I wake up slowly, drawn out of my sleep by the rosy scent of hot, sweet tea. Without opening my eyes, I know that Aiden is already up, and I smile to myself.

This is the same kind of tea that Aunt Sarah drinks in the morning, out of clear glass cups. Aiden doesn’t drink it every day, but he does sometimes, and it’s a scent tightly linked with him in my mind.

I roll onto my back, stretching out on the couch cushions. Aiden must see me move, because I hear his heavy footfalls approaching a few seconds later.

A huge, warm hand gently strokes my face, and I blink my eyes open.

“Hi,” Aiden murmurs, smiling down at me.

“Mmm.” I yawn deeply, then reach up to tap his nose. “Hi.”

He keeps his volume to a whisper. “Calla’s still asleep.”

I look over at her. She’s curled up in my armchair, her feet poking out from the blanket. I didn’t notice last night, but today’s socks have hand-stitched cherries sewn into them, instead of pineapples.

She’s still wearing her hoodie, and I can tell from the bulky shape beneath that she slept with the evidence zipped into it all night.

Aiden resettles his bi pride snapback onto his head, then traces a finger along my hairline.

“I’m making breakfast,” he whispers.

“I smell the tea,” I answer, matching his volume. “So I’m guessing you’re making it Aunt Sarah style?”

Aiden drops to a crouch next to me, nuzzles his nose into mine. “Mhm.”

I really like the food that Aiden’s aunt makes for breakfast. Sometimes it’s Lavash bread with feta cheese and fig jam. Aunt Sarah makes the jam herself, and she gave me a jar of it to keep here. Other times it’s a soft boiled egg, with hot, buttery fingers of toast to dip into the yolk. Usually served with fruit and toasted walnuts and slices of cucumber.

I smile up at Aiden, drinking in the sight of his bright, peaceful blue eyes, the sunkissed warmth of his skin.

“Yay,” I whisper, and he huffs out a quiet laugh.

“You sure that sounds good? Because I can make you an omelette or something, if you don’t want-”

“No, I’ll have whatever you’re making, please.” I reach up to trail my fingertips along Aiden’s collarbone. His eyes flit down to follow the movement, then go back to my face. “Sounds perfect.”

Aiden smiles again. “I also made a pot of coffee, in case the tea isn’t enough of a caffeine boost for you.”

“Mmm, I love you,” I sigh, and Aiden huffs out another sweet, airy laugh.

“I love you, too,” he murmurs, looking into my eyes.

I slip my hands into his chestnut hair, drag my fingernails lightly along his scalp. Aiden closes his eyes to enjoy it, then opens them again, gazes down at me. He bends to press a slow, affectionate little kiss onto my mouth.

When he pulls back, I smile up at him, about to say something - then stop, feeling someone’s gaze on us. I glance over at the armchair.

Calla hasn’t moved, but her eyes are open, watching us.

Aiden follows my eyeline to her, and nods, leaving one massive hand spread on my chest. “Morning, Calla.”

She sits up, blinking tiredly, then seems to remember where she is and what’s going on. She immediately unzips her hoodie, checking that the evidence is still there.

Aiden quirks an eyebrow at her. “Did you think we took it?”

“We wouldn’t do that,” I add, and Calla frowns at us.

“Then what are you two whispering about?”

“Um.” Aiden looks at me, then back to her, and shrugs his shoulders. “Food?”

He gets to his feet, and I sit up on the couch, rubbing my eyes. I’m still wearing my jeans, flannel, t-shirt - everything. We crashed as soon as we got back here last night. I barely even remember the rush through the snow, or the brief, whispered conference with Kasey and Will, who were beyond relieved to see us.

Snow is still falling outside, piling up quietly on the windowsills, frosting the panes. A few flakes make their way through the window I left cracked open last night, along with a current of cold, outside air.

Some hot tea sounds really good right now, so I sleepily follow Aiden into the kitchen. Calla gets up and drifts after us.

A fragrant breath of air drifts from my kitchen cabinet as Aiden opens it. I don’t do a lot of cooking, but I know that Aiden likes to, since he got sober. I’ve started keeping things here that I didn't have before, so he can cook whenever he likes. Things I know he uses a lot. Cardamom, advieh, dried mint, watercress. Green raisins, lentils, chopped pistachios. A small bottle of rosewater, homemade by Aunt Sarah.

Calla stops at the kitchen counter, staring at the spread that Aiden’s laid out.

“What’s all this?” she asks, poking a plate.

Aiden shrugs again, slides her a cup of tea. “Post-robbery breakfast, I guess?”

Calla lets out a sharp, rasping laugh. “Is that a thing?”

“It is now,” I yawn, stretching my arms over my head.

Calla can’t pick up her tea without releasing her hold on the evidence stashed in her hoodie. She considers for a moment, then unzips it, pulls out the brown paper bag. She sets it down on the counter, but keeps it well within her reach.

It looks like any other brown paper bag, except that it’s bigger, and there’s a code stamped in black letters on the side.

“Well, thanks, but no thanks,” Calla says, taking a sip of tea. “I’ve gotta roll. Deal with this.”

She nods at the evidence bag.

“What-?” I exchange a glance with Aiden. “What are you gonna do with it?”

“Deal with it,” Calla says again, like the subject is closed.

I was hoping we’d at the very least get a glance at the contents, find something, anything that could help us help Kasey and Will.

“Aren’t we coming with you?” I ask. “We can help you, like we did-”

“Nope.” Calla takes a big gulp of her tea, sets it down, and scoops up the evidence bag again. “Anyways, it’s been real. See you around. Well, no. I won’t.”

She turns towards the door.

“Calla,” Aiden says.

His deep, rumbling voice stops her. She looks at him warily, hugging the evidence to herself.

“It’s fine to admit that we helped you,” he tells her. “Everyone needs help sometimes. Trust me, I would know.”

Calla lets out a heavy sigh. “You’re the sober one on the team that Jamie mentioned, aren’t you?”

Aiden nods, folding his hands around his tea. “But what I’m saying definitely doesn’t apply to just that.”

“Yeah,” I jump in. “That was easily the smoothest heist we’ve ever done-”

“Um.” Calla’s eyebrows shoot up. “What?”

“-because you helped us,” I forge on, “And we helped you.”

Calla stares at me, thinking it over. Her eyes flit between me and Aiden.

“Fucking fine,” she groans suddenly. “Get your jackets, let’s go.”

“Okay, well, we’re gonna eat first,” I answer, pushing a plate across the counter to her. “And you wanna tell us where we’re going?”

Calla reaches for an orange slice, and takes a bite.

“After the post-robbery breakfast,” she says, “Comes the post-robbery bonfire.”

~~~~

Calla takes the SUV, so Aiden and I take my car. I’m a little worried that she gave us a fake meeting point, that she’s not really coming. But she’s already there when I park in the beachside lot.

No one else is here. It’s still early, and even if it wasn’t, this is not the kind of weather that draws people to the beach. Snow is spilling down on rough, white-capped waves, and the wind off of the ocean sends icy flakes swirling up into our faces. I shiver, zipping my jacket up.

Aiden slips his hand into mine, and the cold melts away, pushed back by a wave of his heat.

I keep my fingers threaded through his as we walk down the beach towards Calla, who is making a small circle of rocks in the sand.

“Block the wind,” she says, without looking up.

“See?” I ask, as Aiden and I drop onto our knees around the makeshift fire pit. “We’re being helpful already.”

Calla sticks her tongue out at me, then straightens up to look around. Her brown eyes carefully scan the beach, searching for anyone nearby.

Satisfied that we’re alone, she takes the evidence out of her hoodie again, dumps it out into the circle of rocks, and starts shredding up the bag.

Aiden and I glance at each other, then lean over the firepit to examine what we stole last night. Calla notices, but she doesn’t say anything. She must appreciate our help more than she’s letting on, because she doesn’t even protest when Aiden reaches out to turn over the bundle of faded fabric in the middle of the pile.

My breath snags in my throat. The fabric is a double-breasted suit. We know that John Botswick was wearing one when he met his end.

The front and shoulders of the suit are marred with dark, russet-brown stains, which I try not to think too hard about. Aiden is careful not to touch that part when he sets it back down.

There’s also a half-destroyed bullet, in its own bag. Calla notices it, and I guess decides it’s not going to burn well. She takes the bullet from the bag, then slips it into the pocket of her hoodie.

Also in its own bag is an old, silver key. It’s unmarked, and attached to no keychain.

“That won’t burn,” Aiden observes, and Calla reaches for it. She opens the bag, lets the key fall onto her palm.

“What does it unlock?” I ask, and Calla shrugs.

“I dunno. This is my first time seeing this stuff, too.”

She turns the key over in her hand, thinks for a second, then tosses it to Aiden. He clearly didn’t expect her to, but he catches it.

“Keepsake for you.” Calla gets back to shredding up the paper bag, not looking at us. “Don’t say I wasn’t grateful for your help.”

Aiden and I stare at her, caught totally by surprise. Smiling to himself, Aiden slips the key into his pocket.

I turn back to the pile of evidence, extract another bag. Inside is a small pocket notebook. I slip it out of the bag, and find a handwritten note tucked into it, between the cover and the first page.

Preston - this is the address of the house that collapsed on the same night as Botswick’s murder. We sure they’re unrelated? Why did Botswick write it down & stitch the notebook into his jacket? May want to send a uniform to the site to have another look.

Preston. That’s the name of the detective that Floyd interviewed when he looked into the case. Preston didn’t tell Floyd about the supposedly unrelated collapse of a house, so I guess he ignored this note from one of his officers.

I flip open the notebook and steal a look at the address before Calla plucks it out of my hand and tosses it back into the pile.

There are other things, too - a pair of men’s shoes, a piece of green ribbon, a cigarette butt, and some very dark-tinted sunglasses. Before Aiden and I can get a good look at any of it, Calla stuffs the shredded paper bag all throughout the pile, then slips a shiny metal lighter out of her pocket.

She does something to the base of the lighter, and it opens. Lighter fluid comes spilling out over the evidence.

Calla stops with just enough left to keep the lighter functional, then closes it up again.

“Let’s hope this does it,” she says. “I was gonna pick up a bottle of whiskey or something to help this burn, but - I didn’t know if that would bother you, Aiden.”

“Oh.” Aiden blinks at her, surprised again. “Yeah, actually, it’s - it’s good that you didn’t. Thanks.”

Calla nods. She sits there for a moment, looking down at the evidence.

She reaches out slowly, and picks up the cigarette butt.

I didn’t notice before, but there’s some lipstick on the end. Bright red in color.

Calla stares down at it for a long, silent moment, her expression complicated. Then she tosses it back into the pile.

She flicks on the lighter, and touches it to the evidence. Flames start to spread, following the trail of the lighter fluid, but the wind and snow threaten to put them out.

Aiden shifts by my side.

I know without looking at him that he’s covertly using his magic. His heat wavers as he shifts his focus into the firepit.

The little fire gives a sudden, muffled roar. The flames leap up and burst into life.

“Whoa.” Calla sits back, startled. “Guess we didn’t need the whiskey, after all.”

We watch until it's all one big heap of ashes. The wind blows them away, but Calla sifts through the sand when it’s cool enough, making sure that we’re not leaving anything behind. Then she has us disperse the firepit rocks around the beach, some into the water.

When we’re done, Calla gives the scorched sand a kick. It sprays up into the air, catches on the breeze, and scatters.

In typical Calla style, there’s no sign that she was ever here at all.

Right before we leave, she slips the bullet fragment from her pocket and hurls it out into the sea. It’s a good throw, but I sense Aiden shifting the air, the temperature currents, pushing the bullet even further along in its trajectory.

It goes far, and disappears.

Calla stands there, staring out at the water. Then she nods to herself, apparently satisfied.

“We work together pretty well, don’t you think?” I ask her, as we walk back up the beach.

“Yeah,” Aiden chimes in. “We should team up more often.”

Calla makes a skeptical face at us, but doesn’t say anything.

When we get to the parking lot, she stops with the door of the SUV open, looking at us.

“Thank you,” she says abruptly. “For helping me keep my person safe.”

“No problem,” I tell her. “I mean, it was terrifying, but - no problem.”

“You should let us meet your person,” Aiden adds.

Calla lets out a sharp laugh, shakes her head. She gives us a little see-ya salute, then climbs into the SUV.

Aiden and I watch her drive away. Snow spills down in every direction, but it sizzles and melts on Aiden’s heat before it can land on us.

“We should call Floyd,” I finally say.

“Oh, man.” Aiden breaks into a sudden, wide grin. “He’s gonna be so hype when he hears we got a look at the evidence.”

“I can hear it right now,” I answer.

We say it together - “Absolutely dynamite!” - and then both start to laugh. Aiden slips his arm around my shoulders, presses a kiss onto my forehead.

“Before we call Floyd,” he rumbles, toying with the collar of my flannel, “We should spend some time in bed. We ended up on the couch, last night.”

“Interesting, Callahan.” I bite my lip, smiling up at him. “I notice you said spend some time in bed, but not sleep.”

Aiden smirks at me, ruffles my hair. “I know what I said, Keane.”

I laugh again, take his hand, and lead the way back to my car. I stop next to it, searching for my keys in the pockets of my jeans - then catch sight of Aiden in the side view mirror, looking at me.

I go very still, taking in the expression on his face.

I understand exactly why Calla could tell that we’re together just by the way that Aiden looks at me.

I turn around, and he quickly regains control of his expression, looks all casual.

“What’s-?” he begins, but I lean up to kiss him, cutting him off.

Aiden catches me, startled, then kisses me back, smiling against my mouth.

When I pull back, I wrap my arms around him. Put my cheek against his chest, sink into his warmth.

For a moment, Aiden doesn’t move or react. Then, very slowly, he folds his arms around me, too. He kisses the top of my head, rests his cheek against it.

The snow tumbles down, but I can’t bring myself to let Aiden go for a good long minute. I just stand there, holding tightly to my Companion Plant.

My heart full of love, my arms full of him.