they moved on to other topics.
Kim told him about growing up in California with her locksmith father, about the summer she spent learning magic tricks because she wanted to be like Houdini.
Miles told her about his early years in forensic science, about the mentor who had taught him to look for patterns in chemical signatures.
The conversation flowed easily, moving from topic to topic without awkward pauses or forced transitions.
At some point Kim mentioned a case she was reviewing and Miles felt himself starting to engage with it. But Kim caught herself immediately.
"Nope. We're not doing it. Damn…it was my fault, too!"
"Doing what?"
"Talking about work. We made it forty-five minutes. That's pretty good for us."
Miles checked his watch and realized she was right. They had been here for nearly an hour and had barely touched on anything related to the Elementalist cases. It felt strange and refreshing at the same time.
"Sorry. Force of habit."
They deliberately steered the conversation away from work after that.
Kim asked about his apartment, whether he had any hobbies outside of the job.
Miles asked about her family, whether she still saw them regularly.
The questions were personal but not invasive, the kind of getting-to-know-you conversation that felt natural and unforced.
Miles found himself watching the way Kim's expressions changed when she talked about things she cared about.
The way her eyes lit up when she mentioned her niece.
The way her hands moved when she was describing something visual.
There was an enthusiasm to her that was infectious, a genuine joy in small things that he had forgotten could exist.
He wondered if she felt the same pull he was starting to feel. The way she looked at him sometimes suggested maybe she did. But she never pushed, never made it awkward. She just seemed content to be here, sharing drinks and conversation with him.
By the time they left the bar hours later, Miles felt lighter than he had in months. They walked to the parking lot together, the spring night warm enough that neither of them needed jackets.
"This was nice," Kim said when they reached her car. "We should do it again sometime."
"Definitely."
She smiled and got in her car. Miles watched her pull out of the parking lot before walking to his own vehicle.
He sat there for a moment before starting the engine, thinking about the evening.
About Kim's laugh and the easy way they had talked to each other.
Slowly, he began to accept the possibility that maybe, just maybe, he was ready to feel something other than grief.
Seven months might not be enough time by some standards. But maybe there was no such thing as enough time. Maybe there was just the moment when you realized you wanted to try again, wanted to see if you could build something new without betraying what you had lost.
Miles started his car and headed home, feeling something he had not felt in a very long time: hope.