Chapter Text
Robin traces circles on the table with her finger. Sticky, amber, rings of ale. She looks up at Strike.
“I’m tipsy, I think.”
A smile hovers somewhere about the periphery of his mouth, tentative in his scruff. It threatens, like sunshine waiting to break through the clouds. She can see it; she’s been on the lookout for it.
(Is she the cause of it?)
“Yeah,” he says, and she receives an amused flick of dark eyes. “I noticed.”
Robin meets his gaze. Takes a deep breath.
“I’m about to say something stupid.”
His mobile buzzes; the promising moment is broken.