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Are you busy?” Edrisa knocked lightly on the corner of Malcolm’s desk like it was a door — he has a desk now, but he doesn't have a door — never mind. Anyway— she's not sure how to handle this, because now she’s going to know how he takes his coffee, what he looks like freshly shaved and as yet almost untouched by the grime of the city. She knows she wants to do that every day!
She also knows, from the way his pretty eyes shift to glance over her shoulder as he smiles so charmingly, that he doesn't wanna do that at all. It doesn’t take a profiler.
“Edrisa! Good catch yesterday with that fiber from the broom.“
She feels herself blushing. Blushing. Really. What is she, twelve? ...When Bright’s around, she feels twelve. She just doesn't want to. It's the reason Gil doesn't let her work too closely with him. He thinks the fan-gIrling will get in the way.
"Edrisa?”
“Sorry -- Thanks! -- I got -- I have something for you. A small gift.”
“Oh right, in exchange for the cherry sucker. You’re the very first person ever to reciprocate.”
“I was making something last night, and I thought - well, I thought of you.” She placed the small, pillow-shaped box on his desk, next to his coffee cup.
He smiled wider. Was it one of those forced present smiles? She couldn’t guess. Her feet started her toward the door, and the stairs, and the safety of her workspace.
“Wait! He called, reaching for the box. “Don’t go yet, I haven’t opened it.” He did, and tipped it so that the contents toppled out onto his palm. “It’s a chocolate! You made this?”
She willed herself not to blush again. “I just like tinkering with sweets as a hobby. It’s a chocolate-covered cherry. I don’t usually share them, but...it seemed appropriate under the circumstances.”
Malcolm looked down at the chocolate, now ever-so-slightly melted into his palm. "It's splendid, the way you've swirled the chocolate on the top, and it's glossy, too. I’m honored," he said, and popped the treat into his mouth. To her surprise, he didn’t just eat it, he savored it - hands open like flowers on the desk, eyes closed, chest swelling with a long, slow inhalation.
She noticed her own breath halting in her chest, felt her pulse quicken slightly.
J.T.'s voice shattered the moment. “Bright, do you -- hey Edrisa!” He marched right up, heedlessly, next to her. “Do you have the profile on that mob enforcer yet?”
Malcolm launched into a seamless explanation of the profile, showing no sign of his former rapture. She tore herself away. There was plenty of work to do that would keep her occupied and out of his hair, but she could not shake the vision of him in that moment -- totally focused on something she had made with her own two hands.
*
A couple of days later, after a brace of executed wise guys had come and gone from her tables, she worked off the leftover adrenaline by scrubbing and restocking her lab. Exhaustion arrived with the snick of the last spotless cabinet door; her mind had finally accepted that everything she could do, she had done. She sank into her rolling chair, elbows on aching knees.
She heard a delicate tap on the door frame. “You busy?”
“Mr. Bright,” she mustered a smile for him, noticing that even those muscles felt worn out at the moment. “Can I help you with something?”
“Not now, no, I just...” his brow furrowed as his luminous eyes took her in. “Don’t you want some sleep?”
“I’m headed that way in a minute. Did you know that cats sleep on average sixteen hours out of every twenty-four?”
“I did not. But come to think of it, every cat I’ve ever seen has either been sleeping or bathing, so. Anyway, I don’t want to keep you, I just wanted to give you this.”
He dropped a small, round tin into her hand. “Cocoa butter, for your hands. I know you have to wash frequently, when you’re working, and I imagine a chocolatier needs to, too. So,” he gestured, rather than saying more.
She twisted the lid open, and a delectable waft of chocolate-cherry scent rose to greet her.
“Oh, Mr. Bright, it’s exquisite.”
He grinned. “It’s Malcolm, please. Flip it over, the other side’s unscented.”
“For when I’m in the kitchen! That’s extremely practical, and very thoughtful. Thank you, Malcolm.”
*
She spent a few days pondering how next to respond to their gift exchanges. She could tell that the hand cream was high end, but the container wasn’t large. He had kept to a definition of “small gifts” that she was comfortable with. But this gift had been selected with her in mind, specifically. So, her next offering should be chosen with equal care.
She ordered several items: a scorpion sucker from an online specialty shop, a hilarious gadget for keeping a lollypop clean in one’s pocket or bag, a tie and pocket square with a cherry pattern. She liked all of them, but next to the ingenious little two-sided tin with its elegant script, they seemed silly and ordinary.
She was determined to find the perfect gift. She logged in to Amazon, Etsy, and Ebay at every opportunity, but days stretched into a week, and she found no suitable item.
Instead of wanting to see him every morning, she hid in her lab when she knew he was in the building. When a case brought them into the same room, she smiled and tried to flee subtly instead of crashing from the room as if pursued by bears. When the team shared a celebratory round of beer and triumph at their favorite cop bar, she declined. She had no gift to offer him, and the sight of his friendly smile just reminded her she had failed.
He caught on, of course. It doesn’t take a profiler. Tuesday at lunchtime, he tapped on her door frame again.
“Edrisa? You busy?” he said softly, stepping just into the room.
She flew into her best fake hustle, slinging her messenger bag strap over her head. “I am, actually, I’ve got court this afternoon and I want to get my hair cut bef--”
He extended his hand to her, holding a cherry Dum Dum pop. “For you.”
The breath left her in a whoosh, along with the will to pretext. “Oh Mr. Br-- Malcolm, I’m not very good at this game,” she admitted.
He looked startled. “I think you’re very good at small gifts, and I don’t think it’s a game, do you?”
“No, I don’t. It’s amazing and special and perfect and I can’t do it anymore. I tried, but nothing was right, and now I don’t have any gift for you and I have no idea what to say. I’m so sorry.”
Wordlessly, he took out his perfect white handkerchief and handed it to her, which is when she noticed the tears dripping down her face. She wiped them away, glad she hadn’t made up her face for court yet.
The handkerchief smelled faintly of lavender and sandalwood. Not like a cologne or aftershave, but like it’d been lying in a drawer on potpourri. She wondered if it had.
“I think you’ve given me a perfect gift, Edrisa.” He paused, waited for her to meet his eyes before he continued. “You met me on my own terms, without any of the baggage people usually bring into meeting me. You treated me as a colleague, as a friend. Do you know how rare that is for someone like me?”
“It shouldn’t be. You’re generous and brilliant and insightful. And you’re a good friend.”
“As are you.” he unwrapped the Dum Dum and held it out to her. “we’re even, ok?”
“Ok.” She took the lollypop from his fingers and twirled it thoughtfully. “Do you ever try other kinds of lollypops?”
“I haven’t, but I’m not against it. Why?”
“Because I found an interesting one I thought you might enjoy, but...I wasn’t sure.”
“Give it to me! I insist!”
Quickly, before she could regret it, she rooted around in her messenger bag and pulled out the scorpion pop.
To her shock, he burst into delighted laughter. “Oh my God, it’s perfect!” He squeezed her in an exuberant one-armed hug. “This is exactly what my life needs, Edrisa!”
“A scorpion?” she breathed, slightly light-headed from the physical contact.
He gently squeezed the shoulder in his grip, until she raised her eyes to his. “No silly, a friend.”
