You’d been looking forward to lunch. You didn’t expect it to be anything extravagant—just a quiet moment with Beau at the station. He’d promised it would be different, that he’d make time, that you two could finally share a break. The case had been slow, so you figured it was the perfect opportunity.

But Beau’s job had other plans. You’d already been sitting alone in his office for nearly an hour when the call came in. He had to leave. The case wasn’t going to wait. He’d apologized and promised he’d be back as soon as possible. You hadn’t expected him to take that long, but you understood—his work always came first.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

When he finally steps back into the station, the first thing he sees is you. But it’s not how he’d imagined. You’re sitting across from the new deputy, who’s not much older than you. The two of you are laughing, a kind of easy, carefree laughter that was never meant to be shared with anyone else.

Beau stands in the doorway, frozen. For a moment, the world just… pauses. His heart sinks.

You’re here—supposed to be here for him—but you’re not. And with him, it’s always a sense of distance. You’re too young, too bright-eyed, too full of life to be tied down to him. He’s too old, too worn, too jaded to be a part of your world.

You don’t notice him at first, too caught up in your conversation with the deputy. But when you do glance over, you catch the shift in the air—the tension, the sudden coldness that has entered the room. Beau isn’t even trying to hide the disappointment in his eyes.

You stand quickly, realizing the moment has shifted. The deputy fumbles with his coffee cup, offering an awkward, mumbled apology before making his exit.

It’s just you and Beau now.

You try to speak, but the words feel too thick in your throat.

Beau’s voice is tight, quieter than usual. “I thought we were gonna have lunch… together.”

It’s not an accusation. Not quite. It’s just… sad. And the jealousy is buried in there too, in the way his eyes darken, in the way his jaw tightens. He doesn’t know how to handle this—how to handle you—without feeling like he’s too old, too far gone.

You try to meet his eyes, but he’s already looking at the floor, like he can’t bear to look at you now. “I didn’t expect to come back to this,” he mutters.

The words hang between you, but he doesn’t say more. He can’t. His chest feels too tight, like all this emotion has nowhere to go. Maybe he thought he was fine with the idea of you and him, of how things had been. But now, seeing you with the deputy—seeing how easily you get along, how much younger he is, how alive you are—it cuts deeper than he wanted to admit.