It was not a date.
So there was no need for anything fancy. Following Ethan's suggestion, they drove to a seafood and lobster restaurant.
Not long after they ordered, the waiter brought out a large platter of oysters and four steamed Boston lobsters, each weighing about two pounds.
With the side dishes, the table was completely full.
For them, that was not a problem.
—Do you want to order anything else? —Ethan asked as he opened the bottle of Macallan.
—Ice is enough.
Ethan signaled the waiter, filled the glasses, and picked up an oyster.
He squeezed lemon over it and swallowed it in one bite.
He raised his glass.
—Cheers.
—Cheers.
Ethan drank it in one go.
He set the glass firmly back on the table.
Fresh seafood and strong whisky.
A perfect combination.
—Damn, this tastes great —Sumner said after drinking.
At the precinct, she was always immaculate, almost like a federal agent.
—Now I understand why you like it —she added, turning the glass in her hand— It has a lot of layers.
—Did you check my background?
Ethan tore off the lobster head, pulled out the meat, dipped it in butter, and brought it to his mouth.
—No. It wasn't necessary.
Sumner shook her head with a smile.
—Detective Ethan Morgan is pretty well known —Sumner commented as she slowly swirled the whisky in her glass— Every time you go to Molly's, you order Macallan. It's not exactly hard to track you.
She gave him an amused smile before adding:
—And your reputation on the street doesn't help either. Some gangbangers even call you "Reaper."
Ethan let out a small laugh through his nose and shrugged as he took a lobster claw from the plate.
—I didn't even know I had a nickname.
—Trust me, you do. And it's not exactly affectionate.
Ethan shook his head, amused.
—Then I'll tell you a secret.
—Now I'm curious.
Sumner picked up an oyster just as Ethan squeezed the lobster claw a little too hard.
—Crack!
—So… what was the big secret? —Sumner asked.
Ethan raised his glass and took a small sip before answering.
—I can't pick out aromas.
She frowned slightly.
—What do you mean you can't?
—I don't notice those things people talk about when they drink whisky —Ethan explained— You know… "notes of apple," "smoky hints," "dried fruit," "flowers."
He slowly shook his head.
—To me, all of that sounds made up.
That made Sumner laugh.
Ethan pointed at the bottle.
—I only drink Macallan… because it tastes good. That's all I need to know.
Sumner watched him for a few seconds before letting out a more genuine laugh.
—Then I can confess something too.
—Go ahead.
She raised her glass with a guilty expression.
—I don't notice any of those things either. I was just pretending to sound sophisticated.
Ethan stared at her for a second before truly laughing.
She shook her head, amused, as they kept eating.
For a few seconds, the atmosphere became much more relaxed. The soft noise of the restaurant, the clinking of ice in their glasses, and the low music made the conversation feel strangely normal for two Intelligence detectives.
Then Ethan looked at her a little more seriously.
—Now I do want to ask you something.
—Shoot.
—Why did you want to join Intelligence?
Sumner set her fork down on the plate and let out a small sigh.
—Because I got tired of being stuck behind a desk.
Her tone lost some of its lightness.
—I used to spend almost all my time in the office. Reports, analysis, paperwork… I watched other people go out and work real cases while I just organized folders.
She looked down for a moment before continuing.
—Fieldwork was always what I wanted.
Then she looked at him again.
—And honestly, there's no better place to learn real police work than Intelligence at the Twenty-First District.
Ethan remained silent, listening to her.
—I know exactly how Hank works —she continued— This unit's reputation isn't exactly a secret. Everyone knows things are different here.
She gave a faint smile.
—But I also know that if you survive here, you can become a real detective.
Ethan watched her for a few more seconds before slowly nodding.
—That was a pretty honest answer.
—Does that surprise you?
—A little.
The conversation kept flowing naturally between jokes, food, and whisky.
Without realizing it, when Ethan looked at the bottle again, more than half of the Macallan was already gone.
—Keep going? —Ethan asked.
Sumner fanned her flushed face slightly.
—Of course. Second round. I know an excellent bar.
They got into the car shortly after leaving the restaurant. The conversation became quieter during the drive, probably because of the whisky, the accumulated exhaustion from the day, and the low music playing on the radio.
A few minutes later, Ethan parked in front of a dark brick apartment building, fairly normal for the South Side.
He shut off the engine and picked up the half-empty bottle of Macallan.
—Is this it? —he asked, looking at the building.
Sumner nodded as she unbuckled her seat belt.
—Yes.
Ethan followed her inside the building. The lobby was small and a little old, with yellowish lights and the smell of reheated coffee mixed with cheap detergent.
They went up to the third floor.
The hallway was quiet.
Only the distant echo of a television could be heard behind one of the doors.
Sumner walked to the apartment at the end and pulled the keys from her jacket pocket.
Ethan watched her open the door and arched an eyebrow slightly.
—This doesn't look like a bar.
—Of course it is.
Sumner turned on the light, and the apartment lit up immediately.
It was small but cozy. There was a makeshift bar beside the kitchen, several bottles arranged on wooden shelves, warm lights, and soft music playing from an old speaker.
She lifted her arms slightly.
—My private bar —Sumner said, turning toward him with a small smile— Come in. Don't worry, I live alone.
Ethan stayed still for a moment at the entrance, still holding the bottle of Macallan in one hand.
He watched her for a few seconds under the warm apartment light.
And somehow, that made it more dangerous than an armed operation.
"We're just coworkers…" he thought.
But almost immediately, another much clearer thought appeared.
"And besides, you're seeing Erin. Don't do anything stupid."
He exhaled slowly through his nose and looked away before finally stepping into the apartment.
Sumner closed the door behind him while Ethan took a closer look at the place. There was a small bar beside the kitchen, a few bottles arranged on wooden shelves, and a gray sofa in front of a huge television.
Nothing extravagant.
But unexpectedly cozy.
The bar was stocked with a dozen different bottles of liquor. There were also cocktail tools.
—Make yourself at home.
Sumner casually tossed her black jacket onto the sofa.
—My old coworkers used to come here to drink pretty often —Sumner said as she walked behind the small makeshift bar and smiled at him over her shoulder— And let me tell you something, I'm an expert bartender. Order whatever you want.
—Are you sure?
—Absolutely.
Sumner picked up the shaker and began spinning it between her hands with a skill that clearly was not improvised.
—So, Detective… what can I get you?
Ethan set the half-empty bottle of whisky on the bar and stayed thoughtful for a moment, as if he were truly considering the answer. Then a small smile appeared at the corner of his lips.
—A vodka martini. Shaken, not stirred.
Sumner arched an eyebrow, amused.
—Right away… Mr. Bond.
Ethan let out a low laugh and leaned against the bar. The shaker spun a few more times in the air before landing perfectly in her hands.
Ethan rested one arm on the bar while watching her work.
—Do you know why Bond was so insistent about the whole "shaken, not stirred" thing?
—No. Enlighten me.
Sumner smiled slightly as she poured the vodka.
—When you shake a martini, the ice breaks more and melts faster. That makes the drink colder… but also more diluted.
She picked up the shaker and began shaking it with a steady rhythm.
—In theory, Bond did it because a secret agent needed to stay alert. More water, less alcohol concentration.
Ethan let out a small laugh.
—So James Bond ordered watered-down drinks so he wouldn't get drunk.
—Basically.
She poured the martini into the glass and slid it toward him across the bar.
—It makes sense when you think about it. The guy always ended up chasing someone, defusing bombs, or shooting at half a criminal organization.
Ethan picked up the glass and looked at it, amused.
—Well… then you'd better shake mine too.
—I knew you'd come around.
Ethan took a small sip of the martini before looking at her again.
—Are you a Bond fan too?
—Of course —Sumner replied as she picked up the shaker again— I grew up watching those movies.
She pointed at him.
—Now comes the important question.
—Go on.
—What's your favorite movie?
—The World Is Not Enough.
—I figured —Sumner smiled, pouring herself one— Another teenager in love with Sophie Marceau?
—Hey, Sophie Marceau is a French national treasure.
Sumner let her hair down, allowing it to fall like a cascade over her shoulders.
—I have the DVD. Want to watch the movie?
They exchanged a look.
Without saying anything, they grabbed more bottles and headed to the sofa.
The movie kept playing as the blue light from the screen filled the apartment. Sumner continued preparing cocktails behind the small makeshift bar, increasingly relaxed from the alcohol, moving the shaker naturally while the movie's background music played.
Ethan remained reclined on the sofa with the martini in his hand, watching the screen.
Then Sophie Marceau appeared.
The chair scene began slowly: Bond restrained, the tension growing second by second, the perfect mix of sensuality and danger.
Ethan exhaled slowly through his nose without taking his eyes off the television. That scene still worked, even years later.
A few steps away, Sumner also seemed completely absorbed in the movie. She took a small sip from her glass and stood to set the shaker on the bar, but the whisky and martinis were finally starting to take effect.
Her steps faltered slightly.
Ethan reacted on instinct and reached out to catch her before she stumbled, but Sumner lost her balance completely and ended up falling backward directly onto him.
The air seemed to freeze for a moment.
Ethan automatically held his breath as he felt the soft weight of her body against his. The heat, the brush of her legs, the scent of her perfume mixed with alcohol, and her dark hair sliding against his neck made his mind tense all at once.
On the screen, Sophie Marceau was still leaning over Bond while the metal bar slowly moved toward his throat.
Sumner lightly bit her lip as she tried to sit up, but the sunken sofa and the alcohol kept her there for a few more seconds, far too close to Ethan.
The tension of the movie seemed to blend with the tension in the apartment.
Ethan could feel her breath against his skin.
And Sumner, probably carried away by the atmosphere, instinctively gripped Ethan's shirt as she slowly raised her eyes toward him.
Ethan reacted almost on instinct. He held her by the waist and, using the momentum of her fall, rolled her onto the sofa until he was above her. Sumner opened her eyes in surprise and barely shook her head.
—No… this is wrong…
The phrase came out weak and uncertain, but Ethan kept looking at her for a few seconds without moving away. The alcohol, the accumulated tension, the heat of her body so close, and the charged atmosphere of the apartment all seemed to cloud his head.
—Nothing in this world is completely right… —he murmured in a low voice as his fingers closed around the fabric of her shirt.
He pulled it.
Several buttons popped off and fell onto the wooden floor, revealing black lace under the bluish light of the television. On the screen, Bond was still fighting through gunfire and explosions, the music raising the tension inside the apartment even more.
Sumner was breathing fast.
Ethan could feel the warmth of her skin beneath his hands and the brush of her legs, trapping him deeper in the moment.
For an instant, neither of them seemed to be thinking clearly.
And this time, when Ethan leaned closer, she did not pull away.
The kiss was slow at first, uncertain for barely a moment, until all the tension that had built up throughout the night finally broke between them.
Sumner slid one hand over the back of Ethan's neck while he pulled her closer to him on the sofa.
—You can still tell me to stop —he murmured, his voice rough.
Sumner gave a small smile between breaths.
—Shut up…
In the morning, the sound of the phone cut through the apartment.
Ding-a-ling.
Ethan went still and slowly turned his head toward the cell phone vibrating on the table, clearly irritated by the interruption. His hand was still resting on Sumner's waist and, purely by reflex, his fingers tightened slightly.
And that was exactly when both of them truly reacted.
Ethan's eyes widened slightly.
So did Sumner's.
Their eyes met in silence while the phone kept ringing in the background, and suddenly the memories of everything that had happened that night began returning to them with clarity.
Without alcohol, everything was different.
Awkward.
—Hi… —Ethan said with a forced smile— Good morning.
—Shh!
Sumner reacted immediately.
She grabbed the phone.
—Honey, what's wrong?
A soft voice answered on the other end.
—I stopped by before work. I brought you your favorite croissants.
Sumner went pale.
—Open up. I'm already coming upstairs.
—Wait —she replied quickly— I'm in the shower. I'll be out in a minute.
—Okay.
The call ended.
Silence.
—Shit!
Ethan jumped out of bed.
—You have a boyfriend?
He was picking up his clothes from the floor at full speed.
—Yes, and you have a girlfriend too. What do we do now?
—I don't know. But you have to leave now —Sumner snapped, not bothering to cover herself.
Bang, bang, bang!
Knocks on the door.
—Honey, I'm here.
—Shit…
Ethan dressed in a rush. Sumner ran to the bathroom, turned on the shower, and came back.
She fixed the bed.
She grabbed her dirty clothes and the glasses from the night before to take them to the kitchen.
Ethan opened the closet.
—Here—
—No.
Sumner shook her head.
—He always gets ready there.
—Then where?
Ethan looked around.
There was no space under the bed.
Sumner pointed to the window.
—There… the fire escape.
Sumner hurriedly pointed toward the window while watching him finish buttoning his shirt as fast as possible.
—Understood —Ethan replied, adjusting his jacket— This never happened… and let's not make it weird at the office.
—Yes, yes, I get it —she whispered desperately as she heard movement in the building hallway— Now go!
Ethan gave a small, amused smile when he saw her panic.
He stepped closer one last time, stole a quick kiss from her, and gave her bare backside a playful smack before pulling away.
—I'll see you later at the office…
—Ethan, seriously… go.
She was still speaking in a low, nervous voice when he opened the window and climbed outside.
A blast of icy air immediately hit Ethan's face.
The cold helped clear his head a little as he quickly descended the metal fire escape, his boots softly echoing against the building's damp steps.
He went down the metal stairs quickly, his boots ringing softly against the wet steps while the alley lights barely illuminated his silhouette.
When he reached the last section, he simply dropped.
—Thud.
He landed with a small jump on the wet pavement and calmly adjusted his jacket, still breathing slightly hard. For an instant, he looked up toward the third-floor window.
A small smile appeared on his face. Then he shoved his hands into his pockets and began walking away through the dark alley as cold smoke slowly escaped from his mouth.
Inside the car, he lit a cigarette.
—That was worse than a shootout…
Ethan did not turn the key until the car disappeared at the end of the street. He turned the vehicle around and drove in the opposite direction.
He bit down on the filter, took a deep drag from his cigarette, and slowly exhaled the smoke. He had not even known she had a boyfriend, so why should he feel guilty? Oh, only because of Erin. Well, what she did not know would not hurt her. Besides, he did not want to cause problems at the office.
And he knew Sumner would not say anything. If Hank found out, he would throw her out of the unit without hesitation, and he would probably beat the hell out of Ethan too. Besides, this would not happen again. He would leave it as a funny anecdote.
Thinking that, Ethan stepped on the accelerator with enthusiasm and found a fast-food restaurant for breakfast.
Just as he was calmly enjoying his coffee, the phone near him vibrated again.
This time, it was a call from Hank. He reached over and answered.
—There's still an hour before work starts. Can't whatever you're doing wait?
—It's an emergency. We need to move now.
Hank muttered an address and then hung up.
Ethan stuffed the bread into his mouth messily and drank the coffee in a couple of gulps. He pulled out some loose change, dropped it on the counter, and quickly left.