Page 53 of Win a Date with a Detective

I squeeze his hand.

“Born ready.”

He opens the door.

And I stop.

Because instead of a fictional murder scene, the room is filled with flowers.

Candles.

And dozens of photographs.

Of us.

Our first date.

Our ridiculous vending-machine dinner.

Our first vacation together.

Even a photograph of Bronson standing in my living room, looking profoundly unimpressed with my Amelia Earhart evidence board.

“Oh my God.”

I turn toward him.

“Bronson?”

He’s smiling.

That gorgeous, devastating smile that still makes my knees weak.

“I’ve been investigating something,” he says.

My heart skips.

“Oh?”

He nods.

“A very important case.”

“Do tell.”

“Three months ago, I met a woman who changed my entire life.”

Oh.

Oh, boy.

“She dragged me to an escape room. Got herself implicated in a jewelry theft. And somehow convinced me that watching murder documentaries is an acceptable romantic activity.”

I laugh.

Tears are already gathering in my eyes.

“She sounds amazing.”