#kw22

“Seriously.” He can hear the eye roll in her voice. “We both work in the morning. My uniform is at home.”

“Alright,” Tim pauses for a moment, considering. When he speaks again, it’s with a playful lilt. “But if you stay … I could start a fire, see what’s left to make of the evening.”

“A fire? In what fireplace?” He feels Lucy’s head turn as she looks around the room. In response, he slides his hand from her arm, down far enough to toy with the waistband of her leggings.

“Not that kind of fire …" He dips his head down to nose at her hairline, smiling against her skin.

Lucy laughs, turning her head and squirming. She reaches down to smack at his wrist.

“You are insatiable!” She giggles. Her head lands more squarely on his chest now, and she’s lying halfway across his lap. He relents, wrapping his arm loosely around her waist to slide her closer into him. Just when she’s settled in, he wiggles his fingers along her side, across the patch of bare skin where her T-shirt has ridden up. Lucy squeals again, and he tugs her the rest of the way across, until she’s leaning between his side and the arm of the couch, thighs stretched across his. She tucks her toes underneath the edge of a throw pillow and sighs.

And still, she doesn’t even try to get up. He’d let her, if she did. But they both know what she’s after, and he wants it just as badly, even if neither of them are willing to say it outright.

“Well don’t rush yourself,” Tim says, adjusting his hold so one arm wraps around her belly and the other drapes down her leg. His hand fits perfectly over her kneecap; they both smile when it lands there. “You’re right, it is getting pretty late.”

“Mmm, maybe just a few more minutes.” Lucy tips her head back and tucks her face into his neck. He kisses the edge of her temple lightly, then starts humming in her ear. He’s not sure what song it is, but it’s been stuck in his head all afternoon. Some festive jingle or the other, playing over the loudspeaker at the gas station where he’d spent three hours investigating a burglary. “But then I really do have to get home. Tamara will worry.”

“Last week she asked me if I was planning to ‘put a ring on it’ anytime soon, so I don’t think that’s true.” When Lucy’s shoulders go stiff at his words, Tim squeezes one gently and tacks on, “Not anytime soon. Right now I just want to enjoy the way things are.”

He doesn’t say any more than that, just lets Lucy relax again. She doesn’t need to know about the pretty emerald that caught his eye over the weekend, while he was shopping for earrings to give his sister. Not yet, not anytime soon.

Just … someday.

“Things are good,” Lucy whispers. Her breath tickles his jaw in hot puffs, and he kisses the side of her head again.

“They are.”

They sit like that, all tangled up, basking in each other and together, for a few minutes. Lucy only stirs enough to reach for her highball glass, dripping condensation onto Tim’s coffee table and return to her previous position.

“What’s in this again anyway?” She takes a sip of the cocktail, watered down from the melted ice, and leans her head against his shoulder. “It’s delicious.”

He could rattle it off easily, give her the secret to his spiced rum cider. It’s not even a secret, really; Genny had sent him the link in an email several years ago after a friend of a friend forwarded it on to her. There’s a printed out copy stuck in the cover of a bar guide he inherited from his grandfather. He could show it to her, sometime when she’s not sitting on top of him.

But where’s the fun in that?

“I could pour you another,” he offers instead. “If you … won’t be driving for a bit.”

It’s not his fault that the rum cider is strong.

Lucy sits up just far enough that she can turn around and look at him. From this angle, her eyes twinkle with more than just her amusement. He can see the reflection of the Christmas tree lights, the tree she’d insisted he needed for the back of his living room, countless little white dots sparkling beneath her eyelashes. They remind him of the dark night skies he’d stare at during his deployment days, the only source of beauty in a war-ravaged world.

Her hair is pulled into a loose knot on top of her head, and she’s wearing leggings and a faded-out college T-shirt. She’s nowhere near drunk, but a glass from his bar set hangs from one hand while the other trails a line up his shoulder. She reminds him of those skies, a bright spot in a year that needed more of them.

He’s seen her every which way: in uniform, pajamas, casual wear, dressed for a night out, in her finest formal attire, with longer hair and pointed nails, not wearing anything at all …

But this might be his favorite version of Lucy, he thinks. The Lucy that’s soft and comfortable in his space, pliant against him, with stars dancing in her eyes.

“What?” She asks, smiling fondly at him, and he realizes he must have been staring.

“Nothing.” Tim shakes his head. “Just … thinking about how beautiful you are like this.”

The easy honesty sends a flush up her face, visible even in the dimly lit living room.

“You are …" she trails off, and he hesitates for a moment before meeting her eyes. She sighs. “Something. You are something, Tim. I just want you to know that.”

She leans forward before he can say anything in response and fits their mouths together. He slides the glass out of her hand, groping blindly for the end table so they’ll have their hands free to hold onto one another. It’s his favorite kind of kiss too, slow and easy and endless feeling, until they break just far enough apart to breathe.

“I don’t want to leave,” Lucy murmurs into the space between them. Tim isn’t sure he was meant to hear it; other than how closely together they’re sitting. It feels like the sort of thing she’s saying to herself more than to him. He wants to tell her that she doesn’t have to, that she never has to leave unless she wants to, but that feels like too much for 11:30 on a Friday night, when she’s trying to convince herself to stay behind some line in the sand.

As if there’s a line they haven’t crossed together.

“I really should …" Lucy says again, loudly enough for him to hear.

“If you’re sure you’re good to get home,” Tim replies, meaning the late hour and the long day more than the alcohol.

“Yeah, I’ll be good.” Still, she doesn’t get up. “Of course, if we’re worried that it might be … cold …" She reaches for one of the drawstrings on his sweatshirt and twirls it around her fingers. “Maybe you should make sure I have something warm to wear.”

“Yeah?” He’s already reaching back to pull the sweatshirt over his head. Lucy laughs as she helps him untangle his T-shirt underneath it and keeps laughing as he tugs the sweatshirt down onto her shoulders. Her head pops through the opening at the neckline and she grins at him until he’s laughing with her.

When all is said and done, even sitting across his legs, the sweatshirt pools around her hips. He knows when she stands up that it will reach her knees. There’s something intimate and thrilling about knowing that even if she does go home tonight, she’s taking some physical, tangible part of him with her.

He traces his fingertips across her knuckles. Her skin is soft and smooth, and he knows that if he drew her hand to his lips, he’d be able to smell the floral hand lotion she rubs on every so often.

“It’s been a good night,” he says quietly. It’s an out, if she wants it to be, the beginnings of a goodbye. Or, it can be an invitation to let the night run on between them and keep a good thing going.

The choice is hers.

“It has been. It always is.” Lucy snuggles back into him. “If I stay … I have to get up early to go home before shift.”

“I’ll make you coffee,” he offers. “Carpool?”

“Sure.” She wraps both of her arms around one of his, holding it against her chest. “Probably better than driving home tonight anyway. Y’know, because you say it’s so cold out.”

“Yeah,” Tim kicks one foot up onto the coffee table. They should go to bed soon, if Lucy is staying, but he doesn’t want to make her move just yet. He hasn’t actually checked the weather, knows that what passes for ‘cold’ in LA is hardly a breeze in other parts of the country.

But he can’t imagine anything warmer than this, wrapped up in comfort and devotion and love.

And Lucy.

Compared to this, whatever the temperature is beyond his front door?

Everyone else has noticed now, and someone started up a chant of “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

He chances a quick look at Lucy, frozen in place with her drink raised just a little too high to be natural. Her eyes are wide, her mouth hanging slightly open.

She’s beautiful. Even like this, half-paralyzed with shock, it strikes him that she’s beautiful.

But he can’t tell her that now, and they can’t stand like this all day. So he nudges her forearm carefully with his elbow. She jumps a little bit, and turns to face him.

“Hey,” Tim whispers, quietly enough that only Lucy will hear, when he gets a better view of the panic on her face. “We don’t have to. We can … settle the score later.” He grins at the last part, trying to break the ice between them, but Lucy’s expression doesn’t change.

The crowd is still chanting, and Lucy seems to notice it a second later. She shakes her head, and the hand not holding her drink comes up to rest on Tim’s shoulder.

Her fingers dig into his skin, through the fabric of his shirt. She rolls up onto her tiptoes, and Tim’s breath catches in his throat.

Just for a second, he lets himself hope. It’s not how they’d meant to tell everyone, and certainly not everyone they’d meant to tell – a handful of people are missing, and there are some officers who don’t need to know everything about their private lives – but he hopes. Lucy is balancing herself against him, close enough that he can feel the heat coming off of her chest, and he hopes.

He hopes she’ll do it. He hopes he’ll let her. He hopes it won’t change anything between them, more than everything between them has already changed. And he hopes it won’t ruin either of their careers.

Then Lucy leans in and …

Brushes her lips across his cheek.

She drops back to her usual height and takes a step away, and Tim tries not to let the disappointment show.

This makes more sense, anyway. It would have been just as telling if they’d refused to play along at all, and kissing her the way he’d wanted to would have been a terrible way to disclose their relationship to the department. Lucy handled an uncomfortable situation perfectly, and he knows it.

Still, he’s a little bit heartbroken at the way he can feel the ghost of her touch on his face, her phantom fingers clinging to his shoulder.

A handful of onlookers boo, and someone – he thinks it sounds like Smitty, but he can’t tell for sure – calls out something about cheating. But for the most part, everyone turns their attention back to whatever conversation they’d been having before the crowd gathered around them.

Only Angela stops to catch Tim’s eye as he lets out a heavy breath. She tips her cup toward him, and her stare is filled with concern and compassion.

He smiles back, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. She nods slowly, and for a second, Tim wonders how much she knows. He hasn’t said anything, and he knows Lucy hasn’t either. But he gets the feeling that Angela understands the things he can’t tell her.

He raises his drink back at her and takes another deep breath.

Then he turns back to the party, mingling and making small talk like everything is fine.

“That went on forever,” Lucy complains an hour and a half later, trying to fit her key into the front door of her apartment. “I thought we’d never get to leave.”

She’s not drunk, but Tim knows the door sticks sometimes. He’s half-tempted to reach around her and pull the knob tighter, to see if that helps, but she gets it open before he makes up his mind.

“Thanks for walking me up,” Lucy says, lingering in her doorway, and Tim thinks back to a few months ago, a similar conversation under incredibly different circumstances.

“Anytime,” he replies, and they both know that it’s true.

“Do you … want to come in?” He wonders if she’s doing it intentionally, if those words are seared into his memory the way they are in his.

This time, there’s no hesitation when he follows her.

As soon as the door is closed behind them, Lucy is pushing him up against it. The element of surprise favors her over their difference in size, as she presses her chest against his. He catches her by the waist, but doesn’t dream of pushing her away.

Not here, not like this.

Not when their bodies fit perfectly together, and her mouth slots perfectly against his, and she’s kissing him so hard that he can’t come up with any words other than perfect to describe it.

Hot, maybe. Even for December, she’s hot against him, both hands cupping his face like she’s worried he might pull back.

Promising, how she drags one hand down his torso, through the tiny bits of space between them and toward the waistband of his jeans.

Earth-shattering, the way Lucy came into his life two years ago and somehow became the person he cares about most in the world, the person he’d do anything for and who’d do anything for him.

But he can’t come up with any of that when she finally breaks away from him. They’re both breathing hard, sharing the same air back and forth, clinging to each other for dear life.

For more than life, Tim thinks, before he pushes that thought to the back of his head. It’s only been a few months, they’re not quite ready for ‘til death do us part just yet.

That doesn’t matter tonight, though. He’d walk through fire for Lucy, just to see this sexy, sassy smile on her face.

“Well, what do you say?” She tucks two fingers into his belt loop, and Tim knows he won’t be able to find the words to answer whatever she’s about to ask. “Is the score even enough for you?”

Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. But that doesn’t matter either, because Tim pulls her in for another kiss. She smiles against him and he adds another tally mark to his mental list.

It’s more fun than he imagined, though, watching his best friend and her growing family build new holiday traditions. Jack is all smiles and giggles when Wes lifts him up and spins on the blades of his skates, and he blows a raspberry at Tim over his mother’s shoulder when she peppers his tiny face with kisses.

Tim returns the silly face, then turns around, sizing up the rest of the venue. Angela had promised him apple cider donuts, a treat in exchange for being part of the family for an afternoon, but he’s hoping for something with a little more substance than sugar.

What he sees instead is nearly enough to knock him over the wall, sprawling onto the ice.

Of all the places in all of LA, what are the odds …

Lucy Chen is walking back toward the rink, holding one giant chocolate chip cookie in each hand. She veers to the side before she sees Tim, but he watches as she passes the second cookie to Jackson, who’s sitting on a wooden bench with his legs stretched out in front of him. Lucy says something to Jackson, pointing at the concession stand; as soon as he follows her gaze, he starts unlacing his skates. She laughs at whatever he says next, but rolls her eyes as he gets up and goes over there himself.

Lucy watches Jackson for a moment longer, then grimaces in his direction and shoves her feet back into her own skates. She stumbles to the edge of the rink, but as soon as she reaches the ice, she starts moving in smooth glides.

Tim waits for her to be close enough to hear him before he opens his mouth.

“Hey, Chen!” She turns her head in his direction, her surprise obvious when she sees him. “You sure those are tied tight enough? Can’t have you breaking an ankle; we’re already stretched thin enough at work.”

“Tim!” She grins, skating toward the wall he’s leaning against. “What’re you doing here?” Her face flushes even pinker than the chill has already turned it and she starts stammering. “Not that … I mean … it’s not a priva … it’s a public rink, you can … I just didn’t know you …"

“I’m not.” He puts her out of her misery, pulling one hand out of his pocket long enough to point across the rink. “But Angela is, and I’m on Uncle Duty today. What about you, didn’t know you skated?”

“Here and there.” She looks down. “I try to come a few times a year. It’s fun.”

“Yeah, looks like Jack is enjoying himself.” He’s talking about Angela’s kid, but Lucy looks past him to the concession booth. Tim turns to glance, and sees Jackson standing off to the side, deep in conversation with the cashier.

“He’ll be over there all afternoon, I’m sure. All I did was tell him the attendant guy looked like his type. Now I guess I’m on my own for the rink today.” She sighs.

“Hey, I’m sure Angela would loop around with you a few times. Looks like Wes has taken charge of the baby anyway.”

“Maybe,” Lucy says, but she makes no effort to move. “You’re not on the ice?”

“Absolutely not. I’m here to hang out with Jack when he needs a nap, give mom and dad a break.”

“Not even for a few minutes?”

“Not unless you want to see an ambulance today.”

“Well,” Lucy laughs. “I guess it’s nice to see a man who knows his limits.”

“Believe it or not, I do have a few of them.”

“I’d never have guessed.”

The conversation flows easily from there, nephews and dogs and Tim’s sister and the best cheesesteak Lucy has ever eaten. Before either of them realize, it’s been almost 40 minutes and the intercom is announcing the end of skate for people with an hourly pass. Tim raises an eyebrow, and Lucy holds up her wrist, showing him an all day wristband.

“But I should probably go make use of it, at least for a few minutes.” Tim nods, and she skates off. Immediately, he’s a little colder again, which he decides is ridiculous as soon as he registers the feeling. He’s cold because it’s freezing in here, not because Lucy was somehow keeping him warm.

The solitude doesn’t last long, though. While Lucy is breezing her way through speedy laps of the inner rink, Wesley skates over to Tim. Jack is slumped against one of his shoulders, arms looped loosely around his dad’s neck.

“Hey, can you take him?” Tim extends an arm and they pass Jack over the wall. “Thanks. He’s out cold, and my arm is getting sore. I think Angela left the stroller over by the lockers.

“No problem. We’ll be here.”

He shifts Jack around, until he’s resting against the shoulder that’s never seen a bullet wound. The kid hardly moves, other than to burrow his face deeper into Tim’s neck. He rubs his back gently with his free hand, tucking it up the bottom of his little puffer jacket to keep his fingers warm.

Tim keeps watching the skaters. Somehow, his gaze always finds its way back to Lucy. She’s slowed down a little bit, but now she’s weaving back and forth, zipping between imaginary cones in her path. The movement are precise, careful and refined in a way that tells Tim ‘a few times a year’ might have been underselling her experience.

Then she starts spinning. She makes it look easy, effortless loops that keep her moving forward even as she turns round and round. It’s not a tight spiral, like he’d see on the Olympics, but somehow this is more impressive. She keeps twirling, never coming close to hitting any of the other skaters. When she comes closer to the edge of the ice, Tim notices how wind-bitten her skin has become, even more than it was earlier.

All at once, he looks between the lockers and concessions, and makes a decision.

After all, his arm is getting kind of tired. And Jack would probably be more comfortable sitting down.

He finds the stroller first, with the familiar elephant-print diaper bag shoved in the bottom, and gets Jack situated. The straps are more confusing than he’d anticipated, but he clicks every buckle into a latch and figures that it’s close enough.

Then he pushes Jack toward the concessions, where he takes up a position in the line on the side opposite where Officer West is still chatting up the second cashier. He doesn’t seem to notice Tim, as he orders and balances two paper cups between his hands and the stroller handle.

When he gets back to his spot along the wall, he starts watching for Lucy to come around again.

“Lucy!” This time, he calls her first name, and she skids to a stop. “Need a break? You look … cold.” He sticks one of the cups out toward her. “Uh, it’s cocoa.”

“Oh.” She shivers. “I guess I didn’t realize it until I stopped moving, but sure. It’s chilly out there.”

Tim points at one of the benches and she follows him over. When she sits down, she leaves the skates on, but unties the bows at the top.

Again, it’s easy to talk to Lucy, even though they’re not at work. She ends up with one foot propped on the front of the stroller, rocking it back and forth gently while Jack sleeps. They talk about her career and his, where he’s been and where she wants to go. He teases her with the suggestion of an LAPD skating division, a promotion with the promise of her leadership on the ice.

“Please, I’d never win a pursuit. It’s way more fun to do the twirly stuff,” she says, laughing along with him.

“Well it sure looked like you were good at it.”

“I was having fun.” Again, he notices how she undersells herself.

“You can enjoy things you’re good at.” He pushes. This time, when her face turns pink, he doesn’t think it’s anything to do with the cold.

At some point, Angela slides the stroller away from them, with a quiet hello for Lucy before she and Wesley disappear. Tim doesn’t think anything of it, until he realizes that the sun is dropping low in the sky and the rink is closing for the night.

“Well,” he stands up, and Lucy trades her skates for a pair of brown leather boots. “I rode with Agnela and …" He looks around. “I don’t see her, or Wesley.”

They both slides their phones out of their pockets. He’s got a waiting message from his friend, almost two hours old.

Yes, we left you behind. Looked like you were doing something more important than third-wheeling with my kid.

She's included a string of emojis that Tim can’t be bothered to decipher.

“Or, I got ditched.” He laughs dryly, and Lucy looks up.

“So did I. Jackson’s cashier asked him for coffee. Apparently selling it all day wasn’t enough.” She rolls her eyes. “At least I have the car keys.”

Tim barely resists a heavy sigh. He hates having to ask for favors, but …

“Think I could bother you for a lift?”

“Hmmm …" Lucy screws her face up, eyes shining mirthfully. “I dunno … what’s in it for me?”

“Let’s see … Jackson got coffee with a stranger, I suppose I can do better than that, given our established relationship. Can I buy you dinner?”

“Careful, Tim,” she grins at him. “A girl hears an offer like that, and she’s liable to think it’s a date.”

“And what if it is?” He’s on thin ice now, but he doesn’t need to think long to realize that if he’s going to fall anywhere, he wants it to be right here. Somehow he’s spent most of an afternoon talking to Lucy, on his personal time, and all he wants to do is keep it going for longer.

Hopefully, starting with dinner.

“If it is, then I think you should actually ask me.”

“Fine.” This time, he does sigh, long-suffering, like she’s asking the world of him. “Lucy, can I take you out for dinner? As a date?”