Chapter 13
Alice
The cool air hits my face like a slap as I step out of the bank, pulling my coat tighter around me. The sky is that particular shade of gray that promises snow isn’t far off.
I should probably head straight home, but the idea of going back to my empty house makes my stomach tighten.
Last night’s text is still fresh in my mind, the memory of those words making me glance over my shoulder more than once today.
Every car that passed my house last night felt like a threat.
Every shadow outside my window. I barely slept.
Instead of turning toward home, I point my car toward the gas station on the edge of town.
The digital numbers on the pump tick upward as I stand there, breath visible in the chilly air. The wind cuts right through my jacket, making me shiver as I wait for the tank to fill.
A patrol car pulls up behind me. I turn.
Sawyer climbs out, in his uniform, badge catching the late afternoon light.
My shoulders drop. I didn't realize how tense I'd been all day.
“You're gonna freeze while you pump your own gas?” he asks, walking over.
“I can handle it, you know,” I shiver, holding my coat closer to my body.
“Sure. But it’s a lot warmer in your car than it is out here.” Without waiting for an answer, he takes the nozzle from my hands, his fingers brushing mine briefly.
The contact is quick, but it sends a little jolt through me that has nothing to do with the cold. I roll my eyes but get back in the driver’s seat, leaving the door open so we can still talk.
“Are you always this chivalrous?” I tease, trying not sound like I’m shivering my ass off.
"Only for people who look like they're about to turn into icicles," he replies, glancing at me with a smirk. “Besides, somebody's got to make sure you don't freeze to death before winter even starts.”
"I wasn't going to freeze." But another shiver runs through me, betraying my words.
“You look like you’re about to shiver that coat right off, Alicat.”
The nickname makes me smile despite myself. “No, I don’t.”
“Whatever you say,” he chuckles like he doesn’t believe me.
My cheeks heat up, and I’m grateful he can probably blame the flush on the cold.
He finishes with the gas and hands me the receipt, but he doesn't step back right away. We're standing close enough that I can smell his cologne—something clean and woodsy. I have to resist the urge to lean closer.
“Did you have a long day?” I ask, noticing the tired lines around his eyes.
“Twelve-hour shift,” he nods. “But it’s been worth it. Day shift means I actually get to see daylight.”
“I had a long day too,” I say, thinking about how every small sound at the bank made me jumpy, how I kept checking the parking lot for black SUVs. “I felt like I deserved a sweet treat on the way home.”
“Smart thinking. What kind of sweet treat are we talking about?”
“Haven’t decided yet. Probably something chocolate that’ll make me feel guilty for indulging.”
Sawyer’s eyes light up with amusement. “Come on, I’ll buy you the good kind of chocolate.”
“Oh no, that’s okay—”
“I want to.” He says it simply, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
We walk toward the convenience store together, our shoulders almost brushing. The automatic doors slide open with a soft whoosh, and warm air envelops us. The familiar smell of coffee and fried food hits me, along with the faint chemical scent of cleaning supplies.
“So what’s the verdict?” Sawyer asks, stopping in front of the candy aisle. “Dark chocolate? White chocolate? Something with caramel?”
I study the options, very aware of him standing close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his body. "I'm a dark chocolate kind of girl."
"Should have guessed. You seem like someone with sophisticated tastes."
"Or maybe I just like things that are a little bit bitter." The words come out before I can stop them.
But Sawyer just grins. “Nothing wrong with that. Some of the best things have a little bite to them.”
The way he says it makes me look up at him, and for a moment we just stand there in the candy aisle, looking at each other. There’s something in his expression that makes my pulse quicken—an intensity that wasn’t there during our casual bank conversations.
“This one,” I say finally, reaching for a bar with gold lettering on the packaging. “Definitely this one.”
He takes it from my hands and heads to the counter, pulling out his wallet before I can protest. The teenage cashier looks between us with barely concealed curiosity.
“Thank you, I really appreciate it,” I say as we walk back outside into the cold. “I feel like I should repay you somehow.”
“You don’t need to repay me for anything.”
“What if I want to?” The words slip out before I can stop them. “You mentioned studying for your sergeant's exam. That offer I made about helping—I'm serious about it.”
Sawyer stops walking and looks at me. “You mean that?”
“I do. I'm good with flashcards, and you look like you could use a study break from sitting alone with textbooks.” I adjust my glasses, suddenly nervous. “I could make coffee, and we could go through some material. If you want.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose—”
“You bought me chocolate and pumped my gas in freezing weather. The least I can do is help you study.”
He considers this for a moment, then smiles—not his usual confident grin, but something softer. “You know what? I’d really like that.”
“Good. Follow me home?” The words are out before I can overthink them. Inviting him to my house. The house someone is watching.
But with Sawyer there, maybe I'll feel safe for a few hours.
At my house, I unlock the front door but pause before opening it. Check over my shoulder. The street is empty, but that doesn't mean no one's watching.
Sawyer notices. “You okay?”
"Fine." I force a smile and push the door open. "Just cold."
“This is really nice,” he says, looking around my living room. His eyes land on the bookcase, scanning the titles. “You’ve got quite a collection.”
“Most of them were my grandmother’s,” I say, hanging up my coat and immediately feeling self-conscious about everything—the floral couch, the outdated kitchen covered in apple patterns, the way I’ve kept everything exactly as Grandma left it. “Can I get you some coffee? Or hot chocolate?”
“Coffee’s great, thanks.”
I busy myself in the kitchen, grateful to have something to do with my hands. Through the doorway, I can see Sawyer examining my bookshelf more closely, and I wonder what he thinks of the mix of classic literature and romance novels.
“Your grandmother had good taste,” he calls out.
“She was big into reading. That’s probably where I got it from.” I bring two mugs to the living room, along with the bag of study materials he retrieved from his car. “So what are we working on tonight?”
“Leadership principles and departmental policies,” Sawyer says, settling onto the couch. “The riveting stuff.”
I curl up in the armchair across from him, notepad in hand. “Okay, let’s start with something easy. What are the five pillars of effective police leadership?”
For the next hour, we work through flashcards and practice questions.
Sawyer is clearly smart—he knows most of the material—but I can tell he’s nervous about the exam.
There’s something endearing about watching this confident police officer get flustered over questions he’s probably reviewed a thousand times.
“Okay, you’re overthinking this one,” I say when he struggles with a budget scenario. “Just break it down step by step.”
“I suck at math,” he mutters, running his hands through his black hair.
“No, you don’t. You’re just psyching yourself out.” I move from my chair to sit next to him on the couch, our knees almost touching. “You’ve got this.”
I lean closer to point out something on the page, and suddenly I'm very aware of how close we are. Close enough to see how dark his brown eyes are. Close enough to feel the warmth of his breath.
"Alice." His voice is quiet. Different.
"Yeah?"
"I should probably go. It's getting late."
But he doesn’t move. Neither do I. My heart is pounding so loud I'm sure he can hear it. We’re just sitting there, study materials forgotten, looking at each other like we’re both trying to figure out what comes next. I glance at his lips.
“Yeah, you probably should,” I whisper, but I don’t mean it.
“I should,” he agrees, but he’s not making any move to leave.
The moment stretches between us, heavy with possibility. Then Sawyer clears his throat and pulls back slightly.
“Thank you for helping me tonight. I actually feel more prepared.”
“Anytime.”
At the front door, he turns to face me one more time. “Thank you, Alice. For the studying, the coffee… all of it.”
“Thank you for the chocolate. And for pumping my gas.”
“Drive safe tomorrow, okay? If you see anything suspicious—”
“I will,” I nod.
“Good night, Alicat.”
“Good night, Sawyer.”
I watch from my window as he drives away, and I'm still smiling. For the first time since moving to Pine Hollows, my empty house doesn't feel quite so empty.
As I get ready for bed, I keep replaying the almost moment on the couch. The way Sawyer looked at me, the tension between us, how we both pulled back at the same time.
Maybe slow is exactly what I need right now.
But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to kiss him.