At some point in the evening, many glasses of champagne later, Neville stumbled outside having lost JP, Marlon, and Florence after a bathroom break. The veranda was decorated with more awnings and fairy lights, only enhancing the romantic mood of the evening. As people headed back inside or parted from their conversations, Neville saw Florence standing against the railing, looking out onto the sun that was setting over the sea of Honoré beach. The back of her dress was laced in a crossed pattern all the way down her back, the fabric pooling at her coccyx. Obviously sensing someone's stare, Florence looked over her shoulder and, on realising it was him, smiled at Neville. His heartbeat slowed. She was smiling. That was a good sign, he thought.

Neville wandered over to her, digging his hands in his pocket idly, joining her at the railings as Florence turned her head back to the sunset.

"Hi," Neville said, gently. Acknowledging in the weight of how he spoke that things were now different between them.

"Hi," she replied, doing the same. "We should probably talk about what happened," she said softly.

"Yeah," Neville nodded. He looked down at her, admiring the shine on her raven black hair, then pulled himself together, clearing his throat. "I feel like I should apologise," he began.

"Why?" Florence asked, her head snapping up to him.

"Only because I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable," Neville said, gingerly. "Because we work together. I want to be respectful, and maybe you…" he trailed off, getting shy. "Maybe you didn't want to kiss me."

Florence leaned over and put her hand on the back of his. "I'm glad you kissed me," she told him. "I… I wanted you to kiss me."

Neville smiled. "Good."

"And it was perfect," Florence went on. "But Neville, you're right, we do work together. It wouldn't be right for us to pursue anything." Neville's heart dropped but knew deep down she was right. "It wouldn't be… ethical. If our circumstances were different, I'd love to find out where this goes but…" she trailed off, squeezing the back of his hand.

"I know," said Neville, putting his other hand on top of hers. "You're right," he told her.

Cops in his old department back in Manchester were always hooking up, or getting married, but never within the same team. It was unethical, a violation of the code of conduct, even more so if one were superior. His mates were always getting called in and cautioned after a new member of the team joined. I just want to remind you of the code of conduct… the conversations always began.

"Nothing else can happen between us," he agreed.

"It's not how I wanted this to go," Florence told him, looking sad.

"Or me," Neville replied, feeling his heart break. "But it won't affect anything, I promise."

"No," said Florence, taking her hand from his. "No, of course not."

Before he had an opportunity to say something stupid, Neville and Florence both turned to the commotion that was happening behind them. JP and Marlon stumbled out of the doors to the veranda, bumping into people as they passed. JP had his arm around Marlon and was half holding him up.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," JP said to the people they were passing.

"SIR!" cried Marlon. "SIR!" They were obviously both incredibly tipsy.

"What is it, Marlon?" asked Neville, unable to hide his smile at the sight of them stumbling towards him.

"I've always wanted to ask this," said Marlon, his chest wheezing out a laugh. "Why did your parents call you Neville? I mean, what kind of a name is that for a baby?!"

JP, who was usually so polite, couldn't help laughing either, doubling over at Marlon's words. Florence flashed an awkward smile that turned to a grimace.

"Right, as the so-called Chief and probably the most sober one here, I'm making an executive decision and putting you into a cab," said Neville, putting his hands on Marlon's shoulders. "Come on, DS Cassell, consider this your public duty," he said, nodding to JP.

"Fine," Florence said rolling her eyes, as she hooked her head into JP's armpit and half carried him towards the door.

"No, really, why is your name Neville?" Marlon asked as Neville guided him back inside by the elbow.

"You should hear my middle name, Marlon," Neville said dryly. "That will really give you a laugh."

ooo

The next morning, Neville walked into the police station with an eerie silence surrounding him. He looked to Marlon's desk and saw the young officer was asleep, hunched over wearing a pair of dark sunglasses. Then he looked to JP who was stirring a coffee sombrely in the kitchenette, in a trance as he stirred the spoon around and around. Then he saw Florence, who was frowning at her computer, free from make-up, and her hair tied up in a messy bun.

"Good morning, you miserable lot," Neville smiled.

Marlon jerked awake as if he'd had a foghorn blasted in his ear. He groaned loudly and held his head. "Mmm," he whined in protest.

"You not really that hungover are you, Marlon?" teased Neville.

"Sir, I think I'm dying," Marlon said, gulping, as if he was trying to keep the midnight snack Neville had made for him in his stomach.

"Is someone feeling a little rough this morning?" he asked JP, who walked tentatively back to his desk.

"I'm fine," JP said seriously, but Neville could tell he was delicate.

"And what about you DS Cassell?" Neville asked, leaning on her desk.

"I could kill you," she said, shooting him a death glare.

"Why?" countered Neville, a sly smile playing on his face.

"You are looking far too happy. Why aren't you hungover?" she asked.

"Are you hungover?"

"No," she bristled. "But the question remains. Why aren't you hungover? You drank way more than I did."

"Two paracetamol and a pint of water before bed. Two slices of toast if I'm sober enough to work a toaster," shrugged Neville, digging his hands in his pockets.

Florence kissed her teeth and turned away from him, but he could see the corners of her mouth turning up.

"So, I'm guessing you're not on for our drink tonight then if you're so hungover?" Neville teased. After he said it, everything that happened the night before between him and Florence played through his mind like a montage. Perhaps he should have pretended to forget about it. Should they be alone together? Would it look as though he wasn't keeping up his end of the deal?

Florence turned to him and scoffed. "I am not hungover," she told him. "And I am absolutely up for our drink."

"Good."

"Good. I'll be round at eight."

"Good."

"Good," she countered.

"Lord, give me strength," JP sighed, as he turned on his heels and walked out of the station.