It’s intoxicating.
He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, both of us breathing hard.
“Lark,” he murmurs, voice rough, “if we keep going, I’m not going to be able to pretend I’m not completely gone for you.”
My heart does a wild little spin. “You’re pretending now?” I whisper.
“A little,” he admits. “Helps me not throw you against the mattress and make very questionable choices while we’re on a criminal organization’s kill list.”
A laugh bubbles out of me, shaky and giddy. “You’re very responsible,” I say.
“It’s awful,” he agrees. His thumb strokes along my jaw, slow circles that ground me in my own skin. “Hey,” he says quietly. “Look at me.”
I open my eyes.
The room is dark, but I can see enough—the shape of his eyes, the worry carved into his brow, the softness there that he tries so hard to hide.
“If anything happens,” he says, “if they find us, if this all goes sideways… I need you to know something.”
My mouth goes dry. “That’s not a great lead-in.”
He huffs a breath that could almost be a laugh. “I’m going to do everything I can to make sure we both walk away,” he says. “That’s goal one. That’s the whole point. But if the world decides to be the asshole it usually is, I need you to know… this right here? You. Me. Murder cabin, canned bread, panic brain? It’s the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time.”
My throat tightens. “That’s your romantic speech?” I whisper. “Murder cabin and canned bread?”
“I’m not good at this,” he says. “But I’m trying. For you.”
And somehow that hits harder than any polished line ever could.
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “You’re doing great,” I say softly. “Ten out of ten. Would hide in a murder cabin with again.”
He smiles, small and real. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because when this is over, I’m taking you somewhere that doesn’t have abounty or canned bread attached. And I’m going to kiss you without having to listen for spoons tied to door handles.”
“Ambitious,” I say.
“Worth it.”
I tuck my head under his chin, snuggling closer until my forehead rests against his chest. His arm tightens around me automatically, the most natural movement in the world.
His heartbeat thuds steady under my ear.
Safe.
Warm.
Here.
He presses a kiss to the top of my head, feather-light.
“Sleep, Birdie,” he murmurs. “I’ve got the night shift.”
“You’re allowed to sleep too,” I mumble into his shirt.
“I will,” he says. “Right here. With you.”
My anxiety, which had been hovering at a constant simmer, finally starts to ebb.
The dark outside is still full of unknown threats.
