King County, Autumn.

The police office was quiet that afternoon, the hum of the old ceiling fan filling the stillness.

Rick was buried in paperwork, uniform shirt sleeves rolled, when the door clicked open. He looked up—and there you were, framed in the doorway, carrying a small bag of lunch and that familiar smile that always seemed to disarm him. For a second, he just stared, struck by how out of place you looked in the dull, gray office—bright, young, a touch too good for a man like him weighed down with years, responsibility, and a failed marriage.

But the warmth in your eyes was only for him. His chest tightened, equal parts disbelief and quiet gratitude.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he muttered, though the smile tugging at his lips betrayed how much it meant. In that golden slant of autumn light, Rick let himself think—maybe, just maybe, he could allow the world to see someone new beside him.