Page 80 of Detectives in Love

We leave it at that, and I order a cab home.

On the ride back, I call Fred to invite him over for dinner tomorrow. He perks up at the mention of Katie, then immediately suggests we invite Bernard too. “For company,” he says. “The more the merrier, right?” I agree—because honestly, Bernard is easier to be around than Fred himself. I mean, I don’t hate the guy like Xavier does, but sometimes Fred’s curiosity and need to get into everyone’s business is just…a lot.

To my surprise, Hickory Road is quiet for the first time in days—no journalists, no flashing cameras. I make it up the stairs without hassle and let myself into the apartment.

Inside, I take off my jacket and shoes and spot Xavier at the table, hunched over his laptop. The only light in the room comes from the gray afternoon outside, casting soft shadows across his face.

He glances up. Our eyes meet—just for a second.

He looks the same as ever. Maybe a little softer now. A little more himself.

For a moment, I think he’s about to say something, but I look away, a sharp ache blooming behind my ribs.

I flip the light switch. Nothing. The fuses must’ve blown again.

Still silent, I head to the kitchen, aware of Xavier’s eyes on me the whole way. I pull back the curtain to let in what little daylight there is, then fill the kettle and start rummaging through the tea bags.

A few seconds later, Xavier appears in the doorway, shifting awkwardly. I ignore him. He steps closer, inching into my space like he’s waiting for me to look at him. I don’t. Not until he’s right there, and I can’t avoid it anymore.

I turn to face him, expression blank, heart pounding like a drum. I’m not going to pretend everything’s fine. Not this time. If he wants to talk, he can start with a real apology.

“Did you happen to see Mr. Waverly downstairs?” he asks softly. His voice is almost gentle.

“No,” I say, and turn back around. He doesn’t move.

“The fuses are out again. He’s got the key to the fuse box.”

I don’t respond. I’m not going to make small talk so he can feel better. Let him sit with the silence for once.

Xavier clears his throat. “How was your date?”

“Not a date,” I say flatly, picking up a bag of Earl Grey and opening the fridge to grab a lemon. He shifts behind me, like he’s waiting for something.

“How was your not-a-date, then?” A hint of a smile in his voice.

“Fine.” I keep my eyes anywhere but on him.

“Newt.”

“What.”

“Are you angry with me?”

I turn to face him. He knows direct questions usually get through to me. Not to him, though—he loves dodging them, pretending he has no idea what I’m talking about.

Xavier shifts, uneasy, waiting for my answer.

“Yes,” I say, crossing my arms. “But I don’t want to talk about any of it.”

The kettle clicks. I pick up my cup, pouring the hot water over the tea bag. Behind me, I hear Xavier exhale—feel him lingering, like he’s working up the nerve to speak. I just stand there, steeping the tea, maybe a little too aggressively, waiting for whatever it is he wants to say.

“Newt,” he says again, then pauses, clearly hoping I’ll turn around.

“Mhm?” I murmur, not bothering to. If it irritates him, even better.

Suddenly, his hand reaches past me—fingers closing around my wrist, stopping me mid-motion. I freeze, startled, and meet his eyes. His touch burns.

“What?” I ask, sharper than I intended.