the precinct’s annual charity night smelled like cheap wine and overpolished floors. laughter, camera flashes, the kind of small talk that always sounds rehearsed. you stood near the buffet table, a glass of something pink and too sweet in your hand, watching him.

nash woods, all clean lines and easy charm—uniform traded for a dark button-down, sleeves rolled just enough to make the room collectively sigh. his badge hung from a lanyard, but even without it he still carried himself like someone meant to protect, to calm, to fix.

and god, did people gravitate to that.

you watched as a woman from the admin team touched his arm when she laughed, another leaning in too close as she whispered something that made his smile tilt. the kind of smile that wasn’t meant to seduce anyone—it just did. he listened, eyes crinkling, warm and soft, the same way he listened to you.

you hated how it looked. how he looked—composed, kind, completely unaware of the small ache building in your chest.

someone beside you murmured, “he’s impossible not to like, huh?” you managed a smile. “yeah. that’s the problem.”

nash caught your gaze across the room. it was quick—barely a second—but enough. you saw the flicker of recognition, that little softening around his eyes that said there you are. he excused himself from the group with a laugh that made them all wish he’d stayed, and crossed the room with his hands in his pockets, like he wasn’t aware half the place was still watching him walk.

“hey,” he said, stopping in front of you. the music dimmed somewhere behind the static in your head. “you okay?”

“you’re popular tonight,” you said, light but edged.

he huffed out a quiet laugh, leaning closer. “they’re just being friendly.”

“you’re too friendly.”

his grin softened, almost apologetic. “comes with the badge, I think. people see a cop and forget we’re human.”