Page 41 of Flashpoint
"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.
Epilogue
Riley
The door to Aiden's apartment barely closes before his mouth finds mine.
It's different from the kiss at the river—hungrier, more urgent, fueled by hours of behaving professionally while his new captain's bars caught the light and made me think deeply unprofessional thoughts. His hands frame my face, tilting my head to deepen the angle, and I grab fistfuls of his dress uniform because I need something to hold onto.
"Been wanting to do this," he murmurs against my lips, "since you walked into that ceremony in that dress."
"The dress is for professional occasions."
"The dress is coming off."
Heat floods through me—quick,sharp, undeniable. We've been building toward this for weeks, dancing around it, letting the tension coil tighter with every almost-moment and interrupted kiss. But tonight there's no phone call to derail us. No case waiting. No reason to stop.
"Bedroom," I manage.
"Too far."
"Aiden—"
He kisses me again, walking me backward until my shoulders hit the wall. The impact knocks a small sound from my throat, and he swallows it, one hand sliding into my hair while the other works at the zipper down my back.
My fingers fumble with his uniform buttons. Too many buttons. Why does formal wear require so many buttons? I get three undone before giving up and just yanking the shirt from his waistband.
"Impatient," he says against my jaw.
"You're one to talk."
The zipper gives. Cool air hits my bare back, and then his hands are there—warm, broad, sliding the fabric down my shoulders. The dress pools at my feet, leaving me in nothing but underwear that I'm suddenly very glad I chose with care this morning.
Aiden pulls back just far enough to look at me.His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, and the naked want on his face makes my breath stutter.
"God, Riley." His voice has gone rough. "You're?—"
"If you say something cheesy, I'm leaving."
"I was going to say you're perfect."
"That's cheesy."
