Even though apparently we definitelyaregoing hunting in a few weeks.
Cool cool cool.
He’s looking at me with that assessing gaze again.
“You did good today,” he says finally.
My face heats up. “Did I?”
He nods. “Yes.”
I should say something. Should acknowledge the moment. Should maybe even hint at the reason I’m being weird about this.
But I can’t.
So instead I smile and say, “Frederick approves of the training. He told me.”
Marco’s mouth twitches. “Did he.”
“Yep. Said the whistles were very effective and the laminated cards were an excellent touch.”
He grins. “High praise from a snail.”
“The highest,” I agree.
We climb into the Range Rover. Jag starts the engine. The park disappears behind us as we head back toward the city.
Ben’s already asleep. Marco’s checking his phone for work stuff. And I’m sitting in the backseat trying not to think about how close I came to completely losing it.
Trying not to think about how Marco saw me wobble and didn’t make it weird.
Trying not to think about the fact that in a few weeks, he might actually take Ben hunting for real. And I’ll have to decide whether to admit the truth or keep masking with jokes about brunch and museums.
When you realize you can’t hide forever.
When you realize maybe you don’t want to.
My phone buzzes. Text from Amara.How’d the drill go? You survive the wilderness?
I type back:Barely. But Frederick was very brave.
Too many plush snail jokes? Definitely too many.
Three dots. Then:You’re insane. Love you.
Love you, too.
I pocket my phone and watch the city grow closer through the window. Concrete and glass and very, very few trees.
My comfort zone.
My safe space.
But as we pull onto the highway, I catch Marco’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Just for a second. Just long enough to see something that might be understanding.
And I think maybe, possibly, someday, I might be able to tell him the truth.
But not today.
