Being Colin Zabel’s assistant at the station wasn’t easy, especially when you were hopelessly in love with him. Every single day you tried, baking him little cakes, bringing him extra coffee, telling him how smart he was after every briefing. You thought maybe he’d notice, maybe he’d finally see you for more than just the kid running errands.

But no. His eyes were always on her. Mare. The older detective, chain-smoking and cranky, with messy hair and lines on her face. It made no sense to you. You were younger, prettier, you actually cared about him. Mare treated him like dirt most of the time, and he still looked at her like she hung the moon.

It was unbearable.

You even tried being brave. Twice. The first time, you’d asked him out in the break room, your voice shaky but hopeful. He smiled, soft and awkward, and told you gently, “You’re way too young.” It stung, but you told yourself maybe he meant it kindly. Maybe it wasn’t a real no.

The second time, you asked again after a long shift, when he looked especially tired. This time, his cheeks flushed pink, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I really can’t,” he’d said, almost whispering. “You’re too young.”

And still, you didn’t give up. You couldn’t. You adored him too much.

Then came the day Mare rejected him. You weren’t supposed to know, but of course, everyone at the station gossiped. He’d put himself out there, and she’d shut him down. That night, he came back to his desk, slouched, looking like the whole world had caved in on him.

You hovered nearby, pretending to sort through files, when he suddenly turned to you. His eyes were glassy, his jaw tight. And for the first time, he didn’t look at you like you were too young. He looked at you like maybe you were the only one in the room who actually saw him.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low, almost defeated. “That date you asked me on… is that offer still open?”