After a few hours spent sorting Who-appropriate decorations from their stash and another spent selecting new supplies from a handful of catalogs, Sharon gave the decorating crew a few weeks off. Their efforts so far had managed to cross off every item on her pre-preparation checklist. The real work will begin in earnest after Veteran's Day, right on schedule, with their fresh gear in hand.

Given this timeline, she's surprised when a Wednesday night knock in early November finds Andy Flynn on her front stoop. Having just slid two sheets of cookies into the oven, she wipes her fingers on a towel before pulling the door open.

"Sergeant. What—" Her eyes widen at the sight of the large box he holds. "What's this?"

"The decorations we ordered at the last meeting?" His tone suggests it's nothing for him to be turning up at her home, hauling packages. He half-turns to the street, showing where his unmarked cruiser sits with its back doors open, revealing more cardboard.

"Why did you bring them here?" She holds up a hand. "Wait, how do you even know where I live?"

He freezes, halfway toward lowering the box onto the top step. She tries not to notice how the motion spotlights the broad span of his shoulders, clad in a black t-shirt. "Uh…" No doubt looking to save his back, he lowers the load the rest of the way before straightening. "Well, I am a cop."

"You looked me up?" she scoffs. "Th-that's completely beyond authorized purpose, and—"

"I didn't look you up, Lieutenant. You think I'm stupid enough to admit that to you?" He runs his palm over the hint of graying hair at his temple. "I have sources, I asked around."

"Sources?"

Flynn ignores her question and continues, "And as far as why I brought the decorations here," his expression darkens. "I live in a small apartment, so I don't have the room to keep them myself."

Sharon struggles to piece together how he'd have ended up receiving the shipment to begin with. It isn't as if he took a lead role in ordering their new supplies. That'd been Pete, with a wishlist the LAPRRA budget could never hope to fulfill. Her instincts point toward Ally and Eric, foisting a rookie ordeal on him. It explains why he came looking for her, in particular.

With that in mind, she steps aside from the door, leaving him room to enter. "You're doing the others' dirty work, now?"

"I," he grunts as he lifts the box again, "am being a team player."

After pointing him to an empty corner in the sunroom, she says, "You don't have to take that from them, you know." When he steps back with his attention stuck on the box's position, she swats at his arm. "I don't want you burning out and swearing off Christmas forever."

The way he directs a lifted brow stare at the point of impact leaves her regretting the casual contact. But the surprised grin he slides her takes a long stride toward easing that discomfort. "And here I thought you were trying to get rid of me."

Caught once again, Sharon smooths her features before asking, "What made you think that?"

"Oh, just a hunch."

"Sometimes hunches can be wrong."

"True, though I am a trained investigator and all that." Before he's able to more thoroughly call out her earlier behavior, his eyes catch on a point behind her. His expression softens. "Hey there."

After angling in the direction of his greeting, Sharon finds Ricky standing in the doorway to the living room. Before she can usher him back toward the table, he offers a soft, "Hi."

Something about this unexpected introduction builds tension along her spine. Still, she fills the hanging quiet. "Ricky, this is Andy." She's surprised at the ease with which his first name appears on her lips. "He's helping plan the big Christmas party this year."

Flynn crosses his arms with an assessing squint. "You must be, what, thirteen?"

The strategic overestimate leaves Ricky showing his full, toothy smile. "Ten!" With a shrug, he adds, "Well, ten-and-a-half."

"That half's important."

"Yep."

Sharon squeezes her son's shoulder, relaxing into the conversation as she explains, "Ricky and his sister are working on their Christmas lists."

"Talk about important." He nods toward the house, asking Ricky, "Got anything good on there yet?"

"Mmyeah… a new baseball glove."

"Nice! What position do you play?"

"Right field, mostly. Sometimes second base." Ricky's eyes brighten. "Oh, and I'm also asking for a jersey."

"Ah, then you'll be official. Who's your team?"

"The Dodgers, duh."

With a chuckle, Andy says, "As it turns out, I always give that exact same answer."

Ricky leans forward, his interest piqued. "Have you been to a game?"

Sharon sighs a laugh. "I think Andy has probably been to a lot of games."

He offers a nod. "I go to a handful every year."

"Mom says next season we can go to a game and sit in the bleachers so I can catch a home run."

"Maybe catch a home run," she corrects.

"If you want a homer," Andy says, "you should get there early for batting practice."

Ricky's eyes go wide. "YES!" He turns to Sharon, his hands closing around her elbow. "Mom, can you write that down or something? We need to remember batting practice."

"I think I'll manage to keep that in mind." She ruffles his hair. "Maybe you should add baseball tickets to your list, hm?"

His face twists into a question. "But I thought you said we'd go for my birthday."

"Well, Santa works—"

"—pssh, Santa, right—"

"—in mysterious ways," she finishes with a nod through the door.

Ricky heaves a sigh that leaves his shoulders drooping, but he turns away from the porch.

"Nice to meet you, Ricky."

"Nice meeting you, too!"

Once he's out of earshot, Andy mutters, "Sorry, didn't mean to get him all distracted."

Sharon waves off his concern. "It doesn't take much, especially where baseball is concerned." She turns, scanning the edges of the entryway for her beat-up yardwork sneakers. "Let me find some shoes and I'll help you—"

"No, no," he lifts a palm, "I can get the rest." When she tries to argue, he adds, "It'll make up for me dumping decorations all over you, last time."

"You don't need to 'make up' for that."

"Sure," he grins, backing out the door, "but maybe I should."

By the time the former contents of his Crown Vic have become a neat pile in the porch's corner, Sharon's oven timer has set to beeping. Despite her earlier resolution concerning Flynn and baked goods, she finds herself loading a small paper plate with still-warm rounds, securing a layer of plastic wrap over its top.

Back on the porch, the man in question stands, head cocked toward the accumulated boxes, weighing some unseen problem. Sharon clears her throat, drawing his attention to the offering she extends in his direction.

Andy's eyes round into charming surprise. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Fresh baked Italian wedding cookies."

He reaches for the plate, balancing it on his palm as he transfers it from her hands. "Those are the best." A deft pull moves the plastic wrap aside just enough for him to sneak a cookie out. He crunches through it with a satisfied grunt, which turns into a thawing smile. "Keep this up and I'll have to find excuses to visit IA more often."

Sharon isn't sure whether it's his words or his warmth or the nonchalant way he sucks powdered sugar from the pad of his thumb, but something in the moment sends a jolt racing through her. The heat of embarrassment follows.

Her standards for a thrill have certainly fallen over the last few years.

"As long as you don't come bearing paperwork…" She recognizes the implication too late, that she'd want him showing up at her desk just because. "Or, I mean—"

"Nah, I wouldn't." The potential misstep leaves him unruffled. "I'm trying to keep my nose clean these days."

"In that case, you should know I don't bake much outside the holidays."

"I wouldn't have guessed." When she gives a nodding recognition of the compliment, he adds, "You're starting kind of early for holiday baking, huh? I mean, it would've been weeks ago, with that spread at our first meeting."

She shrugs. "Just getting into the season."

"Well," he lifts the plate, pairing the motion with another wide smile that seems to crowd her chest. "Lucky me, then."

"I'll bring cookies on Saturday, if you can supply the coffee again?"

"Now that's an offer I can't refuse." He points toward the cornerful of boxes as he heads for the door. "And thanks for bailing me out on storage space. I'll stop by and pick them up when the time comes."

Despite her earlier confused annoyance, Sharon finds herself, if not glad for his visit, at least serene about it. "Not a problem, Andy."