She perked right up. “Yes. A thousand times yes. And maybe camping?”
“I’ll allow it,” I teased. “As long as you remember that the wildlife out there doesn’t give a single damn how cute you are.”
“Yet,” she corrected. “You haven’t seen me try to befriend a bear.”
I groaned. “Why would you say something so horrible?”
She snorted. “Legend said the same thing last night.”
“Because Lunchbox is a smart man.” I flicked her a grin. “Also because none of us want to fight a bear on your behalf.”
“You wouldn’t?”
“Oh, I would. All of us would. We’d win too. But the paperwork would be hell.” Not to mention none of us were fans of being mauled. “Remember what happens to tourists who want to pet the murder cows.”
Grace burst out laughing again and then grew quieter, softer, as we dipped around a bend and the mountains opened up in front of us?—
“Last night was beautiful,” she murmured. “The stars.”
Her voice carried that quiet awe she only used with things that made her feel safe. Or alive. Or both.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “You know, most folks never get to see the Milky Way like that. Too much light pollution.”
“You turned off every single light in the house,” she said, amused.
“Operation Stargaze,” I corrected. “Very important mission.”
She flashed me another dazzling smile. “Thank you for showing me the constellations.”
“Anytime,” I said. “You picked them up fast.”
“I liked how you explained them. How they connect. How old they are. How people used to navigate by them.” She paused. “It felt… whimsical and real all at once.”
“Good.” I reached over and brushed my knuckles against her thigh, brief but intentional. “You deserve things that make the world feel big in the right ways.”
She swallowed, staring out at the horizon. Something in her shifted—subtle but real. A tightening. A breath she held a beat too long.
“Voodoo?” she said quietly.
“Yes, Firecracker?”
She hesitated, and that right there was unusual. Grace did a lot of things—ran headfirst into danger, loved recklessly, laughed like she meant it—but hesitation? That wasn’t her unless something mattered.
She twisted her hands once, then exhaled.
“I’ve been thinking,” she said finally. “About going back to work.”
I didn’t react. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t give her the wide-eyed panic she might’ve been bracing for.
Instead, I let the truck roll steady down the mountain road and asked, calm as anything?—
“Okay. Talk to me.”
She looked at me then—really looked—and I saw every piece of what she wasn’t saying yet.
Her independence.
Her identity.
