“Damn, Claire,” Sara cut in, half-laughing. “Let the man breathe between questions.”
“It’s fine,” Jaxon said gently. “It’s just for a day. I’ll be back Tuesday.”
Claire’s jaw tightened. “That’s two whole days gone.”
Jaxon nodded. “It’s quick. The meeting’s only a few hours, but the new manager’s green and they want to get it right. After last time... I can’t blame them.”
Carter chuckled. “You remember what happened in Chicago?”
Jaxon gave him a look. “This is home now. I’m not going anywhere.”
Still, Claire stood quietly and walked toward the dock, the sounds of laughter fading behind her.
Sara watched her go, then turned to Jaxon. “She’s not mad. She just knows time’s short. She’s trying to make every second count.”
Jaxon rubbed the back of his neck. “I was gonna ask if she wanted to come with me. I’ve got miles to burn—it wouldn’t cost a thing.”
“She’ll go,” Sara said, already rising from her seat. “Let me go soften her up.”
About twenty minutes later, the sun was fading and the drinks were nearly gone. Everyone had circled back around the table, picking at crusts and sipping what was left.
Jaxon stood, collecting a few plates. “I’ll go clean up.”
“I got it,” Claire said quickly. “Before we head back.”
Jaxon paused, just looking at her.
That look—that small, quiet thing between them—felt louder than the laughter, heavier than the pizza, sharper than any goodbye.
He smiled, sat back down, and kept the conversation going.
But something had changed.
Something had cracked.
And no one at the table—not even him—could pretend they didn’t feel it.
25
Laced Luggage
Clairebarelyslept.
She spent half the night doing what every overthinker does before a trip—packing, then unpacking, then repacking the same three outfits like rearranging them might somehow calm her nerves. Jeans. T-shirts. A dress she might not wear but had to bring. Heels, because the dress. Tennis shoes, in case they wandered downtown or stumbled across some adventure.
By the time she zipped the bag and glanced at the clock, it was 2:30 AM.
“Perfect,” she mumbled, then jumped in the shower just to wash the indecision off her skin.
She finally crashed into bed, only for her alarm to jolt her awake six hours later at 8:30. Groggy, but wired with anticipation, she took another shower just to feel something close to human.
The only thing missing? Coffee.
She threw on jeans and a T-shirt, tugged her suitcase behind her, and headed downstairs.
The minute she hit the last step—
“Damn,” Sara said, sipping from her own mug. “It’s the end of July, not January. You’re gonna sweat your ass off in those jeans.”
