The age difference was impossible to ignore. Not because Beau Arlen ever mentioned it. Quite the opposite. You noticed it every time he called you “kid” when he was annoyed, every time he looked at you like you were about to make the worst decision of your life, every time he and Cassie exchanged those looks whenever you volunteered for something dangerous. You worked for Cassie Dewell. Which apparently meant Beau had appointed himself your personal headache. Today was no different. “You followed him alone?” You didn’t even bother looking up from the file spread across Cassie’s desk. “He wasn’t dangerous.” “He was a suspect.” “He was jogging.” Beau stared at you. You could feel it without even looking. The office had been empty for ten minutes now. Cassie had conveniently disappeared, leaving the two of you alone. Again. You finally glanced up. Big mistake. Beau was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, jaw tight. “You worry too much.” A short laugh escaped him. Not amused. “And you don’t worry enough.” You rolled your eyes. “I’m still alive.” “Yeah.” The answer came fast. Too fast. Something flickered across his face before he looked away. Like that wasn’t the point. The silence stretched. Then you leaned back in your chair. “What exactly is your problem with me, Sheriff?” Beau’s eyes lifted back to yours. Steady. Uncomfortable. The kind of look that made it hard to remember what you’d been about to say. For a second, nobody moved. Then Beau pushed off the doorway and crossed the room. One step. Then another. Until he stopped on the other side of the desk. Close enough now. His gaze didn’t leave yours. “You really wanna know?” The teasing reply died in your throat. Because suddenly he wasn’t looking at you like Cassie’s assistant. Or like a reckless kid. Or even like someone he was angry with. And somehow that was worse. Beau tilted his head slightly. Waiting. “Well?” he asked quietly. “You gonna keep pretending you don’t know what my problem is, or do I actually have to say it?”