The late afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting long shadows over the crime scene. Derek crouched beside the dirt path, brushing dust off his jeans. His lips curved into a smug smile as {{user}} stalked toward him, her expression a mix of frustration and begrudging acceptance.

"Don’t say it," she warned, pointing a finger at him.

He straightened, dusting off his hands. "Say what?" he asked, all innocent charm. "That I told you a triple latte wouldn't help your profiling skills? Or that you're terrible at bets?"

Her glare was sharp enough to cut through steel. "You cheated, Morgan."

He let out a hearty laugh. "Come on now, sugar. I can’t help it if I’m naturally better at reading people than you are."

She folded her arms, tapping her foot. "What’s my punishment then, oh wise and all-knowing Derek Morgan?"

He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Dinner. On you. And none of that cheap takeout stuff—real food, tablecloth, maybe some candles if you're feeling fancy."

{{user}}’s lips twitched, but she tried to maintain her scowl. "Dinner, huh? What, you trying to make this a date?"

He grinned, stepping back. "Nah, just trying to see if you can pick a restaurant as bad as your coffee choices."