Chapter 10
Aiden
The dress uniform feels like armor.
I check my reflection in the headquarters bathroom mirror for the third time, adjusting the collar that suddenly seems determined to strangle me. The brass buttons gleam. The creases are sharp enough to cut glass. Everything's perfect.
So why do my hands keep shaking?
"You look like you're about to face a firing squad." Derek appears in the mirror behind me, grinning like the unhelpful best friend he is. "Relax. It's just a promotion ceremony, not a court martial."
"Easy for you to say. You're not the one about to stand in front of the entire department."
"No, I'm the one who gets to watch you sweat through your fancy uniform." He claps me on the shoulder. "Seriously, man. You've earned this. Stop acting like they're going to realize they made a mistake and tackle you off the stage."
"That's weirdly specific."
"I have an active imagination."
The bathroom door swings open, and Whitaker pokes his head in. "Lieutenant? They're ready for you."
Lieutenant. Not for much longer. In twenty minutes, I'll be Captain Gentry—assuming I don't pass out from nerves first.
"Coming." I take one last look in the mirror, square my shoulders, and follow Whitaker into the hallway.
The main hall is packed. Folding chairs fill the space in neat rows, occupied by dress uniforms and civilian clothes alike.
I spot my crew near the front—Johnson giving me a thumbs up, Martinez pretending to wipe away a tear.
My mother sits in the second row, already dabbing at her eyes with a tissue, my father beside her looking proud in that quiet way of his.
And in the third row, hair catching the overhead lights, Riley.
She's wearing a green dress I've never seen before—simple, elegant, bringing out her eyes in a way that makes my breath catch. Her glasses are the same, though. Some things don't change.
Our eyes meet. She smiles—small, private, just for me—and the shaking in my hands settles.
I can do this.
Chief Rodriguez stands at the podium, silver hair immaculate, dress uniform pristine. She's got that expression she wears for official functions—serious but warm, the kind of presence that commands respect without demanding it.
"Today we gather to recognize excellence in our department," she begins, her voice carrying easily through the hall. "To honor those who have demonstrated exceptional dedication, skill, and integrity in service to our community."
I take my place in the front row beside Captain Vasquez, who gives me a small nod. She's the one who recommended me for this promotion—who saw past the social media presence to the work underneath. I owe her more than I can say.
"Our first recognition today goes to someone whose recent work has brought credit to our entire department." Chief Rodriguez's gaze shifts to the left side of the hall. "Investigator Riley Pritchard, please come forward."
My head snaps toward Riley, who looks equally surprised. She rises from her seat, smoothing her dress with hands that aren't quite steady, and makes her way to the front.
"Investigator Pritchard's work on the recent arson case demonstrated exceptional analytical skill, dedication, and courage," Chief Rodriguez continues.
"Her identification of the pattern connecting multiple fires, her meticulous evidence collection, and her pivotal role in apprehending the suspect prevented further destruction and potentially saved lives. "
Riley stands at attention beside the podium, cheeks flushed, clearly uncomfortable with the public attention. But she holds her ground, chin lifted, professional to the core.
"It is my honor to present Investigator Pritchard with the Department Commendation for Investigative Excellence."
Applause fills the hall. I clap harder than anyone, not caring who notices. Chief Rodriguez pins the commendation to Riley's dress, shakes her hand, and leans in to say something I can't hear. Whatever it is makes Riley's eyes brighten with something that looks like tears she's refusing to shed.
She returns to her seat, and our eyes meet again. I mouth "proud of you" across the space between us. She rolls her eyes, but she's smiling.
"And now," Chief Rodriguez says, "we turn to the matter of promotion."
The next few minutes blur together. Vasquez speaks about leadership qualities and community engagement.
Chief Rodriguez reads from an official citation that mentions training certifications, incident command, and "exceptional interdepartmental cooperation"—which gets a knowing murmur from the crowd and a snort from Riley's direction.
Then I'm standing at the podium, right hand raised, repeating the oath of office while my mother cries openly and my father pretends he isn't doing the same.
"By the authority vested in me, I hereby promote Aiden Gentry to the rank of Captain in the Copper Ridge Fire Department."
Chief Rodriguez removes my lieutenant's insignia and replaces it with the captain's bars. The metal is cool against my collar, heavier than it should be. Heavier than I expected.
"Captain Gentry." She shakes my hand, her grip firm. "Congratulations. The department is lucky to have you."
"Thank you, Chief."
Applause again, louder this time. I find Riley in the crowd—she's on her feet, clapping, that private smile now spread into something wider and unguarded.
The reception afterward is a blur of handshakes, congratulations, and my mother introducing Riley to every relative within a fifty-foot radius as "Aiden's girlfriend, the investigator, yes the one from the video, isn't she lovely?
" Riley handles it with surprising grace, though I catch her shooting me desperate looks whenever Mom corners her with baby photos.
"Your family is a lot," she murmurs when I finally extract her from a conversation with my Aunt Patricia about wedding venues.
"I tried to warn you."
"You said they were 'enthusiastic.' That was an understatement of epic proportions."
"Aunt Patricia means well. She's just excited I'm finally dating someone she approves of."
"She asked me about my fertility timeline, Aiden."
"That's... yeah, that's on brand for her." I steer her toward the refreshment table, which is mercifully relative-free. "For what it's worth, you're handling it beautifully."
"I'm dissociating. It's different."
I laugh, and she elbows me in the ribs, but she's smiling too. Around us, the reception continues—colleagues chatting, families mingling, the comfortable noise of community.
"Hey." I catch her hand, pulling her slightly away from the crowd. "I meant what I mouthed earlier. I'm proud of you. That commendation—you earned it."
"So did you." She squeezes my fingers. "Captain Gentry. Has a nice ring to it."
"Better than 'charming himbo'?"
"Marginally."
"I'll take it."
Hazel materializes beside us with a camera, because of course they do. "One photo? For the department social media? The lighting right now is perfect, and the engagement on ceremony content is always—"
"One photo," Riley says, surprising us both. "But no hashtags about our relationship. This is about the professional recognition."
"Deal." Hazel positions us in front of a department banner, adjusting angles with practiced efficiency. "Okay, look at each other like you actually like each other—perfect, great, got it."
The camera clicks. Hazel shows us the preview: Riley and me, side by side, commendation and captain's bars visible, looking at each other with expressions that are probably too soft for a professional photo.
"That's going to trend," Hazel says happily, already typing.
"No hashtags," Riley reminds them.
"No relationship hashtags. I'm using #DepartmentExcellence and #CopperRidgeFinest. Totally professional."
They disappear into the crowd before either of us can object.
"We've created a monster," I say.
"We've enabled a monster. There's a difference."
The reception winds down slowly. My parents leave with promises to have us over for dinner soon—"soon" in Mom-speak meaning "this weekend whether you like it or not.
" Derek extracts a promise for celebratory drinks.
Captain Vasquez shakes my hand one more time and tells me not to let the promotion go to my head.
Finally, it's just Riley and me, standing in the emptying hall as maintenance staff begin folding chairs.
"Come somewhere with me?" I ask.
"Where?"
"It's a surprise."
Her eyebrow rises. "I'm not great with surprises."
"I know. Trust me anyway?"
She studies me for a moment, that analytical gaze cataloging whatever evidence my face is providing. Then she nods.
"Okay. Lead the way, Captain."
The riverside spot at the park is quiet at dusk, the same stone columns and wooden beams from our first public appearance casting long shadows in the fading light. The water moves past in lazy ripples, catching the last of the sunset in shades of orange and pink.
"This is where it all started," Riley says, looking around. "The first event. The one where I was convinced we'd be exposed as frauds within five minutes."
"And instead, Mrs. Anderson told you about her fifty-three-year marriage to a man she couldn't stand at first."
"You remember that?"
"I remember everything about that day." I take her hand, drawing her toward a bench overlooking the water.
"I remember you being so nervous you kept reorganizing the demonstration materials.
I remember Wade being an ass and wanting to punch him.
I remember standing by this river and realizing I was in serious trouble. "
"Because of the fake relationship PR disaster?"
"Because I was starting to want it to be real."
Riley's quiet for a moment, her thumb tracing patterns on the back of my hand. The river flows past. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barks.
"I was so angry that day," she finally says. "At you, at the situation, at myself for noticing things I didn't want to notice. You were supposed to be shallow. You were supposed to be exactly what I assumed—all charm, no substance."
"Sorry to disappoint."
"You didn't disappoint. That was the problem." She turns to face me, green eyes soft in the fading light. "You kept being more than I expected. More thoughtful. More competent. More... everything."
"Is this your version of a compliment? Because it sounds like you're mad about it."
"I was mad about it. For a while." Her mouth curves. "Then I got over myself."
"Thank God for that."
The sunset paints the sky in deepening shades of purple and gold. I shift closer on the bench, our shoulders touching, her hand still warm in mine.
"When I got promoted," I say slowly, "the first thing I thought wasn't about the rank or the ceremony or what it meant for my career. It was that I wanted to tell you. That none of it would feel real until I saw your face."
Riley's breath catches slightly. "Aiden..."
"I know we started this whole thing as a PR stunt. I know it was fake, and complicated, and neither of us planned for any of this." I turn to face her fully. "But somewhere along the way, you became the most real thing in my life. And I don't want that to change."
"It won't." The words come out quiet but certain. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Promise?"
"The evidence suggests I'm incapable of staying away from you." She leans in, her forehead touching mine. "So yes. Promise."
I kiss her there, by the river where everything started, as the last of the sunset fades into twilight. It's soft, unhurried, tasting like champagne from the reception and the future we're building together.
When we finally break apart, the first stars are appearing overhead.
"Take me home?" Riley asks.
"Yours or mine?"
"Yours." She stands, pulling me up with her. "I've gotten used to your coffee. And your couch. And your face in the morning."
"Romantic."
"I try."
We walk back to the truck hand in hand, the park quiet around us. Tomorrow there will be new responsibilities, new challenges, the endless work of serving a community we both love. But tonight, there's just this—her hand in mine, the stars coming out, the beginning of whatever comes next.
I spent years building a reputation on charm and charisma, convinced that was all anyone would ever see.
Riley saw more. She saw everything. And instead of running from it, she stayed.
That's the real promotion. The one that actually matters.
The brass is just a bonus.