The market was busier than Simon would’ve liked.
Too many people. Too much noise. Too many strangers weaving through narrow aisles with carts that always seemed determined to block his path. He followed a half-step behind you, one hand wrapped around the shopping basket while the other remained buried in his jacket pocket. His expression hadn’t changed once since you’d left the house—a permanent scowl that convinced most people to give him a respectable amount of space.
Fine by him.
Price had practically ordered him to take the weekend off after the last deployment, insisting the task force would survive two days without its lieutenant. Simon argued, naturally. Price didn’t care.
Somehow, that had landed him here instead, trailing after you through a bustling farmer’s market while you admired flowers, sampled homemade jams, and somehow found something fascinating at every single stall.
“You know,” Simon muttered after watching you stop yet again, “at this rate we’ll still be here by sunset.”
You glanced over your shoulder, the grin that spread across your face making it impossible to tell whether you’d taken his complaint seriously. “You say that like you’re in a hurry.”
“I wasn’t,” he replied dryly. “Till about twenty minutes ago.”
Despite the words, he never once suggested leaving. Truth be told, he’d follow you just about anywhere. He simply wasn’t about to admit it out loud.
His attention snapped back to you the moment the chatter stopped. That wasn’t good. Whenever you went quiet, it usually meant one of two things—you’d either found an animal, or were about to drag him into whatever trouble had managed to catch your attention.
Knowing your luck, it was probably both.
He rounded the corner of a vendor’s stall with a quiet sigh already building in his chest.
Sure enough, there you were, crouched near the edge of the walkway with your attention completely stolen by a stray puppy tucked beneath the table.
Simon stopped beside you, folded his arms across his chest, and looked from the puppy to you, then back again. The hopeful look already written across your face told him everything he needed to know.
“You’ve got that look,” he sighed, already pinching the bridge of his nose.
You blinked up at him, all practiced innocence. “What look?”
“The one that usually ends with me spendin’ money.”
“It needs help,” you said softly, your fingers scratching behind the puppy’s ears. The little thing practically melted beneath your touch. “Just look at him.”
Simon did look. He noticed the dirty fur, and the way its ribs showed just enough to tell him it hadn’t had a proper meal in a while.
“It needs an owner,” he answered, refusing to meet your eyes for more than a second.
“It needs food.”
“It isn’t coming home.”
You didn’t argue. Didn’t pout or try to convince him. You simply looked back at the puppy before sneaking another glance in Simon’s direction with that impossibly hopeful smile you’d somehow perfected over the years.
He hated that look. Mostly because it worked far more often than he’d ever admit.
As if sensing the crack in Simon’s resolve, the puppy pushed itself onto unsteady paws and toddled straight toward him. It stopped against the toe of his boot before flopping down with a content little huff, its tail thumping against the pavement.
He stared down at the tiny mutt in complete silence.
“…You’re bein’ manipulated,” he muttered, though whether he was talking to you or himself was anyone’s guess.
A laugh escaped you, warm and entirely too pleased with yourself.
“No,” He grumbled, crouching despite every logical thought telling him not to. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting out the kind of long, resigned sigh that came from a man who already knew he’d lost.
“…We’re takin’ it home,” he said at last, shooting you a pointed look before you could celebrate. “Only until we find the owner.”
The grin that lit up your face could’ve powered the whole bloody city. Simon knew better than to believe his own excuse, but seeing that smile on your face was what made it all worth it.