TWENTY
Deacon
By the timewe get back in the Urus after dropping Paul at the Puck Pad, and I’m latching Savannah’s car seat into the base, she slides into the passenger seat. I like this too much.
When I get in, she runs her hand along the center console like she’s reading it. “So, what exactly is this thing capable of?”
I smile because she sounds impressed, and it may be pathetic, but I like the way that question feels. “Six hundred and forty-one horsepower. It handles like a supercar. Looks like a bully in traffic, but it floats.”
“That is ridiculous.” She laughs softly, eyes bright. “In a good way.”
“It is ridiculous,” I agree, “but she deserves it.”
“She?” She arches a brow.
I nod. “She. The Urus is definitely ashe.”
She laughs again, soft and warm. “And did she come with the exact base for Savannah’s car seat?”
Ah. There it is. The question that, if answered honestly, wouldn’t just scare her, but might push her away.
I shake my head slowly and decide I will not have lies between us. “That was me. Feeling stuff, I have never felt and failing at holding back, so I don’t scare you away.”
She lifts her chin. “I don’t scare easily, Deacon. But I’m not…”
“Wasn’t expecting this either. But that’s the tell, isn’t it?”
She rests her head back against the seat and looks out the window, and silence settles in. Not the brittle kind. Not the kind that says, “Back off.” The kind that sinks into the car like warm air, giving breath to everything that was just said.
It hits me all at once. The honesty. The trust. The fact that she did not try to redirect, correct, or deny.
I turn onto Old Fulton Street, the one that curves under the Brooklyn Bridge, where the River Café lights shimmer against the water.
The moment feels too big to let pass, so I ease the Urus to the curb. Smooth. Controlled. A gentle stop.
She straightens a little. “Are we okay…?”
“Get out,” I say quietly.
Her brows lift. “What?”
“You’re driving.”
Her hesitation lasts half a second. Maybe less. Then she unbuckles and opens the door.
That hits me harder than anything she has said or left unspoken. I get out too, walk around the hood, and she is already sliding into the driver’s seat. Confident. Calm. Not a flicker of fear on her face.
A growl slips out before I even think. “You have no idea what that strength does to me. That confidence. That fire, Claudia, it is unreal.”
She looks up at me like she hears every word loud and clear. So, I lean down and kiss her. Not rushed. Not needy. Not an ending. Just a slow, sure press of my mouth to hers that tells her this pull is very quickly becoming too hard to deny.
She kisses back with the same steady confidence she does everything else, and for a second, with the bridge humming above us and the river behind us, I am absolutely gone for her.
We break just enough to breathe, my forehead pressed to hers, “Anyone ever tell you how incred—” She cuts me off.
“Nope,” she smiles as she pulls back, adjusts the mirrors, checks on Savannah, and then pulls into the lane with the same control I saw in her eyes a minute ago.
I watch her, completely undone.
