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It was Strike who suggested going into the first pub they passed on their way back to the Tube. He wouldn’t admit it to Robin, but his leg was agony after so much standing and walking as they made a survey of the building that had been broken into, exploring back alleys and checking the location and angle of CCTV cameras. He didn’t long for a pint so much as the chance to sit down, though he was hoping a couple of beers would take the edge off his pain enough for the journey back to his flat.
They ducked into the unfamiliar pub and Robin insisted on getting the first round, telling him to bag a table. She had seen him limping more heavily than usual and wondered if this was just an excuse to sit.
Strike sank gratefully into a booth near the back of the pub. Robin brought the drinks over. “Next to the jukebox?” she said, amused. “Feeling musical?”
Strike glanced at it. “Didn’t spot it,” he said. “Well, I’m not moving now.” She put his pint in front of him and he took a long, restorative draught from it.
“So, what do you think?” she said. “Think the suspect could have got in unseen on CCTV?”
They began to discuss the case, but soon found that conversation was difficult whenever anyone played a song on the jukebox next to them. Robin didn’t mind, though. She had never felt the need to fill the air with small talk around Strike. They did companionable silence well together, able to just be in one another’s presence but within their own thoughts, relaxed. She fetched another round, insisting to Strike that he was too wedged in behind the table and it was easier for her to go. He didn’t protest much, confirming her suspicions. Well, she didn’t mind an extended evening in the pub. After a couple more beers he might even consent to a taxi.
The evening slid along, easy company, chats about this and that punctuated by enforced spells of quiet, listening to the music. It felt... romantic, Robin thought hazily, well down her third glass of wine, enjoying the soft lights and the music and the easy company. The tension had smoothed out of Strike’s features and he looked gorgeous. How could she ever have thought otherwise? She sighed.
The current song ended, and the deep tones of Marvin Gaye surrounded her. “I've been really trying, baby...”
“Mm, I love this song,” Robin said, dreamily. She began to hum along, her eyes drifting closed, swaying slightly in her seat. She allowed herself to drift on the music.
Strike watched, entranced. He didn’t often get to look at her, really look, afraid of giving himself away, but with her eyes closed he could feast his upon her. Her red-gold hair glinted in the overhead lights. Her blonde lashes rested against her cheeks. A soft smile played across her delicious lips as she hummed to the music. An urge to kiss her swept over him, and he had to look away.
To his amusement, she began to sing along softly.
“We’re all sensitive people with so much to give...”
She had a sweet voice, and she clearly knew the song well. He was surprised and pleased that she should like soul, rather than the modern stuff that he detested. He listened, enjoying the sound of her singing and her immersion in the music.
He was idly watching her, feeling something that hovered between fondness and desire, when her eyes drifted open and found his. She smiled softly but carried on singing.
“There’s nothing wrong with me loving you...”
It took a few moments for the lyrics to percolate into Strike’s brain, and initially he dismissed them. They were just lyrics, in a song she liked. Weren’t they? So why was she fixing her eyes on him as she sang?
“Giving yourself to me can never be wrong if the love is true.”
Strike swallowed. Suddenly the atmosphere had changed between them. Stop it, he told himself. She’s just singing along to the jukebox.
“I’m asking you, baby, to get it on with me.”
He raised an eyebrow at her, expecting her to giggle as she always did. But she just gazed at him dreamily and carried on singing. He found himself glancing at her wine, but he knew Robin, and he knew that, whilst probably a little tipsy after two and a half glasses, she was still quite aware of what she was doing. His eyes moved back to hers and were captured by her clear gaze. His heart was beating faster now.
Robin wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing, just that she loved this song and it fitted. It fitted the romance of the evening and her mood. It fitted her feelings for Strike. I’m tired of us dancing around each other, she thought. Suddenly it seemed obvious that he was attracted to her too.
“I won’t push you, baby...” she sang on, lost in the song and in his eyes.
Strike watched her, thoughts swirling in his head. She couldn’t be making herself much clearer, he thought. He had begun to suspect, hope, recently that his feelings for her were returned. Time to do something about this, he thought. He could almost hear Nick’s voice in his head telling him to take this chance. Feeling quite light-headed at the thought of what he was about to do, he scooted himself along the bench he was sat on and extended an inviting arm.
Robin didn’t need to be asked twice. Still singing softly, she slipped round the table to sit next to him. His arm along the back of the bench dropped over her shoulders and she leaned in to him.
“Come on, baby, let your love come out,” she sang. “If you believe in love, let’s get it on...”
It was the most natural thing in the world to just kiss her. After all the complications, all the months, all the fears, all the holding back, all the waiting, all the hoping, suddenly it was so very simple. He kissed her.