Elliot picks up on the fourth ring, and thank goodness, because Olivia is not prepared to leave a voicemail. She's barely prepared for him to answer.

This is new for her, calling him just to talk—-no case, no favor needed, no cloak or pretense.

Elliot called after he'd checked into his hotel on the night he landed, just as he'd promised, but they barely managed to get past hey and how was your flight before Eli barged through the connecting door and Elliot had to go.

He's been in Colorado for two days now, and she figures she owes it to him to put in the effort, just as she'd promised. But she's still figuring out how to do this—have conversations with him that are not under the guise of working a case or penned weeks before he would read her words—after she knows what his lips feel like and how he tastes.

Olivia casts a side glance at her mirror as she sits in her bed, propped up against her headboard, her fluffy comforter at her waist. She barely recognizes herself as the tension in her shoulders and jaw are visible even to her. She cannot recall the last time she's been this nervous to talk to a man. She's never been a nervous person. Not with perps. And not with things like this. She's always approached men and sex with confidence and composure. But there is something about this thing with Elliot that has her knees practically trembling. She doesn't feel strong and confident right now.

She hates it. She's just not sure how to get past it.

"Hey, Liv," Elliot answers breathlessly.

"Hi. What are you doing?" she asks, recognizing that he has her on speakerphone from the way his voice echoes in the space of the room.

"I just got out of the shower," he grumbles as he stands in front of the hotel dresser in a towel tied loosely around his waist, reaching for a shirt and shorts. "I tell ya, the entire state of Colorado smells like weed."

"I bet," she answers, distracted by the thought of Elliot fresh out of the shower. His chest, broad and bare, flushed red from the heat as water droplets roll down his heated skin, dispersing once they hit the small, white hotel towel…

In their two nights together while he was back, she had felt just how solid he was as he'd held himself over her, pushed her against the wall, and rocked underneath her on her couch. She didn't get to see him though, not without his shirt. She's not actually seen him in any state of undress since he's been back. Not really. Though, she's recognized he's grown fond of v-neck shirts and leaving his dress shirts unbuttoned. For that, she's been grateful.

She has an idea of what he would look like stripped down, but she wants to actually see him and touch him. This thought causes her stomach to clench, nerves radiating through her.

She shakes her head to rid herself of the thoughts, fanning her face to cool her own flush. "What, uh, what did you have for dinner?" she squeaks out.

Elliot tosses his clean clothes on the bed, and drops his towel, and chuckles at her attempt at small talk. "Do you really want to know?"

No. She doesn't really care what he ate for dinner. But she's trying to have a general conversation with the man and not be distracted by his current state of undress, so she responds with a definitive, "Yes."

"Okay, then." He grins and grabs his shorts and pulls them on as he answers. "We went to some stoner burger joint by the campus that Eli missed all summer. They put a shitty aioli"— she can hear the disgust in his voice as he pronounces the word—"on my burger and some fancy ass oil and cheese and parsley on my fries."

His mini rant about foods brings a small sense of familiarity to their conversation. Olivia has listened to Elliot rant about food for years. With a smile, she falls into a more comfortable rhythm with him, teasing him slightly. "I thought you were cultured. Ten years in Europe and all that."

"For some things. But a burger should just be a burger." Elliot continues, pulling his shirt on over his head.

"No aioli or truffle fries for you," Olivia adds with a chuckle.

"How's your evening?" he huffs. He flips out the covers on his bed from the tight tuck the housekeepers made earlier in the day and then slides between the cool sheets. "It's late there."

Olivia looks back to the clock on the bedside table, her alarm clock reading 11:45 p.m. "It's getting there."

"Are you in bed?"

"Yeah."

"Hmmmm." His hum is ornery and full of innuendo.

"El," she warns.

After he left her apartment late Saturday, she had stayed up thinking about them and reflecting on her own actions. She hadn't been kissed like that in a long, long, time, if ever. Elliot kisses her as if he'll never tire of her taste, begging for everything she'll give him. It was intense, but Olivia is surprised by how not awkward it is for them to fall into each other physically.

She had always assumed they would be clumsy and uncomfortable if they ever crossed a physical line. But kissing him feels so effortless. As if she inherently knows the movement of his body, his hands and lips. He's comfortable. Kissing him, touching him, trying to crawl into him is right. And she had ached for him when he'd left.

His immediate presence had banished all her worries. But now that he had been gone for a few days, those concerns have had time to come rushing back in and crowd out all her good feelings about him. Olivia had realized that night that the lack of awkwardness amplifies her fears about them when he isn't around.

She worries that falling into an easy physical relationship will overshadow the rest that they need to address—their separate pasts and how they are going to manage their future together. Full of those concerns, she had messaged Dr. Lindstrom first thing Monday morning, setting an appointment for Friday.

"What?" Elliot asks with feigned innocence. "I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking something."

"Tell me, Captain, what was I thinking?"

Olivia refuses to give in, answering tersely, "You know what you were thinking."

"I do. But you don't."

"Was it inappropriate?"

"What is appropriate? You didn't think my thoughts were inappropriate when you had your tongue in my mouth," Elliot counters.

"El," she sighs. "I'm– I'm trying here."

He backs off at this. "I know. I know. I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry, I just need… time, you know, to adjust. This is all so new."

"Are you freaking out on me again?"

"I didn't freak out."

Instead of calling out her denial, Elliot huffs quietly and changes the subject to a safer topic. "How's Noah?"

Olivia, grateful for Elliot's willingness to drop the issue, sighs and answers. "He's good. I think he's anxious about being in a new school this year and moving between classes, though he's very excited about getting a locker."

"Getting a locker is a big deal."

"Sure is."

The line falls silent, which feels awkward between them.

Elliot clears his throat. "Well, I should, uh, probably let you get some sleep."

"Yeah, uh. Good night, El."

"Night."

Friday at noon, Olivia finds herself sitting on the familiar brown leather couch, counting the things that she can see in an effort to calm her breathing. She's worked with Dr. Lindstrom for years, his trauma counseling specialty giving way to more life and relationship therapy. Olivia, despite her usual resistance to opening up, reaches out to him when she can't find reality in her own irrationality.

"Good afternoon, Olivia," Lindstrom greets as reaches for a small yellow notepad. He doesn't use much during their sessions, typically just to take a note or two about something he may need to follow up on in a later session. "It's been a while since I've seen you. How is everything?"

"It's good," she answers as she nods softly, looking through the window just over his shoulder. She shrugs, adding, "Just another summer."

"If that were true, we might not be sitting here. I know you are quite busy this time of year between work and Noah's summer activities. Has something precipitated this session?"

Olivia twists a ring on her finger, wishing she'd brought coffee with her just to have something to hold in her hands as she figures out the best way to approach the subject.

Responding to her hesitancy, Lindstrom asks, "Is it related to work, Noah, or you?" He's done this for her before, offering simple questions as a way to wade slowly into the topic that's on her mind.

"Me."

"Does it involve another person?"

"Yes."

Lindstrom nods as his eyes narrow. "Have we discussed this person and dynamic before?"

"We have. It's, uh, Elliot."

Lindstrom stays quiet after her answer, letting the silence become uncomfortable, hoping to urge her into saying more, to fill the gap in the conversation. The tactic isn't always successful. It is this time as Olivia speaks again.

"We've, uh… we've broached the subject of us… as a couple, recently."

"How has that gone? You and I have talked about your past relationship with him and a potential relationship with him in the future."

"He's on a job, back in Rome. Has been for a couple of months now."

"How have you been handling that?"

"It's been tough. At least he told me he was leaving this time before he left," she answers with an anxious smile. "And we've been keeping in touch."

"That's good. Different than before."

Olivia had a session two summers ago where she spent the hour venting in hurt and frustration after learning that Elliot went undercover without warning her and she had no way of knowing if he was okay.

"Yes," she agrees with a slow nod.

"Are you two keeping in touch just as friends, or have you two started something beyond that?"

Her fingers twist again. "It started as friends, I guess. Recently, it's been, uh, more."

Lindstrom nods, smiling. And he gently prods again. "What does more look like with him in Italy?"

Olivia has been in his office twice this spring to talk about Elliot. Her appointments had started about other topics, including her fears about Noah developing a relationship with his newly discovered half-brother and the trauma that resurfaced during her case with BX9. But in those sessions, Olivia had revealed her reliance on Elliot in a time of need and the not-so-subtle shift she felt in their relationship after Elliot tried to kiss her in her kitchen.

"He was back last week for a short visit. He's in Colorado now helping his youngest find an apartment for school. He leaves again on Sunday."

Seemingly undeterred by her non-answer, Lindstrom continues his inquiry. "Did you see him when he was in the city?"

"I did," she answers with a soft nod.

"How did that go?" He can sense that she has something to say but is hesitant to do so. Lindstrom has played these games with her before and knows that if he keeps pushing, she will open up.

"Good and not so good."

"Do you want to start with the good or not so good?"

Olivia slaps her hands over her face and finally blurts out, "I panicked."

Lindstrom chuckles at her admission. "Maybe start from the beginning?"

Olivia takes a couple of minutes to tell Lindstrom about working with Elliot again recently. She admits that she hadn't reached out to him since January because she honestly wasn't sure what she would say or what she wanted from him. And although several months had passed, Olivia had felt something building between them in May. Elliot wasn't pushy about it, but the way he engaged with her made her feel comfortable and as if they had returned to their old selves, with something non-threatening simmering under the surface.

She shares her fears about him leaving again. That she wouldn't hear from him for weeks or months; that he would shut her out again. She continues on to receiving the letter and starting to write back and forth with him.

Lindstrom, having listened patiently as Olivia finally opened up and detailed how her and Elliot's relationship had progressed recently, asks, "How many letters have you exchanged?"

"Just a couple. It takes a while, more than a week, for them to be delivered."

"And what are you writing to each other?"

She inhales deeply, letting out the breath out of her nose slowly. "We've, uh, acknowledged that we want to be more than friends and that we are figuring out how that looks for us now."

"Have you figured anything out?"

She shakes her head. "Not really."

Lindstrom lifts his eyebrows. "He was here recently. Did you not talk about your relationship in person?"

"No. Noah and I had dinner with him and his family one night, he came over for a game night, and then I saw him briefly before he left for Colorado. But we didn't really have much time to talk about ourselves and our relationship." The last word felt foreign on her tongue.

"Is that all? Dinner and game nights don't seem like things that would cause you to panic. They feel very friendly."

He's pushing her, she can tell. Olivia wipes a hand down her face, her cheeks pinking in both frustration and mild embarrassment.

"Olivia, we are both adults here. There is nothing to be ashamed of or embarrassed about," Linstrom reminds her before asking, "Were you two intimate?"

She shakes her head, her eyes back on her lap. "We kissed. Like really kissed," her cheeks blush further. "And then I panicked and kicked him out."

Lindstrom tries to hide his smile. "Why do you think you panicked?"

"I don't know," Olivia answers almost desperately.

Lindstrom pushes back. "I think you might have some suspicions."

"It's just so… new. We have never… we couldn't, and now…" She waves her hands as she tries to put into words how she feels.

After waiting a beat, Lindstrom sets his notepad down and leans forwards, resting his elbows on his knees before he speaks. "Changes in relationships, all types of relationships, can cause unease and nervousness. We've talked about this in other contexts. It takes something that is predictable and safe and puts it in a space that is unpredictable and uncomfortable. But those changes can lead to really good things, even though exploring those new dynamics can cause anxiety. Is there something specific that happened when you were with him that triggered your anxiety?"

Olivia thinks before she answers. Although she panicked after their physical explorations, she knows that it has to be more—deeper than heated kissing. The kisses were good, great even. It was more about them as people, as a potential couple, that bothered her. Elliot has been back for over two years, but they haven't spent time together just as friends or really talked about everything. She tried initially, and he rejected her help. Then, when they worked together, they fell back to their comfortable space as partners, though, without the depth. Then, he pushed her to act on their mutual but unspoken attraction, blindly hoping that their history was strong enough to hold them up.

Olivia's not sure that it is.

"It wasn't anything specific that he did or that happened."

"What do you think it was?"

"I don't feel like I know him like I used to or that I can trust him like I used to. So much time has passed, and it's not just that we are different. Sometimes I'm not sure he's the same person that I thought he was."

Lindstrom nods and sits back in his chair. "Ten years can change a person. You have changed a lot in that time."

Olivia shakes her head and twists the ring on her finger again.

"I think… I'm worried that that ground we are trying to build on is cracked. We don't have a solid foundation anymore. I feel like…" She trails off for a moment, looking out the window, struggling to find the right phrasing and not quite ready to admit aloud what weighs heavy on her mind.

"Elliot was my partner, my best friend. I thought I knew everything there was to know about him. And then he left me, without a word. I never thought he would do that—that he could do that. I couldn't have. I never could have left him. I needed him in my life. He was the only person I let myself need. And in that moment, when I learned he wasn't coming back, I think that I realized that he didn't need me."

Olivia swallows and blinks, trying to hold back tears.

"And now that he's back…" Lindstrom prompts, letting his question trail off, letting her fill in the last half with whatever she wants to answer.

"When he first came back, he gave me that letter and it brought up those feelings again." Olivia and Lindstrom had discussed the letter after Elliot's visit to her apartment while he was undercover. She hadn't lied to Elliot on the courthouse steps; that night scared her. And it took her months to work through both her fears and his admissions.

"Feelings of uncertainty?"

"More than that. It wasn't that I just had to consider forgiving him for leaving without a word, which hurt. But after the letter, I felt like he tainted all our memories. As if I had been delusional about our relationship for all of those years. I couldn't trust my mind or my gut or my heart about him."

"Do you feel like you can trust yourself now?"

Olivia purses her lips, frowning as she thinks about his question. She has always had to trust her instincts, and most of the time she has been right. Her gut has saved her and others countless times on the job. But the few times she has been wrong—about perps, about Burton, and about Elliot back then—the fallout had been devastating.

She wants to trust this now. Elliot has been so forward with her recently, about his feelings and intentions. He's continued to reach out and to push her. It's different than before.

"I don't know if what I feel is real or if I just want so badly for it to be real."

"Why can't it be both? Can you trust that it feels real because it is real?"

"I want to. I want to trust him. I want to trust these feelings. But there are these doubts in the back of my mind. Am I making this up? Or that even if it's real, can he just walk away from me at any time, without a word, without looking back again?"

Lindstrom sighs, taking in a deep breath before he answers her question. "Those are big fears. And they are very real. They are fears that a lot of people have. Obviously, you have certain experiences that back up your concerns. He has left before. He has lied to you about his feelings before."

Olivia shrugs. "I'm not sure how to work past them."

"You work past them like you do other fears. You look at what is tangible. You have to listen to him, and you have to watch what he does. You also have to learn to trust yourself; your gut and your ability to see what is real. But ultimately, you have to decide whether being with him will make you happy and if so, are you willing to risk being hurt again?"

"You told me before that I deserve happiness."

Lindstrom nods in agreement. "I did. And you still do."

"Why is happiness so hard to get?" she asks with a resigned sigh, sinking back into the couch cushions.

"It's hard for everyone. I know it doesn't always feel like that. But it's hard for everyone in their own way. For you, I think it's because you don't always trust it. Not only have you seen the worst of humanity, Olivia. Both enacted on others and in your own life. But also because you've lost so much. You've lost friends and colleagues as well as loved ones. Knowing how painful that loss can be, can force us to build walls to protect ourselves. If we don't open up and connect with another person, it won't hurt when they inevitably leave. The problem with that course of action is that those walls also prevent us from also feeling happiness and love. Those things can only come from true vulnerability and forging intimacy with another person."

"So, what do I do?"

"You take it one day at a time. Your walls were not built in a single day. You laid a brick each time you were hurt; more bricks when the pain was greater. Sadly, there isn't a bulldozer for these walls. You just have to work at taking them down one-by-one. And you do that by trusting people and being vulnerable. If you want to be with Elliot, then you have to trust him and you have to trust yourself."

Elliot's laying in his king size hotel bed on his last night in Colorado, flat on his back with his arms outstretched and his phone resting on his chest. He is exhausted and not looking forward to his ten-hour flight tomorrow. He co-signed a lease for Eli two days ago on a small, two-bedroom apartment a few blocks from the campus. It isn't anything spectacular, but it's good enough for two boys in school. Yesterday, they moved Eli's stuff in from storage, and today was spent running around every superstore to pick the last-minute tidbits one needs for a new space: trashcans, bathmats, a broom and more.

Elliot had spent the last ten minutes venting to Olivia about how Eli couldn't decide on a new comforter, as if the right one would help him attract the ladies.

Olivia laughs, happy that Eli seems to be happy and adjusting well after everything that has happened over the last few years. She's propped in her bed, mindlessly playing with the small compass that Elliot gave her.

Their conversations have gotten easier for her over the week. Short, but natural. Olivia has talked about Noah's classes and dance tryouts and the other small happenings with her squad.

She thinks about what she and Dr. Lindstrom had discussed yesterday, about having to really see the actions Elliot is taking to prove to her that he's being honest and sincere. She twists the long chain on her necklace, the compass spinning in front of her. She's examined it a lot over the past several weeks, and she knows that it's not a run-of-the-mill necklace. Olivia suspects that Elliot either found it well off the beaten path of chain jewelry stores or that he had it custom-made.

"Elliot?" She interrupts him mid-sentence, saying something about Eli's roommate having the audacity to ask Elliot to buy them a several hundred-dollar robot vacuum.

"Yeah, Liv?"

"What do the letters on the compass mean? They aren't NESW, for the cardinal directions."

Elliot tenses, lifting one hand to scrub over his face and across the top of his head. "No, they aren't."

"What do they stand for?"

He sighs and sits up in the middle of the bed, pulling his knees up to his chest. Elliot has been afraid of this moment. He had known, when he designed the compass, that getting her something so ornate would trigger questions. He had just hoped that he and Olivia would be in a better place when she asked them—in the same place at least.

Right now, everything feels so unsteady, as if she's going to run on him again at the slightest provocation. He's not dared to flirt or push her on their calls this week after her warning before. He just doesn't know where they stand or what small thing might cause her to pull back from him.

She promised him that she wouldn't, but if she chooses to, there is nothing he can do. If he's not on that plane tomorrow, he'll be out of a job. And if she knows the lengths he has gone to for that necklace—looking up all the options, working one-on-one with a designer, and carrying it with him for weeks waiting for the right time—she might flee.

He wishes, just for a moment, that he could write it all out in a letter so he'd be able to take his time and get all his words just right—each of the details about the compass and about his reasoning. "I just… this would be easier on paper," he says with an anxious laugh.

"Do you want to stop talking about it?"

"No, no," he answers, torn. Now that she's asked the question, he knows that it would be the wrong move to avoid the subject. But he's not prepared at this moment to handle this as tactfully as he wants. "I'm just afraid… honestly, that it might be too much for you right now."

"I'm not going to overreact." She means it. After her session with Lindstrom, she knows that she has a lot of work to do and that it starts with meeting Elliot where he is, which is unabashedly forthright with his feelings, and her being willing to actually feel her own emotions.

Elliot decides it'll be best to start from the beginning, what led him to go design the necklace in the first place. "After that night in your kitchen, you know, when I picked up Noah—"

"I remember—" she cuts him off. They haven't really addressed that night, not more than the few words they spoke on the library steps. She doesn't want to get sidetracked by discussing that evening; she wants to hear more about the compass.

"I heard you then, Liv. You said that you wanted to, but you weren't ready. And you asked me: What if it doesn't work out? I heard your fears. And I, uh, I wanted to get you something meaningful; something that might help you feel more confident in me and us, potentially."

"So, the letters stand for something?"

He pinches the bridge of his nose. He knows that once he starts explaining, he's going to have to tell her everything. "Yeah, they do. They are the four immeasurables: love, compassion, joy, and equanimity. I'm not Buddhist, but, uh… they are supposed to open your heart and help cultivate connection."

Olivia rotates the compass so the diamonds move, revealing each letter in order: L, C, J, and E. Her heart beats loudly as the meaning of each letter runs through her mind. "I've heard that before."

"Yeah," he says, preventing her from trying to discuss the letters, anxious now to just let it all spill out, rip off the band aid so to speak. "And the stones are diamonds, eight of them—"

She gasps. "My god." Olivia believed that the stones in the compass were small, gorgeous gems, like moissanite and quartz, not diamonds. "Elliot. You didn't—"

"Don't," he cuts her off. "Please. I know it's a lot. But I just… I wanted to show you, you know? I wanted you to know how I feel about you, and the certainty I have in us."

She nods silently at his answer and swallows, her heart pounding as she realizes that Elliot likely spent several thousand on this necklace for her. She takes a calming breath before saying, "Okay, uh, tell me more."

Elliot closes his eyes as he wipes his hands over his face before he continues, his voice thick and unsteady at the start. "There are eight diamonds because the number eight means to overcome, to have victory and prosperity. And the colors of them, I–I picked… the brown diamonds mean stability and dependability, and white diamonds, uh, mean love." Eternal love, really, but he doesn't say that. He already feels vulnerable and afraid that once Olivia knows the depth of meaning in the compass, that she might reject it, reject him.

Olivia holds the compass up at eye level, looking at the two large brown diamonds, surrounded by the six white ones. "Anything else?" she asks, hesitantly. Her curiosity winning out over her surprise.

"Uh, the diamonds are in a rose cut, which has a more vintage look. I thought they looked more like you," he answers softly.

Olivia, a self-proclaimed lover of all things gifted in tiny, soft-lined boxes, wonders briefly if Elliot knows that rose cut diamonds also mean love. He could have picked them out solely based on looks, but from the sound of his explanation, each piece has a meaning. Maybe he's worried about her reaction to yet another symbol of love in the design.

"And the cover of the compass, holding them… the diamonds in, is a sapphire crystal. The guy said that sapphire has quite a few meanings, but I always associated it with truth and loyalty."

It is a lot to take in, more than a lot really. Olivia doesn't quite know how to respond. She's less overwhelmed by Elliot's symbolic declarations of love, as he's so candidly shared it in his letters. But the fact he spent so much effort cultivating such a beautiful piece, no part of it without purpose and meaning, and the cost of it, makes her feel undeserving of this gift and of him.

"It's so beautiful, El. I wear it all the time. Now, though, I'm afraid of losing it."

"Don't be," he assures her. "It's meant to be worn." He keeps to himself the fact that it's insured.

"Okay," she exhales, still nervous about having such an expensive piece of jewelry around her neck. "I'll keep wearing it."

"You're not freaking out, are you?"

"No, not really," she answers honestly. She is nervous, but she's not panicking like she has before. Olivia knows that if she wants this to work with Elliot, she needs to accept his affection. "It's just… El, it's so much."

"Please don't worry about that. After that night, I spent so much time thinking about you and me, and us. I just needed to do something with everything I felt. I had to focus it somewhere or I would have probably been knocking down your door and pushed you too far. You said you weren't ready, and I didn't want to…"

"Thank you for giving me space then. I see now how hard that must have been."

Elliot scoots back in the bed, resting against the headboard, more relaxed now that she's not running from him. "You are worth it, Liv. You are. I want to make sure you know that every day. You deserve happiness."

She smiles as she lets the compass fall back against her chest. "I'm starting to believe that."

"Good."

Noah wakes Olivia up early the next morning. Not intentionally, but he's loud when he fixes himself scrambled eggs for breakfast, the pan hitting the stove harder than it needs and the cabinet doors slamming back shut. She joins him in the kitchen, leisurely enjoying her coffee.

She feels happy and relaxed after her conversation with Elliot last night, hopeful even. His visit didn't go anything like she had expected. So much of it had been tumultuous, driven by her own bad reaction to their changing dynamic. But she's glad they had the opportunity to see each other so soon after opening up in their letters.

The anxiety of seeing him after agreeing to be more would have been tenfold if they didn't see each other for months. Exchanging vulnerabilities behind the anonymity and freedom of letter writing had been easier since they were not once forced to look the other person in the eye and feel their presence around them as they opened up.

Elliot's latest letter rests in the drawer of her bedside table. She had picked it up last night after they had hung up their call, tempted to read it then to see what other secrets he'd revealed on paper. Holding it up as she had lain in bed, she had taken in the shape of the envelope, curved and wrinkled from waiting in his back pocket while they had made out on her couch a week ago. When she had flipped it over, her curiosity was piqued as she noticed that the flap had been torn and taped, maybe more than once.

She had sighed and tucked it back into the drawer, knowing she had to wait until the next night to read what he wrote before his visit. But despite her growing curiosity of his written word, peaked by this insistence that she wait to read it, she appreciated how well they'd been able to communicate this last week in their spoken words. It was a growth that may not have occurred if she had focused on crafting a perfect response to his letter.

August 11, 2023

Olivia,

Whatever you want to know about me, just ask and I will tell you. But here are a few things to get us started:

I still love the Jets and pizza and beer and hate sushi. I like wearing soft shirts (waffle-knit and linen blends) and Mama teases me about it. I learned to ride a motorcycle for a security gig about 8 years ago. I also broke my thumb 8 years ago. Same gig, but not on the bike. I read The Count of the Monte Cristo when I was undercover with the Albanians, and I didn't hate it. I can cook four pasta dishes (if you count the spaghetti I fed my kids when they were little). I hate emojis and my kids use them just to spite me. I grind my own coffee beans once a week and I've been researching a top-of-the-line espresso machine. I miss boxing in that stinky Albanian gym. Maureen has 7-year-old twin boys: Seamus and Kieran, which means I'm a grandpa now. And I am still the same cop you've always known—hot-headed and bullish, and a bit reckless.

Underneath all of those things, I am also a man who you can trust and count on, because for all the days that I have known you, I have loved you.

I left you all those years ago because I had to, not because I wanted to. Sometime in the future we can hash it all out. I will tell you everything you want to know. And then I will beg for your forgiveness on my knees just as I have begged God.

I am so deeply sorry for all the pain I caused you.

I know that it's a small consolation, but I hurt during those years, too. Even though I can survive without you, I learned quickly that I cannot thrive without you. Mama once told me that in this world, we have to find the one who grows flowers in our darkest parts. Deep down in our souls. You grew a garden in me, Liv. And while I was gone, it withered away. Now everything is blooming again—bright and vibrant.

I look forward to learning more about you and your life. I want to know it all. You are a mom like you always wanted. A damn good one! You still command the precinct, just from the Captain's office now. You are still the brilliant, kick-ass-and-take-no-nonsense woman that I worked alongside for all those years. But you have grown too. I see it when we've worked together. You amaze me.

I have no idea how or why we work, but we do. We have always worked. I know that we will work when we do this. Together, between the two of us, we can manage anything.

I'm writing this letter to you only a few days before I see you. I cannot wait. I have a week in the city, and I already know that it is too short. I'm going to make the most of it. Time permitting, I'm going to take you out on a date. A real date. I want you to wear a stunning black dress, sip expensive wine, and eat delicious food. And, if you let me, I'm gonna kiss you good night at your doorstep.

I want us to spend time exploring this new place, with these new revelations between us. You will see that it is so good. We are so good.

Love,

El

8/14/23 - P.S. You kissed me first.

8/19/23 - P.S. Again. We didn't get our date, and that's okay; next time. There will be a next time. I promise you I'm still in this. I'm not going anywhere.