The suburban street was a muted canvas of gray that late afternoon, the kind of quiet that presses down on you like a heavy hand. Agnes strode along the sidewalk, her boots clicking with purpose against the concrete, her auburn hair pulled back in a tight ponytail that swayed with each determined step. She was a woman who didn’t wait for life to happen—she seized it by the throat. But even she couldn’t predict the storm brewing, both in the sky and in the shape of a man she thought she’d buried in her past.
A low whistle cut through the stillness, sharp and familiar, stopping her dead. She didn’t need to turn to know who it was. Her lips pressed into a thin line, but her hazel eyes sparked with something dangerous as she pivoted slowly, arms crossed over her leather jacket.
“Well, damn,” came the drawl, smooth as sin. “If it ain’t Agnes Carver, looking like she could burn a man alive with just one glare.”
Winchester leaned against a lamppost a few feet away, all roguish charm and devil-may-care grin. His dark hair was tousled just so, and his leather jacket hung open over a fitted black shirt that clung to his frame in a way that was entirely too distracting. He hadn’t changed a bit in the three years since he’d vanished without a word—not a call, not a text, nothing. And yet, here he was, looking at her like they’d just parted yesterday over coffee.
“Winchester,” she said, her voice a blade wrapped in velvet. “Didn’t think ghosts walked the streets in broad daylight. Or are you just here to haunt me with that sorry excuse for a smile?”
He chuckled, pushing off the lamppost and sauntering closer, hands shoved casually in his pockets. “Oh, come on, Aggie. You know I’m no ghost. Flesh and blood, right here, ready to make up for lost time.”
“Lost time?” She arched a brow, stepping forward so they were toe-to-toe, her gaze pinning him like a butterfly to a board. “You mean the time you spent running off without so much as a ‘see ya later’? I should slap that smirk right off your face, but I’d hate to ruin my manicure on trash.”
His grin didn’t waver, though his eyes darkened with something unreadable. “Fair enough. I deserve that. But how ‘bout you let me buy you a drink to apologize? Or at least take a walk with me. For old times’ sake.”
Agnes scoffed, but there was a flicker of curiosity in her chest she couldn’t quite smother. She hated how his voice still did things to her, how it coiled around her like smoke, tempting her to breathe it in. “You’ve got some nerve, Winchester. Fine. A walk. But only ‘cause I wanna hear what kind of bullshit excuse you’ve cooked up. Lead the way, Romeo.”
He gestured down the street with a mock bow, and they fell into step, the air between them crackling like a live wire. The first drops of rain began to fall, light and tentative, dotting the pavement as they walked. Agnes kept her chin high, her tone sharp as they bantered.
“So,” she started, shooting him a sidelong glance, “where’d you disappear to? Off seducing some other poor soul who didn’t know better? Or were you just hiding from me ‘cause you knew I’d kick your ass?”
Winchester laughed, a low, rumbling sound that sent an unwelcome shiver down her spine. “Hiding? Nah, darlin’. I was... let’s call it handling business. The kind that don’t play nice with goodbyes. But I thought about you. Every damn day.”
“Oh, spare me,” she snapped, though her lips twitched with a reluctant smirk. “If I had a dollar for every sweet lie you’ve told, I’d be sipping margaritas on a yacht right now. You’re lucky I’m even giving you the time of day.”
“Luck’s my middle name,” he shot back, winking. “And you’re still here, aren’t you? That’s gotta mean somethin’.”
“It means I’m bored,” she retorted, but her eyes lingered on the way the rain was starting to dampen his hair, making it curl just slightly at the ends. Damn him for still looking so good.
The rain picked up, a steady patter turning into a full-on downpour in moments. Agnes cursed under her breath as the water soaked through her jacket, plastering her hair to her face. Winchester wasn’t faring much better, his shirt clinging to his chest in a way that made her momentarily forget how to form words. They ducked under the overhang of a shadowy alley, both of them laughing despite themselves, breathless from the sudden deluge.
“Look at us,” Winchester said, shaking water from his hair like a damn dog, droplets flying everywhere. “Soaked to the bone and still hotter than hell. You gonna admit you missed this, Aggie?”
“Missed what? Getting drenched with a jackass who can’t keep his word?” She swiped a wet strand of hair from her face, stepping closer to him, her voice dropping to a dangerous purr. “Keep dreaming, Winchester. I’m only here ‘cause I’m waiting for the punchline. What’s your game?”
Before he could answer, a distant wail sliced through the air—sirens, sharp and urgent, echoing off the brick walls. Winchester’s smirk faltered for the briefest of seconds, a crack in his armor that Agnes caught immediately. Her eyes narrowed, and she grabbed his arm, her grip firm.
“What the hell was that look for?” she demanded, her tone all business now. “You in some kinda trouble, or did you just forget to pay a parking ticket?”
He tried to play it off, shrugging with that infuriating nonchalance. “Nothin’ you need to worry your pretty head about. Just a little noise in the distance.”
“Don’t patronize me,” she hissed, stepping even closer, her voice low and lethal. “I see police lights flashing down the street, and you’re acting like a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Spill it, Winchester, or I walk right now and leave you to whatever mess you’ve made.”
He hesitated, his jaw tightening, and for the first time since he’d reappeared, she saw something like real concern in his eyes. The sirens grew louder, the red and blue lights flickering closer through the rain. He grabbed her hand, his touch warm despite the chill of the downpour, and tugged her deeper into the alley.
“Alright, fine,” he muttered, his voice rough. “I might’ve pissed off some folks who don’t take kindly to being crossed. We gotta move, Aggie. Now.”
She yanked her hand free but kept pace with him, her boots splashing through puddles as they hurried through the narrow alley. “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” she snapped, her voice dripping with exasperation. “I let you back into my life for five minutes, and now I’m running from the law? You owe me big, Winchester. And I’m not just talking about a drink. Start talking, or I swear I’ll throw you to the wolves myself.”
He shot her a sidelong grin, even as they picked up speed, the sound of the sirens nipping at their heels. “Always knew you were a firecracker, darlin’. Stick with me, and I’ll tell you everything. Promise.”
Agnes rolled her eyes but didn’t slow down, her heart pounding—not just from the chase, but from the dangerous thrill of being back in his orbit. Whatever trouble he’d dragged her into, she’d be damned if she didn’t get the upper hand. After all, Agnes Carver didn’t play second fiddle to anyone—not even a ghost from her past.
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