Adrian was already waiting outside her building when Elise came down.
He leaned casually against the hood of his car, a sleek black Lexus that looked far too elegant for their street. His arms were crossed, his sleeves rolled halfway up, exposing the veins in his forearms and the quiet confidence in the way he stood—still, calm, aware.
"Morning, beautiful," he said when he saw her.
She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched. "You really commit to the compliments, huh?"
"I only say what I mean."
"That's dangerous."
"I'm a dangerous man," he said with a grin.
She laughed and climbed into the passenger seat.
They drove in silence for a while, the kind that wasn't awkward or heavy—just easy. Adrian played some low, jazzy music through the speakers, something soothing, and Elise leaned back against the seat, letting herself sink into the moment.
"So where are we going?" she asked finally.
"You'll see."
"That's cryptic."
"You'll like it. Promise."
"You always say that."
"And so far," he said, eyes still on the road, "have I been wrong?"
She didn't answer. Because he hadn't.
Not yet.
They pulled up to an open field lined with art installations—giant metal sculptures and bright abstract pieces scattered across the grass like a museum exploded into nature.
Elise stepped out of the car slowly, her eyes wide.
"This is the sculpture park," she said.
Adrian rounded the car and joined her. "You've been?"
"Once. Years ago. For a college paper."
"I figured you'd like it. You seem like the type who likes to get lost in strange places."
She smiled. "That sounds like a compliment."
"It is."
They walked through the winding paths, stopping at each piece to wonder aloud what the artist had meant—or if they'd meant anything at all.
They paused in front of a giant twisted wire structure shaped like a woman with her hands over her eyes.
"What do you think this one says?" Adrian asked.
Elise tilted her head. "It says... 'If I don't look at the truth, maybe it won't destroy me.'"
Adrian looked at her. "That was fast."
"I've written that line before."
He raised a brow. "You're a poet now?"
"No," she said. "Not really. Just... someone who watches too much Dateline."
"Still working on your article?"
"Which one?" she asked. "The 'How to Spot a Killer on a Dating App' or the 'Why Women Fall for the Wrong Men' essay?"
"Both sound oddly specific."
"They are."
He chuckled. "You really do have a thing for darkness, don't you?"
Elise looked up at the wire sculpture again. "I don't think it's a thing. It's more like... I just want to understand it. The darkness. The people who do terrible things. I've always been fascinated by how someone gets to that point."
Adrian watched her now, more curious than amused.
"Is that why you write true crime?"
She nodded. "Yeah. Ever since I was a kid. My dad was a detective—until he burned out. I think that stuck with me. He used to come home with stories—things he probably wasn't supposed to tell. But he did. He wanted someone to listen. And I did."
Adrian tilted his head. "So you're carrying on the family legacy?"
"Maybe." She paused. "Except I don't want to just write about what happened. I want to write about why it happened. Why people ignore red flags. Why they walk into traps they should've seen coming."
There was a stillness between them now.
Elise wasn't even sure why she was sharing all of this. It just spilled out—like she'd been holding it in for too long and his silence made it safe.
Adrian stepped a little closer. "And what's the end goal? A book?"
She nodded, eyes brightening. "A real one. A full-length deep dive into a case no one's solved yet. I want to interview families, survivors, detectives. I want to dig through cold cases and find the threads people missed. I want to write something that matters."
Adrian smiled at her, but not in a patronizing way. He looked... impressed. Like he saw the fire in her and didn't want to snuff it out.
"I think you'll do it," he said.
She raised an eyebrow. "You don't even know if I'm a good writer."
"I know you're stubborn. And passionate. That's usually enough."
Elise looked away, cheeks warm.
"You know," she said softly, "every guy I've told that to—about the true crime stuff—they always get weird. They either joke about being next on my list, or they start acting like I'm going to psychoanalyze them."
Adrian leaned closer. "What makes you think I'm not already nervous?"
"Because you haven't blinked since I said 'cold cases.'"
He laughed. "That's because I'm imagining the two of us breaking into evidence rooms together. You, in gloves. Me, whispering 'Hurry up, we're going to get caught.'"
Elise snorted. "You'd be the worst partner in crime."
"Or the best," he said. "Depends on the crime."
They sat on the edge of a grassy hill, looking out over the sculptures.
Adrian leaned back on his elbows, glancing at her sideways. "So what's the case you'd want to write about? If you could pick any?"
She hesitated. "There was this one... a girl who disappeared in the '90s. Sarah Nolan. Fifteen years old. Vanished walking home from school. They found her backpack but not her body. Her best friend got interviewed years later and said Sarah had been scared. Like someone was watching her."
"That's chilling."
"I read everything about it. Old newspaper clippings, online forums, even transcripts of police interviews that someone posted online. I think about it all the time. That feeling—knowing someone is right behind you, but not knowing who."
Adrian studied her. "You want to find her."
"I want to find the truth. Even if it's ugly."
"You ever think about what that would do to you?"
Elise turned to him. "What do you mean?"
"If you find the truth, and it's worse than you imagined... what then?"
She didn't answer right away.
Finally, she said, "Then I write about it. Because pretending the world is kind doesn't make it safer."
Adrian nodded slowly. "You really are fearless."
"I'm not," she said. "But I am curious."
He looked at her for a long time.
Then, quietly: "That's even more dangerous."
They stayed at the park until the sun began to dip low, casting golden light across the field. Adrian offered to drive her home again, but she declined.
"I want to walk," she said. "Clear my head."
He didn't press. Just leaned in, kissed her cheek again—so close to her lips it made her breath catch—and whispered, "Don't go falling for a missing person case before our second dinner."
She grinned. "Too late."
On the walk back, Elise kept hearing her father's voice in her head.
"The most dangerous people don't hide their secrets. They wrap them in truth."
She didn't know why that came to mind. Maybe because she'd just spent the afternoon with someone who felt too good to be real.
Maybe because she knew what it looked like when people were hiding something.
Maybe because she was falling for him, just a little, and that scared her.
Still, she opened her notes app and typed something new under her story ideas:
"The Boyfriend Code: Why We Don't Always Run When We Should."
Then, on impulse, she added another entry under her personal file.
Adrian Black – Not a red flag. Not yet. But keep both eyes open.