Chapter 6 Tom #2
“Various genres. Historical, occasionally. Literary fiction. Some philosophy.”
“Of course you read philosophy.” She shook her head, an amused smile tugging at her lips. “Let me guess—you’re a Nietzsche guy. Or maybe Kant. Something dense and German.”
“I’ve read both, but I wouldn’t say I’m devoted to either.”
“So who then? Give me your favorite.”
I considered it for a moment. “Camus, maybe. I’ve always found something appealing about absurdism.”
“The universe is meaningless so we might as well make our own meaning?” She raised her glass. “I can drink to that.”
The conversation flowed easily after that, meandering through topics without putting much thought behind it.
She asked about the best pizza place in the city—she swore by Angeli’s on Thacher Street, I defended Marco’s on the waterfront.
We debated whether dogs or cats made better pets.
She was firmly team dog, naturally, citing loyalty and enthusiasm, while I appreciated the independence of cats.
Though we had agreed we’d stay away from any work-related topics, they still crept in eventually.
She told me about one of her cases, where a suspect launched into a full confession the moment they sat down—only for it to become clear that they were talking about an unrelated misdemeanor from decades earlier.
I shared a story about a particularly memorable autopsy mishap involving an overeager medical student and a misplaced organ sample that had caused minor chaos in the lab.
I found myself relaxing despite everything. Having fun, even. The minutes stretched into an hour, then two, the bar gradually beginning to empty around us.
Eventually, Detective Sawyer tossed back the last of her drink. “Damn. I should probably stop now before I start really oversharing.”
She stretched, rolling her shoulders back, working out the tension that seemed to live permanently between her shoulder blades. She let out a small sigh before meeting my eyes. Something in them flickered, making the air between us shift. My pulse quickened for reasons I couldn’t name.
She played with the phone in her hands, turning it over and over, like she was deciding on something. “So, then…” she said, her voice carrying a note I couldn’t quite place. “Your place or mine?”
“Excuse me?”
For a moment, I wasn’t sure what she meant. My brain stalled, trying to process the question, before it finally clicked.
“What?” Detective Sawyer asked. “Or—I’m sorry, did I read it wrong? Is that not why you invited me out for drinks?”
Definitely not. Not even close.
But of course, she’d assume I had some kind of hidden agenda. From her perspective, it made perfect sense. The logic was sound, even if it was completely wrong. I just hadn’t expected that her mind would go in that direction, exactly.
Or maybe this was some sort of test? A way of calling me out, seeing if I’d admit to having ulterior motives? The detective was smart enough to play that kind of game, to set traps and watch people walk into them.
However, the way she was looking at me didn’t seem calculating. It almost seemed genuine. Expectant, even.
I thought she barely even liked me half the time. We’d developed a working relationship, yes, something that had evolved into grudging mutual respect and perhaps the beginnings of friendship. But this? This was something else entirely, a shift in the dynamic I hadn’t prepared for.
I had never been more confused in my life.
If this were a test, I had no doubt I was failing it horribly.
“Weird.” She squinted at me, seemingly paying no attention to my mental spiral. “That usually doesn’t happen to me. I’m always pretty spot-on about this kind of thing.”
“Detective Sawyer.” I finally found the words, though they felt clumsy in my mouth. “I think you might be drunk.”
“Oh, come on. I only had a few drinks. I’m lightly buzzed at most.” She laughed, elbows settling on the table as she studied my face with those keen eyes of hers. “But don’t try to change the subject. You still didn’t answer my question.”
I opened my mouth, then stopped, the words dissolving before they ever reached my tongue. I searched for something to say and came up short. The truth was, I hadn’t given it much thought. Not in any meaningful way, at least.
Detective Sawyer was attractive in an obvious, objective sort of way—a detail my brain had registered when we first met and then filed away without ceremony.
Romantic and sexual attraction were mostly foreign concepts to me, both of which I very rarely indulged in.
I just never felt the pull. And on the rare occasions that I did, it had been born out of curiosity more than anything else—a passing interest, briefly entertained and just as easily dismissed.
Detective Sawyer shouldn’t have been any different. But something about the turn this conversation had taken made me feel oddly nervous, like I was seconds away from stepping on a landmine.
“How about this?” Detective Sawyer leaned across the table, slowly closing the distance between us until her face was inches from my own.
When I didn’t try to pull away, she bridged the final gap.
Her lips were soft against mine, tasting faintly of whiskey.
The kiss was kept brief, almost chaste, a question posed in physical form.
I felt something—a jolt that traveled down my spine and settled warm in my chest. The bar seemed to fall away, the dim lighting and the distant sound of pool balls clicking fading into background noise.
She pulled back ever so slightly, searching my face for something, her eyes dark in the low light. “No?”
The question hung between us, delicate as spun glass.
I made a decision. Or maybe the decision made itself—I wasn’t entirely sure of the mechanics.
I reached up, fingers curling gently around the back of her neck, and pulled her back in.
This time, I deepened the kiss, answering her question with action instead of words.
I could feel her answering grin against my mouth, triumphant and pleased.
I wasn’t sure what I was doing. This was unlike me. I was never so impulsive, never the type to throw caution to the wind without first thinking everything through.
But her mouth was warm, and her hand had found its way to my jaw, and I found I didn’t particularly care about being rational right now.
When we finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, she was smiling. “I got it right the first time, then.”
“We should—” I started, but my voice came out rougher than intended. I cleared my throat and tried again. “We should settle the bill.”
“Ever the practical one,” she said, but she was already reaching for her wallet.
There was a brief back-and-forth over the bill, but she waved off my protests, reminding me that I’d paid last time, which made this her turn. Once we stepped outside, I took the car keys out of her hand when she pulled them from her jacket.
“Hey—”
“You were drinking. I’m driving,” I said, my tone brooking no argument.
She blinked at me, momentarily taken aback, then laughed. “Well, aren’t you bossy. Consider me surprised.”
I led her to my car, unlocking it and holding the passenger door open. She slid in with exaggerated grace, grinning up at me. “Such a gentleman.”
“Who are you going out with that they won’t even open the door for you?” I asked once I got behind the steering wheel.
“Not gentlemen, obviously.” She buckled her seatbelt, settling into the seat with a contented sigh. “I should really raise my standards.”
The engine rumbled to life, and I pulled out of the parking lot.
The city lights blurred past us, amber and white, smearing into long, muted streaks.
Detective Sawyer seemed content to sit in silence while she looked out the window, watching the urban landscape give way to something darker, more wooded, as we headed toward the outskirts.
The air between us felt different now, charged with something unspoken, something that made my hands tighten ever so slightly on the steering wheel. I was acutely aware of her presence beside me—the way she shifted in her seat to face me more fully.
“Where are we going exactly?”
“My house.”
Detective Sawyer gave a small hum in response.
The trees grew thicker as we drove, the road narrowing, streetlights becoming fewer and farther between until we were driving through darkness punctuated only by my headlights.
The isolation should have felt ominous, I suppose, but instead it felt oddly peaceful, like we were the only two people awake in the world.
We turned onto the private road that led to my house, the trees opening up slightly to reveal the structure ahead.
Detective Sawyer leaned forward, looking through the windshield, taking it all in. The house was modest by most standards—two-story, understated and practical, with clean lines and dark siding that helped it blend into the surrounding trees.
“You live in the middle of the woods!” Detective Sawyer seemed genuinely delighted by the discovery. “Of course you do. This makes so much sense.”
“Does it?”
“Absolutely. It’s very you,” she told me as she got out of the car. “Do you chop your own firewood too? Please tell me you chop your own firewood.”
“I’ve been known to do so, on occasion.”
“Perfect. That’s just perfect.” She was laughing now, rubbing her hands together to chase away the cold.
I unlocked the front door and held it open, gesturing her inside.
She stepped into the entryway, her eyes immediately scanning the space. I watched her take it all in—the hardwood floors, the minimalist furniture, the bookshelves lining the walls of the living room visible through the archway. Everything was ordered and clean, chosen for function over form.
“You can take your jacket off,” I said, shrugging out of my own and hanging it on the hook by the door. “Make yourself comfortable.”