Noah’s hand is on the small of my back as we walk through the bar’s front doors.

He yells what’s presumably the name of the bartender, who looks up and hollers Noah’s name in return. It spurs several guests to turn around and echo a similar greeting.

Quite obviously, he’s made some friends here.

It’s a surprisingly large place, but that doesn’t keep the air from holding a musty scent. Behind the bar is a mirror full of blemishes and splotches that contributes to the spacious feeling. But the bar itself is massive.

It’s built of old wood, oak from the look of it. Behind the counter are shelves of numerous liquor bottles lit up with small white lights.

Noah orders me a Long Island Iced Tea, which the bartender delivers promptly, and I take the opportunity to remove my sweater as subtly as I can. It’s a simple black and white piece, but it’s Tory Burch and doesn’t have a stain on it, which distinguishes me from just about everyone else.

The problem was, considering our first outing, I really had no idea what to expect this time around. Or rather, where to expect. And not only that, but something about this evening made me realize the pathetic state of my wardrobe. Though it was really only a half-realization because, dear God, I can’t remember the last time I actually went shopping.

Eventually I settled on the Tory Burch sweater, then selected a shirt with a slightly lower cut than I prefer. It was a strategic selection in case Noah had a setting like this one in mind. And thank God.

But despite the sweater, I feel weirdly comfortable. Not tense or on edge, but actually comfortable. And the feeling only grows when Noah sets his hand to my thigh. He looks at me and I return his smile.

He asked if he could come in and apologize when picking me up, which sounded a lot like a ploy, but actually turned into a wonderful conversation. He apologized, took me in one of the warmest hugs of me life, then held my hand and led me to his car.

I lay my hand over his and reach for my drink with my other. I’m seated between Noah and one of his self-proclaimed ‘terrific old friends,’ which, because Noah is nowhere near the age of this balding, pot-bellied, gentleman—my guess is that ‘old friend’ equates to months and not years.

After passing on the offer, I watch the two of them throw back a round of shots. It’s the second round that’s come on Noah’s dime, which helps solve the mystery of how he’s accumulated so many friends in this place. And yet, I kind of love it.

I love all of it.

I love the way Noah banters with them as if joking with a bunch of his dad’s old military buddies. I love the way he casually moves between me the patrons around us as if he’s really just constructing one big practical joke for my entertainment. I love the look on their faces when Noah introduces me, not because they’re full of envy or jealousy, but because they know me only as his. Not a cop, not officer Bell, not even as Sophia Bell. But just as Sophia—the girl that’s here with Noah.

Noah’s hand returns to my leg again and I spin in my stool to face him.

“Are you having fun?” he asks.

I put on a wide grin and nod.

“Promise?”

“Of course,” I say, still grinning. “I love your friends.” I bob my eyebrows and he laughs.

“Quite a crowd, aren’t they? I’m glad you’re enjoying it, though.”

I nod again, raising my glass to take a drink when Noah offers me another. I hold it there without taking a sip so that he can see the remaining quarter that’s still left.

“Seriously?” he chides. “Hell, I might need to drink that thing for you just to move you to your second drink.”

“Ah, see now you gave away your strategy.” I point at him, basking in every second of his ridiculously sexy smirk. It’s the one he employs every time I tease him. That, and the one he had while undressing me. And while kissing down my body. And when he—

Noah leans over, his hand shifting to my lower back. “Let’s go get a table,” he whispers and I nod, taking his hand as we retreat to a booth against the back wall.

My hand falls out of his as I take a seat, but he relinks our fingers in the middle of the table. He fixes me in a fervent stare, a new smirk slowly growing on his lips. I mirror his smile and jokingly hold the intensity of his stare until I can’t take it any longer.

“What?” I ask, though it comes out more as a laugh.

He holds his smirk and stare for a moment longer before saying, “Have I complemented your shirt yet?”

“No, actually you have not.”

“And you’re still here?” he asks. “With me?”

“I know. It’s been a real test of patience.”

“Tisk, tisk.” He shakes his head as if scolding himself. His smile wrinkles into his cheeks. “I do like it a lot.”

I arch my eyebrows. “Huh, I wonder why…”

“It brings out your eyes,” Noah says. “They’re the same color blue.”

That’s not what I was expecting. I chuckle before noticing that Noah is being completely serious.

“Well thanks, I’m glad you like it,” I say. “I didn’t really know what to wear.”

Noah shrugs. “You’d be breathtaking even if you came dressed in a toga.” I laugh again and this time Noah joins me. He squeezes my hand until our laughs dwindle.

Then his eyes gain a sudden air of focus. He holds me in a new stare. A serious stare.

“Can I tell you something?” he asks.

“Of course.”

“It’s about the morning I left you.”

“I hope you know you don’t have to apologize anymore,” I say, pausing when Noah begins slowly shaking his head.

“It’s not that.” He draws in a breath. “I’m dealing with something. I think it’s fair that I tell you that.”

I only nod to tell him to go on.

“I don’t want you to worry because it’s nothing I can’t handle. It’s more about the timing.” His chest deflates. “Mentally, I’m not in a good place for a relationship. And if you were anyone else I wouldn’t even try it, but I don’t want to lose you, Sophia. Not again. And if you’re willing to be a little patient then I promise, eventually, I’ll give you everything you deserve.”

I squeeze his hand and smile. “I’m not going anywhere, Noah,” I say. “I’ll be here.”

He smiles.

“Is there anyway I can help you?”

Noah shakes his head. “I just need a little time is all. But I’m not going to let you go. I’ve had a lot on my mind and that’s the only reason I acted like such a dickhead and left you when I woke up. And I know I already apologized, but I want you to know that we can take a better step forward after things settle down.”

Something in my gut, something that’s been there all along, now floats to the surface. I feel an uneasy tension in my chest.

“I’ll wait as long as you need. But Noah,” I say, waiting until he meets my eyes again. “Will you just promise me something?”

“Of course.” He squeezes my hand, nodding.

“You’re not caught up in something dangerous, are you?” I have to push the words off my tongue. “I know that sounds intrusive, but I’m a detective. I can’t afford to get caught up in anything. And more than that, Noah, I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

His hold on my hand loosens. Something subtly flashes across his face before vanishing.

“I’m sorry—I know I’m probably overreacting,” I say. “I always do. But I’ve also arrested a lot of people that I would’ve rather helped. And if you need it, I can help you.”

I’ve only had a single cocktail all night, but my response feels like a sloppy ramble.

“And now that I’ve officially scared you away,” I continue, though I don’t know how to finish and my sentence goes dead. I pull my hand out from his and return it to my lap like we’re seated in church instead of a dive bar.

Noah looks at me with gravity in his eyes. “It’s going to take a lot more than offering your help to scare me away from you, Soph.” He’s smiling. It’s not his coy smile or even his smirk. It’s a smile of genuine sincerity.

“And so you know,” he adds. “I will never put you in harms way. All right? I’ll do anything for you.”

My face is nearly sore from smiling all night, but this one comes effortlessly.

* * *

After lingering extra long enough for the measly amount of vodka to pass through my system, I signal Noah by slowly scratching up and down his back. We’ve been here for hours and I don’t feel even slightly intoxicated, but with three days left of my suspension, the very last thing in the world I need is a DUI. I’m much better off not compounding my quarrel with Sheriff Vernon, that’s for certain.

Noah turns away from his passionate debate over Tom Brady. “Time to go?” he asks me. I smile and nod. He leans over to plant a kiss on my cheek. “Yes Ma’am.”

Noah stands and pats the shoulder of his debate partner without saying much else. After paying the tab, he steps aside to say bye to someone whose name I’ve already forgot, then takes my hand and leads me out the front doors.

“Keys,” I say as we step into the night. Noah looks at me skeptically and I add, “This is not a debate you want to have with a police officer.”

His look of skepticism gives in to a smile. “I know,” he says, dropping the keys into my open palm. “I wasn’t going to try, but it was totally worth your expression.”

I shoot him a smirk before scanning the lot for his black A4. It’s a dark night without any close streetlights, but it’s also a fairly empty lot. And I don’t see it anywhere.

“Did you lose the car?” Noah asks.

I slow down but don’t give him the satisfaction of another theatric expression. “I’ll find it. Just give me a sec.”

“Uh-huh,” he hums. “Well I’ll give you a clue; you’re getting colder and you won’t get any warmer until you look around back.”

I bow my head and give in to a laugh of my own.

Damn it. How did I forget.

“There ya go,” Noah teases as I turn around. “Now give me the keys back. You’re drunk Ms. Bell.”

I punch him in the shoulder. “I think there was some intentional misdirection on your part.”

“Don’t try and turn the tables on me,” he says. “The moment I remembered where the car is parked isn’t important.”

I laugh and take his hand as we walk around back. Noah opens the driver-side door for me and I climb behind the wheel.

I expected that it would feel a little strange driving Noah’s car with him siting beside me, but it ends up just as pleasantly comfortable as everything else. So comfortable that after several minutes, it occurs to me that we’ve been driving without the music or the radio or anything. We’ve simply been sitting in a lovely, cozy silence. His hand rested on my leg.

I’m debating whether it’s even worth adding the radio when there comes a sudden loud blare. Then lights.

Bright, flashing, red and blue lights.

Then the stark screech of a siren fused with the lights reflecting from the mirrors. My first thought is who.

Who’s with me? Which deputy?

But they’re not with me. Not at all.

I’m being pulled over.