Work Text:
Another wedding with you
Nell Forester is a bundle of positive energy that reminds him of Lucy. When she stands all excited in front of his desk, he restrains himself from rolling his eyes and merely raises an eyebrow.
"Anything I can do for you?"
She hands him a pale pink envelope, her smile lighting up her face and nearly the entire floor.
"You don’t have to open it right now. I really want you to be there, so I hope you RSVP. I’ve gotta go, see you."
And just as quickly as she appeared, she disappears down the hallway. He can’t help but chuckle. He opens the envelope and unsurprisingly finds an invitation to celebrate the union of Nell and Ellroy on June 15th in San Luis Obispo. He puts the invitation and the RSVP card (which he promises himself to return promptly) back into the envelope and places it in his desk drawer, waiting until the end of the day.
*
San Luis Obispo is about a three-hour drive from Los Angeles. Nell and Ellroy have gone all out and reserved most of the hotel rooms where they’ve chosen to marry. Several colleagues from the station have already confirmed their attendance. He’s filled out his RSVP card and just waits to hand it to Nell in person. A few months ago, he might have indicated that he’d be coming with a plus-one, whether that person was already invited to the same wedding or not. But he’s going alone. It doesn’t stop him from hoping she’ll be there too. He hasn’t dared to ask. Their interactions are still too rare, too professionally oriented, too hesitant.
It’s through Aaron that he learns Lucy has a shift the weekend of the wedding, so he won’t see her there. He’s disappointed. He can’t remember the last wedding he attended without her. He recalls each dress she wore that took his breath away. He’s also relieved. He promised to take things slowly, and he intends to keep that promise, but missing her is sometimes so overwhelming that he worries he won’t be able to take things step by step. Steps she needs to regain trust in him.
A few days before the big event, Nolan suggests he join him and Bailey for the drive. He’s tempted to accept but finds the idea of listening to Nolan talk for hours insufferable. He prefers silence as his travel companion. He decides to leave after his shift and dropping Kojo off at his sister’s for the weekend. Leaving Los Angeles takes longer than expected due to rush hour, but once on the 101, he finds his cruising speed and congratulates himself for declining his colleague's offer. He likes solitude. Being alone allows him to imagine someone else’s presence beside him. She would talk incessantly, like Nolan, but her voice would be the comfort of his day, of his past six months. She would put on playlists he’d never think he’d listen to, but they would soothe him simply because she’d hum or sing along. She’d place her hand on his thigh, or he on hers, their fingers intertwining, stealing glances at each other… Solitude allows him to dream of all that and curse himself for losing it all.
He takes a break halfway through to eat and stretch his legs and arrives a little before 10 PM. The Madonna Inn is bigger than he imagined, the parking lot spacious enough for him to find a spot, and the facade makes him smile... Trust Nell and Ellroy to marry in a place as kitschy yet charming. He grabs his bag and the garment bag with his outfit for the following day, fresh from the dry cleaners, and heads to the reception. The young man behind the counter quickly gathers the information he needs and hands him the room key with a proud declaration: Caveman. He frowns, unsure if he heard correctly, but the concierge’s mischievous smile confirms his doubts.
"The bride and groom are at the bar if you’d like to greet them before settling in. I can have your belongings taken to your room if you wish."
He hands over the items and heads in the indicated direction, recognizing several familiar faces, including Nell, who waves enthusiastically at him.
"Sgt. Bradford!" Ellroy exclaims. "Come have a drink with us!"
He’s tired from the day and the drive but agrees to have a beer to toast with them and thank them for the invitation. The ceremony isn’t until 4 PM the next day, leaving plenty of time to explore the hotel’s vast property, go horseback riding, or visit the spa, announces Nell, proudly. He wishes them all a good night and heads to his room.
He quickly understands why the room is named Caveman. It feels like he’s walked into a cave, with stone walls from which realistic-looking fake plants seem to grow. A large faux fur chair sits opposite the bed, a zebra-patterned lampshade on the side table next to it. He peeks into the bathroom and finds a stone sink and shower. Everything is raw, masculine, and a bit primal. He lets out a sarcastic laugh, fully aware that the choice of this room was no accident.
*
He wakes up abruptly and is surprised to see it's later than usual. The bedding was so comfortable that he slept the sleep of the just. He decides to head down to the restaurant for breakfast before going for a run. His breath catches when he enters the dining room. Sitting alone at a table, her face hidden behind a bowl as colorful as the hotel's armchairs, she’s there... If he hesitates to join her, it doesn't last long.
"I thought you were on duty this weekend," he says by way of greeting.
"Luna wasn’t feeling well. Grey insisted I come and he’s covering for me today."
He nods, as he often does when he doesn’t trust himself to speak sensibly.
"I’ve finished, you can take my table if you want."
He sighs inwardly. Just when he thinks they’ve made progress, taken a step forward, they take two steps back.
"You can stay, I can find another table.”
“Or you can sit here, if you want."
She points to the chair across from her, making no move to get up.
"Can I get you something? More tea?”
She pretends to think before agreeing. She hands him her bowl to refill. The tea bags are neatly arranged in a large box, and it takes him only seconds to guess exactly which one she chose. A smoky black tea whose smell he used to hate until he got used to it and associated it with their slow lazy mornings together. He knows perfectly well how long to steep it and the spoonful of honey she likes to add. He sets the bowl in front of her, and she rewards him with a smile before he returns to the buffet to serve himself. They spend a few minutes in total silence, she sipping her tea, he chewing on eggs and bacon, the clinking of cutlery at each table providing a comfortable background noise.
"You drove here alone?"
"I tagged along with John and Bailey. We arrived late last night."
Their conversations are now mostly limited to such topics. Impersonal. Safe.
"What are you planning to do this morning? It’s still early for you..." he remarks, glancing at his watch.
"We’ve booked a massage, Bailey and I."
He can’t help but smile. The spa is one of her guilty pleasures. He also can’t help but think of her satin skin, glistening with scented oil, and the little sighs of satisfaction she might make.
"And you?"
He looks up at her, not understanding the question, fearing she was able to read his mind.
"Oh! I’m planning to go for a run. And maybe enjoy the pool."
He notices, with regret, that she’s finished her second gigantic cup of tea and is about to leave when he hears her ask:
"Do you want someone to join you?"
As he doesn’t answer and probably looks completely puzzled, she continues:
"My appointment is late morning. If I go for a run, I’ll feel like I’ve really earned my massage.”
“You deserve it, no matter what."
She looks away.
"Shall we meet in the lobby in twenty minutes, is that okay?"
He nods, and she leaves the dining room quickly, while he finishes his coffee, his heart pounding faster than usual.
*
After running three miles, swimming about half that, and showering to get rid of the smell of sweat and chlorine, he adjusts his shirt and suit jacket. His tie lies on the bed, and he still wonders whether to wear it or not. He checks the time regularly to avoid arriving after the ceremony starts, but not too early either: he plans to avoid his colleagues and give Lucy the chance to talk to whoever she wants without feeling obliged to choose based on him. They have the whole evening for awkward, tense moments.
If he thought he was breathless when he saw her that morning in the restaurant, it was nothing compared to the lack of oxygen that makes him dizzy when he sees her laughing freely at what Nolan is saying. She’s wearing a long floral dress, tied at the neck and exposing her shoulders and her entire back. He suddenly feels the vital need to let air into his lungs again and starts breathing. He looks around for a circle to join to break the magnetic pull she has on him and providence offers him Ellroy, who seems to be falling apart.
“Are you alright there, buddy?”
Ellroy gives him a strained smile in response. He immediately frowns, and though he’s not close to the groom, he feels obliged to find out what’s wrong.
“I’m good. I’m great. I’m marrying the most wonderful person in the world. But what if I’m not good enough, you know?”
He refrains from laughing at Ellroy but is inwardly reassured. Nothing surprising about the poor guy feeling panicked just before putting the ring on his beloved’s finger.
“Do you think Nell would have agreed to marry you if she had any doubts about you being the perfect guy for her too?”
“I mean, what if I screw up?”
“What if you don’t? And even if you do? That’s what love and marriage are about, right? You stumble, you make mistakes and you just keep on going as a couple. And you learn and you grow from all of that.”
Ellroy seems to take in everything he’s just said. If he had known he’d have to give a motivational speech to the groom, he might have arrived later, even if it meant missing the beginning of the ceremony.
“Yeah. Thanks, Tim.”
“You’re welcome. Besides, she already agreed to marry you, and you can’t undo that choice for her. She chose you.”
The irony of what he has just said is not lost on him. Making a choice for someone else is what led him to his current situation. If he could do it all over again, his choices would certainly be very different.
“She chose me. Yes. I’m getting married. To Nell.”
“Hell yeah, you are. Now let’s get this show rolling, okay?”
Ellroy pulls himself together, and he breathes a sigh of relief at having avoided a near-drama just minutes before the wedding march begins.
Between the view Lucy offered him and Ellroy’s show, he hasn’t even taken the time to admire the ceremony venue: the chairs adorned with colorful ribbons fluttering in the breeze, the pink, white, and yellow flowers decorating the backs, the wooden arch under which their friends will soon say yes, and the countless rose petals covering the grass to create a romantic aisle for the bride.
Everyone has already taken their seats, and he looks for an empty chair. It’s not as if there aren’t any, but he catches Lucy’s eye, and without any visible emotion, she shrugs and points to the seat next to her. He joins the row where she’s sitting with Bailey, Nolan, and Jan and his wife, and sits next to her without a word.
The first notes of music rise, and everyone stands up in unison, eyes turned towards the garden entrance where Nell appears in her immaculate white dress. She is her usual self, sparkling and full of joy. He realizes how wrong Ellroy was to worry. Nell has absolutely no doubt about what she is about to do: say yes to the man she plans to spend the rest of her life with.
They sit down again, the officiant starts speaking, and he only listens with half an ear until Nell pronounces her vows. He shouldn’t be surprised that she knows how to choose her words so well. She is an intelligent and sensitive woman who was there for him when he was at his lowest. Yet, everything she says breathes the love and adoration she has for Ellroy. And she says it with such sincerity, such joy, that he is genuinely moved. But his attention is suddenly drawn by a sensation against his finger. He first thinks it’s one of the fabric ribbons swirling and tickling him. But the sensation is too familiar, too pleasant for him not to guess that she is slowly and timidly caressing his hand with her pinky. He turns his head slightly towards her, but her eyes remain fixed on the almost newlyweds, now that it’s Ellroy’s turn to speak. He turns his attention back to the altar. At least his eyes do. For his mind is definitely turned towards the almost ghostly caress she is giving him. He hesitates, his little finger tapping a very slow rhythm, oscillating between the need to do nothing and the desire to reciprocate. He doesn’t know who made the first move, but their fingers end up entwining, hidden from view.
“It is my joy to present to you Mr. and Mrs. Basso!”
She quickly withdraws her hand to applaud the newlyweds, and he does the same after a few seconds of delay, bewildered by what just happened, and even more so by the sudden withdrawal of her hand against his, the softness of her skin, the warmth that a simple touch had on him.
In the hours that follow, nothing in Lucy’s behavior suggests that something happened between them. He would almost wonder if he completely imagined the moment, the gesture. She doesn’t speak to him during the reception, never meets his gaze, never stays close to him for more than a few seconds. She is like a goldfinch, graceful and fragile, never perching for long, jumping from branch to branch before flying away. She only stops flying when they are told to take their seats and that dinner will be served. He hadn’t really paid attention to the seating plan, remembering only that he was supposed to sit next to Grey. It is only when he joins his table that the pieces connect in his mind: with Grey and Luna canceling at the last minute to give their place to Lucy, it is next to her that he will spend the evening. If it bothers her, she doesn’t show it. And if she’s happy about it, she doesn’t show it either. He keeps his distance throughout the meal, discreetly participating in conversations, as he would have done even if they were together.
He listens to Bailey and Lucy tell Nolan how much they enjoyed their time at the spa that morning and how much they plan to return before their departure tomorrow noon. Nolan looks at his wife lovingly and encourages her to take that time for herself if she wants. The two women exchange a conspiratorial glance as if they had just won a game the opponent didn’t even know they were playing. The cake is served to them, along with a glass of champagne, and everyone at the table takes the opportunity to clink their glasses together, celebrating the newlyweds, but also this moment suspended in time before returning to their routine in LA. He is disturbed by the look she gives him over her glass as she takes a sip. It only lasts a few seconds but it’s definitely there. He is sure he’s not imagining it even if he has no idea how to interpret it.
Nell and Ellroy share their first dance as husband and wife, it’s an emotional moment, and he doesn’t miss that Nolan and Bailey have been giving each other smoldering looks since the ceremony. As soon as the music changes, they are already on the dance floor, and Lucy soon joins them. She hasn’t asked him to join them, and he is perfectly fine with that. Which doesn’t stop him from slightly jumping when he feels a hand on his shoulder.
“You owe me a dance!”
He turns his head to the voice that isn’t Lucy’s, but he can’t refuse Nell anything tonight. She wouldn’t let him anyway. He pushes his chair back and follows her obediently. They quickly find their rhythm because Nell has a gift for making things simple and avoiding any awkwardness.
“Congratulations,” he says, totally sincere.
“Aw, thank you! Hey, do you think because I work with cops, I’m doomed with that stupid first-wedding rule?”
“Naaah, you’re good. Besides, not all cops are doomed either. Look at Lopez.”
“She does have something great going on with that husband of hers.”
Not all first weddings of cops end in a devastating collision, and you don’t need to be married to fail a relationship either.
“I’m happy for you,” he smiles. “Ellroy is great.”
“He is,” she confirms with starry eyes. “Thanks so much for coming. I really thought you wouldn’t.”
He could take offense, but he doesn’t because the Tim from before – the one from before Lucy – would have probably declined without any regret. The one from after Lucy could have too if he hadn’t spent hours and hours talking with his therapist about his feelings and emotions, about the need to open up and rely on others, not always being the savior, but sometimes accepting to be saved. He is learning to be better, and sometimes it starts simply by telling those you care about how you feel. And being here today was telling Nell that she matters to him and that he hasn’t forgotten that she was a friend and a listening ear the night Isabel asked for a divorce.
The song ends and the first notes of the next one play, she looks for her next victim and gives him another of those smiles before leaving him in the middle of the dance floor. He turns around and, of course, the universe has decided that placing her right in front of him at this exact spot is not at all ironic. She takes a step towards him and doesn’t say a word but places a hand on his shoulder, and though hesitant, he takes her other hand in his. It’s as if they have never parted, their bodies remember each other, they are in perfect sync. The only difference from all the times they have danced together is they are not looking at each other. Their faces brush against each other without touching; his nose barely grazes her hair, just enough for her scent, mingled with the feeling of her hip under his hand and her breasts against his chest, to make his head spin. He opens his mouth, then closes it. He doesn’t know what to say and doesn’t want to ruin the moment. He never thought he would hold her in his arms again. He fears she might flee if he says anything. So, he remains silent and takes a deep breath to intoxicate himself with her fragrance. The song seems both endless and over too soon. She disengages from their embrace and slips away as quickly as she had moved against him.
Nolan is alone at their table, and when he sees him approach, he points to the bottle of rum a waiter has placed there. He shrugs. After all, why not? Neither of them will have to drive tonight. Nolan casts amused glances toward the dance floor: Bailey and Lucy seem to be having the time of their lives, belting out every song, jumping, swaying. It does him good to see her like this. Carefree. Happy. Even if he isn't the reason.
They return to the table, downing an entire bottle of water between the two of them. He can’t help but notice her skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat and that she’s slightly out of breath. Her cheeks are delicately flushed, and she keeps smiling. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees that Bailey and Nolan are now in their own world; she whispers in his ear, and the expression on his face leaves no doubt about what she’s saying. They eventually get up simultaneously and disappear into the crowd. Only the two of them remain at the table.
“That’s quite a venue they chose,” she remarks.
The Secret Garden is charming and has a magical touch, but she’s referring to the rest of the hotel. With its colorful rooms, heavy wallpapers, and kitsch armchairs, the Madonna Inn feels like stepping into a completely different universe.
“I heard every room has a different theme.”
“I can confirm. Mine is called Caveman.”
She can’t help but burst into laughter, and he smiles too.
“Nell has a great sense of humor.”
“She sure does,” he confirms sarcastically.
“What does it look like?” she asks out of curiosity.
“Like a cave.”
“Are there animal skins?”
She looks at him mischievously, making him feel uncomfortable.
“And yours?”
She pretends to think and leans over to grab his glass, bringing it to her lips without asking for permission. She grimaces slightly and presses her lips together for a few seconds.
“Mine is on the second floor, room number 149.”
He sees her try to suppress a shiver. After the energy spent on the dance floor, the air must feel cool to her. He doesn’t hesitate for a second to take off his jacket and offer it to her to put on her shoulders, which she does without complaining.
She says nothing more, finishes her glass of water, and stands up, smoothing her dress over her thighs.
“I want some champagne.”
And she walks away. He watches her go, and she doesn’t return to the dance floor nor head to the bar. She simply leaves the garden, his jacket on her, without looking back. He furrows his brow and replays the last few seconds, wondering if he understood what just happened correctly. He lets the minutes pass; she doesn’t seem to be coming back. The wisest thing would be to act as if nothing happened, as if there were no undertones in her words.
But with her unexpected presence this weekend, her joining him for a run this morning, their hands seeking and finding each other in the afternoon, and the slow dance they shared tonight, he can’t help but hope. He gets up slowly and heads to the bar. The bartender is busy; he grabs two flutes and an already opened bottle, and heads to the main building. The night is well advanced, and the hotel corridors are empty; no one is waiting for the elevator he prefers over the stairs as it will take longer to go up two floors in this cabin than on foot, so impatient but also scared is he to knock on her door. In front of room 149, he hesitates. If he misread the signals she sent, he could be destroying everything they have slowly rebuilt since their separation.
With the flutes skillfully balanced, he manages to hold everything with one hand and knocks a few timid raps on the door. She opens immediately, a sign she was probably expecting something. Someone. And while he still doesn’t really know if it’s appropriate to knock on her door in the middle of the night while their friends’ wedding reception is still in full swing, she isn’t at all surprised to find him on her doorstep.
“Do you want to come in?”
And he remembers those same words that had made him hesitate so much when they returned from Vegas, recalls her more or less straightened hair, her outrageous makeup, her falsely casual outfit. If he hesitates tonight, the reasons are different. But he doesn’t want to—doesn’t want to ever again—let any chance slip by.
“I do.”
She lets him in and closes the door behind him. He takes in the room, which looks nothing like his own. It’s much larger, so large that the bed isn’t even visible from where he stands. All he sees is the living area, with a three-seater sofa and a coffee table, a table and chairs (where the jacket he lent her a few minutes ago now rests) in front of a bay window, and a side table with a huge bouquet of fresh peonies. He steps towards the table to set down the flutes and the bottle, noticing that the bedroom is slightly elevated, separated from the main area by a decorative partition adorned with white plaster ornaments.
“Nice room.”
He pours the champagne into the glasses and hands her one. He immediately feels her fingers brush—unintentionally—against his as she takes the flute from his hand and sets it down almost immediately. Then, she slides her hands along the row of buttons on his shirt, from top to bottom and back again. He wonders if he looks as foolish as he feels; he’s incapable of moving, speaking, or even breathing. His eyes ignite. There is nothing innocent about what is happening. No confusion, no doubt possible.
As he stands frozen, petrified, she initiates the first contact. Their noses touch slowly. Then her mouth brushes against his lips. Then her fingers linger on the buttons of his shirt.
"Shouldn’t we talk first?" he manages to murmur, looking into her eyes.
"Did you really come to my room to talk?" she counters.
That's what they should do. Before diving back into anything, they should have an open and honest conversation about everything from Ray's appearance to Blair London's arrest. But her hands on him, desire in her eyes, and her scent—sweet, warm, floral like a summer evening—strip him of all rationality.
He lowers his head and kisses her. A simple kiss shouldn’t overwhelm him like this, but he missed her lips so much, he thought he’d never taste their softness again, and finding them again leaves him breathless. She kisses him back, slowly, sensually, while undoing the buttons of his shirt. He slides his hand to her nape, fumbling for a piece of fabric which he eventually pulls on slowly, untying the knot that holds her dress, the front of which sags in a crease and he admires his work without daring to put his hands on it. She is much less hesitant than he is and clears his shirt without hesitation before tackling the loop of his belt.
The most sensible thing to do would be to stop at that point, to take her hands in his and keep her from going further.
*
It's nearly four in the morning, and he's still awake, lying on the bed with one arm folded behind his head. The left side of his body is numb under Lucy's weight, but he refuses to move or disturb her. He might think she's asleep if not for the lines she's tracing on his skin with her fingertips.
“So I don’t think I got the name of your room.”
“That’s because I didn’t tell you. I was afraid you’d never follow me if you knew we’d meet in the ‘Old Fashioned Honeymoon’.”
He snickers.
“One could accuse Nell of playing matchmaker, but she didn’t even know you’d be there instead of the Greys.”
“Sometimes chance works out just fine.”
“It’s getting late.”
He immediately senses her distancing herself as she sits up, and he regrets opening his mouth.
“Do you want to stay?”
“I do.” He has no hesitation about that. But it’s everything that comes after that gives him pause. “We still have to talk.”
“Can we wait until we leave this place?”
They're leaving tomorrow, and their return to normal life will catch up with them soon enough. For now, he agrees to live in the moment by postponing the conversation. By letting it be, he agrees to spend the rest of the night with her.
It only takes them a few seconds to find the perfect position to fall asleep against each other, and sleep soon overtakes them.
*
It's a repeated vibration that pulls him from a deep sleep. He reluctantly opens his eyes and searches for his phone on the nightstand, only to realize he's not in his bedroom. He has no idea where his phone is, and he's not alone in the bed. His heart races as he admires the brown hair cascading on the white pillow and the square inches of bare skin revealed by the matching sheet.
The phone vibrates again vigorously after a few moments of silence, and he scans the room with his eyes. It's on the nightstand on the other side of the bed. He reaches over her to grab it and sees Bailey's name displayed. He turns off the screen, and the noise stops immediately. He leans over to gently wake Lucy.
"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty."
She mumbles something into the pillow. He brushes a lock of hair from her face, lets his hand slide down her back, and the phone vibrates again.
"What's going on?" she says, her voice husky.
"Bailey's looking for you, apparently."
She takes the phone he offers and slides her finger across the screen.
"Hey," she manages to say.
"Hey, sorry, you didn't answer my text about breakfast and I started to worry. Are you okay?"
"Yeah, sorry I didn't see your text."
"We didn't see you leave last night. You know John, he started to worry too. Took all his willpower not to wake up Tim in the middle of the night to start looking for you. Anyway. Are we still on for that massage?"
Lucy seems to become aware of where she is, who she's with, the lack of clothing, and the plans she had for her last hours before departure.
"Um, I think I'm gonna pass. Catch up on some sleep before heading back. Is that okay?"
"Of course! I'm sure I can convince John to join me."
She lets out a small amused laugh.
"I'm sure he won't need much convincing."
"Okay, so... see you at noon in front of the car then?"
She puts the phone back behind her on the nightstand and settles comfortably on her side again, one arm under the pillow, facing him, her eyes now fully open.
"You should get that massage if you want to."
She rolls her eyes.
"That's not a proper way to say good morning."
He lies facing her, mimicking her position.
"Hi," she murmurs.
"Hi," he replies.
They remain silent, not taking their eyes off each other, a slight smile on their lips.
"I'm starving," she says as her stomach growls. "Wanna have breakfast with me?"
"Yes."
"And then I'm going to have a bath. Wanna join me?"
"Yes."
She could ask for the moon and he would comply.
"Do you want to kiss me?"
"Yes!"
She giggles, the sound a sweet melody to his ears.
He leans in slowly and tenderly captures her lips. It only lasts a moment, but enough for him to feel a familiar warmth enveloping him. This is what their life should be like. Sunday mornings naked under the sheets, breakfast in bed, and hours spent adoring each other. The thought of leaving this cocoon casts a veil of worry over what he feels. What will they become once they return home? He tries not to dwell on it and puts it off for later.
After devouring the breakfast delivered by room service, they find themselves in a bathtub filled with foam.
"The décor is... interesting," he says, looking at the walls painted in pink, the patterned wall and floor tiles, and the huge golden mirrors hanging above the two sinks adorned with golden faucets.
"You’d probably prefer to take your shower in your cave," she replies amused.
"And miss the opportunity for a bubble bath with you? I may be a caveman, but I'm still a man who appreciates having a naked woman in his arms, even if his head might explode from visual overstimulation."
She turns her head to look at him, mischief glinting in her eyes.
"What?"
“Of all the ways I can think of to overstimulate you, visual overstimulation is definitely not one of them.”
He shouldn't be surprised by what he hears, but he's no longer used to them being able to speak so freely this way. She has opened the door a little wider, and even though he's terrified of taking the next step, he realizes that this entire weekend has come from her. He has only responded to her requests, not rushed anything, allowed her to proceed at her own pace.
"You know that I passed on a very good massage to be with you, right?"
"You want me to make it up to you?"
"Do you even have to ask?"
It's terrifying how easy it is for them to fall back into what they were. If he allowed himself to step back and fully analyze the situation, he would find that they are undoubtedly moving too fast and should slow down and take time to talk. But as he just told her, he remains a man. And she is the woman he desires, constantly, without any doubt. And he has never been one to deny her anything.
*
They have to check out of their rooms in about thirty minutes, and he still needs to retrieve his belongings from his. They dress in silence, stealing glances at each other. He tucks the shirt he wore the day before into his pants and buckles his belt, while she slips into jeans and a freshly unpacked floral blouse.
"I was thinking…" she stops, uncertain for the first time since yesterday morning.
"What is it?"
He doesn't want to add any pressure, just assure her that he's listening, whatever she has to say.
"Would you give me a ride back to LA?"
That's not at all what he expected. Though he wasn't really expecting anything in particular. He doesn't need time to think about it.
"Of course."
As agreed, Bailey and Nolan are waiting for Lucy in front of the latter's truck. If they are surprised to see her arrive, followed closely by him, they hide their emotions perfectly. He is pretty sure Bailey knows perfectly well what happened last night while her husband is completely unaware.
"Alright, let's go!" Nolan says cheerfully, clapping his hands.
"Actually…" Lucy begins, "Tim has offered to give me a ride home."
"Are you sure?"
Nolan's question is obviously directed at her, not him. She nods. He feels completely excluded from this conversation, the Nolans not even sparing him a glance, focused as they are on Lucy, and exclusively on Lucy.
He can't blame them for trying to protect her from him. He deserves that.
"Okay, then. See you guys tomorrow."
"Bye!" Bailey calls out.
Lucy waves them off with a small hand gesture, and he nods subtly, almost imperceptibly, then watches the couple leave the parking lot and walks to his truck, where he opens the passenger door for her. She hands him her travel bag to put in the back but stops him by the wrist.
"Do you think we could use this time to talk?"
"Hmm... I mean, I do want to talk, but I think you deserve my full attention."
"Are you saying Sergeant Bradford can't focus on two things at the same time?"
Despite her teasing tone, he wants her to know he's serious. Completely serious when it comes to her, them, their future.
"I want to focus on you."
"Okay. We're in no rush. We can pull over when we feel like it's too heavy."
"You really want to have this talk right now?"
She shrugs.
"I want to sort some things out before we arrive in LA."
He wonders how to interpret this. Does it mean that what happened here this weekend should stay here? Or is it about turning a page when they return? He doesn't dare be too optimistic, but he hopes it's the second option and that it will allow them to lay everything out before going home and finally being able to rebuild. Together.
"Alright," he decides. "We'll talk. Get in!"
And while the tone he uses is reminiscent of the intonation he used when he was still her TO, the smile that forms at the corner of Lucy's lips confirms to him that they are on the right track to move on together.