Chapter 3
From Chaos to the Quiet
Maliyah
Morning came too quickly yet not quickly enough.
I'd changed a dozen times before ending up back in the first damned outfit.
Clothes now littered my room, creating a graveyard of fabric that would later require me to hang up or wash again.
I had a tendency to just wash it if I didn't want to grab it off the floor. I know—ridiculous.
The sweater was a cloud-soft knit that clung to my body like a second skin, its deep sapphire blue bringing out amber flecks in my hazel eyes.
The V-neck dipped just low enough to hint at tiniest bit of cleavage, and the sleeves fell perfectly at my wrists to ward off the cold.
But was a it too much for coffee? The way it traced every curve I’d earned through motherhood.
.. I didn’t want him to think I was trying too hard.
I caught myself in the mirror—Fuck, is that glitter? How many showers does it take to get rid of this shit?
Bet Reed is already dressed and waiting, probably spent all of five minutes getting ready.
Guys have it so much easier—just run fingers through that thick dark hair until it's artfully tousled, throw on a worn-soft T-shirt that somehow still looks expensive, pull on those perfectly faded jeans that fit in all the right places, and walk out the door without a second glance in the mirror.
No makeup, no outfit changes, no agonizing over whether your sweater makes you look desperate or if your jeans make your ass look too big or too flat.
"You look pretty, Mama," Zoe announced from the doorway, still in her pajamas with her hair sticking up in about twelve different directions. "Are you going somewhere special?"
"Just meeting a friend, sweetie." I knelt down to smooth her curls, breathing in the scent of her strawberry shampoo from last night's bath.
Lucas padded into the room on sock-clad feet, his backpack already slung over one shoulder, hair still damp from his morning shower.
He leaned against the doorframe, fidgeting with the zipper of his navy blue hoodie as he asked, "Can you pick me up early today?
Tommy said his mom might take us to the science museum if we finish our projects.
He's got that new dinosaur exhibit with the moving T-Rex. "
"We'll see. Depends on how my day goes." I helped him adjust his backpack straps and kissed the top of his head. "Be good for Mrs. Patterson, okay?"
"I'm always good."
He wasn't wrong. Lucas had always been the easy kid—thoughtful, responsible, almost too mature for his age sometimes. Zoe was my wild child, all energy and emotions and creative chaos. They balanced each other out, most of the time.
Within the hour, I was sitting in my car outside The Grind, checking my makeup in the rearview mirror and wondering if I should cancel. I really don't need to get my hopes up, so maybe it's better to call it a day before anything even starts.
The café looked welcoming enough—a little trendy for the neighborhood, but with gentrification, I'm really not all that surprised.
I wiped my hands against my jeans for the third time, feeling the rough material rub against my skin. I’d rub them raw before the date was even underway.
I'd been on exactly three dates since Jacob left. Three awkward dinners with men who seemed nice enough on paper. One guy ran for the hills the moment he realized I had kids—young kids at that. Another was a little too interested in playing instant daddy. Neither option had been appealing. The third wasn’t even memorable enough to recall why I wasn’t interested.
My phone buzzed.
Reed: Running five minutes late. Don't leave.
Me: Just parked. I'll grab us a spot.
Well, in for a penny...
When Reed walked through the café door a few minutes later, my fingers tightened around my empty mug.
The espresso-thick air caught in my throat as he scanned the room, his gaze landing on mine.
He moved between tables with an easy confidence, jeans fitting just right, the sleeves of his gray henley pushed up to reveal forearms tanned and corded with muscle.
A flush crept up my neck. When he smiled, the blue of his eyes deepened like water in sunlight, and my heartbeat skipped, stumbled, raced ahead. I crossed and uncrossed my legs under the table. The second he smiled, I knew I was in trouble.
"Sorry," he said, sliding into the chair across from me at the small table I'd claimed by the window. "Last-minute call from the captain."
"Everything okay?"
"Meh—Nothing to write home about." He asked me for my order over the background of the hum of machines and blended voices. Mocha latte, of course—if you can't have sugar in your coffee, then what's the point of coffee?!
Minutes later, he returned, blueberry scones and a spinach and feta pie in hand.
Reed sat back in his chair and grinned. "So, how'd the solar system turn out? Did you have a masterpiece on your hands?"
I laughed, my coffee nearly sloshing over the rim.
"Oh God, I was pretty proud of Lucas and how easily he allowed Zoe to 'help.
' Mars—" I shook my head, "—Zoe decided the real Mars was 'boring' so she painted it purple with glitter that's still embedded in my kitchen table, and on the floor, and I found some in my hair this morning.
" I pulled out my phone, swiped to the photo, and turned it toward him.
"Lucas the morning rolling his eyes at her antics while she chattered on about how everyone will remember which one was Mars!
The teacher's going to need sunglasses to grade it. "
"Smart kid. Both of them, I'm guessing."
"Too smart sometimes." I wrapped my hands around my coffee mug, grateful for something to do with my nervous energy.
"Lucas reads at a fourth-grade level, and Zoe can argue her way out of anything.
I'm going to secretly move them into my sister's house once they're teenagers and pretend like I had nothing to do with it. "
He guffawed at that, but became more serious when he said, "They're lucky to have you. Not every kid gets a mom who drives from Florida up the coast to make sure they're near family."
"You remembered that?" Heat crept up my cheeks.
He tapped his temple, "Details are important."
"Of course, Detective. Nothing gets past you, does it?" I took a sip of my latte, trying to calm my nerves. "So, how long have you been with Boston PD?"
"Ten years. Started not too long after college." He took a sip of his coffee—black, no sugar—unfathomable. "What about you? Always wanted to work in social services?"
The question made something tighten in my chest, the way it always did when people asked about my career path. Most people assumed it was a calling, something I'd planned since childhood. The truth was messier than that.
"Not always, no. I sort of fell into it.
" I took a sip of my latte, buying time.
My fingers tightened around the mug. "I had my own.
.. experience." The words stuck in my throat like ground coffee.
"Ended up in Florida after needing to—" I swallowed hard, glancing at his badge clipped to his belt.
"After getting away. The shelter there helped me when I had nowhere else to go.
" I forced a smile that felt brittle on my face.
"Started volunteering, then working part-time.
Went back to school. Got my degree." I shrugged, as if the years of nightmares and looking over my shoulder were nothing. "The rest is history, I guess."
Not trying to share my entire life story in one fell swoop, so I just left it there.
Reed must have noticed my hesitation because he didn't push. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and grinned. "Well, whatever it was, you seemed to have landed exactly where you're supposed to be. With people who trust you and need you."
"I'm honored to be there for them." I met his eyes. "Sometimes all someone needs is to know they're not alone."
Something shifted in his expression then, became more serious. "Yeah. I get that."
We talked for what felt like hours—about work, about Boston, about our likes and dislikes, some of our pasts, some of our hopes.
We talked about everything except the thing that was humming between us—almost too scared to put a name to it.
Reed had me in stitches with stories like the drunk guy who called 911 to report his own shadow following him, and the time he had to help an elderly woman who'd accidentally super-glued her dentures to her nightstand.
But I couldn't shake the feeling he was keeping something at a distance.
He was friendly, but he was also... careful.
When he walked me to my car, I slowed my steps, fumbling with my keys until they almost slipped from my fingers. His hand caught mine as we both reached for them, warm against the chill in the air.
At my car, he faced me while he rocked back on his heels—once, then twice, hands disappearing into his pockets as his shoulders hunched forward slightly. "I had a good time," he said, his confidence momentarily replaced by something that reminded me of a shy kid asking his crush to the dance.
My "Me too" came out barely audible, my lips barely moving, as if speaking at full volume might shatter this thing hovering between us.
"Maybe we could do it again sometime."
I nodded, just not trusting my voice. Reed Morrison was dangerous to my carefully ordered life, and we both knew it.
But as I drove to work, I was already hoping he'd call again soon. And that scared me almost as much as it excited me.