Nash grinned. “I’m pretty sure our first date involved bats and a creepy professor stalking us, but sure, let’s call tomorrow the official one.”
Amy laughed, the sound warming Nash’s heart. Then her expression sobered slightly. “Nash? What happens when this is all over? When we either find the gold or … don’t?”
The question hung in the air between them, loaded with implications neither of them was ready to fully address. Nash’s life was in Salt Lake, his career just beginning to take off.Amy was in witness protection, her very identity contingent on staying hidden.
“I don’t know,” he admitted honestly. “But I think we’ve been given a second chance here, and I’m not about to waste it.”
Amy studied him for a long moment, then nodded. “Neither am I.”
CHAPTER 10
Amy woke to sunlight streaming through the guest room’s curtains, stretching cautiously and testing her ankle. The swelling had gone down significantly overnight, and while there was still tenderness, she could put weight on it without wincing. Progress.
The house was quiet except for the faint sounds of movement from the kitchen. Nash must be up already. She glanced at the neon clock next to the bed. Seven-fifteen a.m. Early for a Sunday.
When she’d lived with her mother, Sundays had always been church days. “If we can’t keep our names,” she’d say, “at least we can keep our faith.”
Amy padded to the attached bathroom, inspecting her reflection. Her hair was a mess, her eyes still puffy with sleep. But there was something different about her face—a softness that hadn’t been there in years. She touched her lips, remembering Nash’s kisses from yesterday, the gentle pressure of his mouth on hers, the way his arms had encircled her waist …
She shook herself from the memory, splashing cold water on her face. This was dangerous territory. Getting involved with Nash—really involved, not just pretending for Dr. Martinez’sbenefit—complicated an already treacherous situation. And yet, she couldn’t deny the electricity between them, the sense of rightness that settled in her chest whenever he was near.
After a quick shower, Amy pulled on jeans and a sweater, then paused when she heard Nash’s voice from the kitchen. It sounded like he was on the phone.
“… look, I’m just saying we need to be careful how we approach this,” he was saying. “The Ferrantes are just as dangerous as Birch or Banks. They’re organized. They have resources.” A pause. Then Nash said, “Yes, I know. But she’s been through enough already without?—”
She. He was talking about her.
Amy moved into the hallway, making no effort to silence her footsteps.
Nash glanced up at her approach, his expression softening immediately. “Porter, I’ve got to go. Yes, I’ll call you back after—no, we’re not—just—” He made an exasperated sound. “Goodbye, Porter.”
He set his phone down on the counter and smiled at her, that warm, genuine smile that made her heart skip a beat. But there was something else there too—a tension at the corners of his eyes, a tightness to his posture that hadn’t been there yesterday.
“Morning,” he greeted her. “How’s the ankle?”
“Better,” she replied, moving to the coffeepot, where a fresh brew awaited. “Much better.” She raised an eyebrow, pouring herself a cup of coffee.
Nash was dressed more formally than she’d seen him before—dark slacks, a crisp button-down shirt, and a tie that matched his eyes.
“Going somewhere?” she asked.
He looked momentarily surprised. “Church,” he said, as if it were obvious. “It’s Sunday.”
Amy blinked. “I don’t have anything to wear to church.”
Nash’s expression brightened. “Actually, you do. Sort of.” He pointed to a garment bag hanging on the pantry door. “My sister, Cheyenne, leaves clothes here sometimes. I think she might have left a dress that would work.”
Touched by his thoughtfulness, Amy retrieved the bag and unzipped it. Inside was a simple, elegant sundress in a soft green fabric. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured, holding it up.
“The color matches your eyes,” Nash observed. He immediately looked embarrassed at the admission, and he cleared his throat. “Service starts at nine, so we have about an hour. There’s eggs and toast if you’re hungry.”
Amy nodded, trying to contain the warmth spreading through her chest. “Thank you. I’ll get changed after breakfast.”
They ate in companionable silence, the events of yesterday—the cave, the bats, Dr. Martinez, their kiss—hovering unspoken between them. Several times Amy caught Nash watching her, his gaze quickly shifting away when she noticed.
“So,” she finally said, unable to bear the tension, “about yesterday …”
Nash set down his fork. “Which part?”
