"No." The answer comes without hesitation. "I want everyone here to know you're mine."
Her breath catches. "They can probably tell."
"Good." I lean forward, closing the distance between us. "Because you are. Mine. And I'm yours. And I'm done pretending otherwise."
She smiles, soft and sure and beautiful. "I'm not pretending either."
Certainty anchors in my ribs. This is real. This is happening. And I'm not running.
When we leave the diner, I keep my hand on her lower back. Linda and Margaret wave as we pass, and I nod to them. Let them talk. Let the whole town know. I don't care. All I care about is the curvy woman beside me who fits against my side like she was made to be there.
In the truck, I pull her across the console and kiss her. It’s deep and claiming and full of promise.
"Take me home," she whispers.
"Which home?" I ask because I need to know. Need to hear her say it.
"Yours." Her eyes hold mine, dark and certain. "Always yours."
I kiss her again, and the word echoes in my head with every heartbeat.
Mine. It’s all I can think about on the mountain roads home.
My phone buzzes between us the moment we pull into my driveway.
I ignore it and lean in to kiss her, but the buzz continues. Insistent. Wrong. Base emergency alert.
The screen lights up: STRUCTURAL FIRE. ALL UNITS RESPOND.
Her hand tightens on my arm. "Brooks—"
"I have to go. I don’t have time to drive you home." The words taste like ash, but I'm already starting the truck. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry." She cups my face, and her eyes are steady. Trusting. "Go. I'll see you when you get back."
The certainty in her voice makes my chest ache. I kiss her once more, hard and desperate, then pull away.
"I'll call you," I promise.
"I know."
I watch her walk across my driveway, making sure she's inside safely before I drive away. The mountains loom dark against the sky, and the radio crackles with dispatch codes I know too well.
But for the first time in seven years, when I close my eyes, it's not Marcus's face I see.
It's hers.
And she's waiting for me to come home.
Chapter five
Elorie
Three days ago, Brooks got called to that structural fire. Three days of him texting me every few hours like he's checking I'm still real. Three days of falling asleep to his voice on the phone and waking up to good morning messages that make my chest warm.
Three days, and I still can't stop replaying the moment he drove away into the dark.
Now we're at Post 317, The Ridgehouse, the veteran’s hall where the Saturday market sprawls across the courtyard in a mix of craft booths and food vendors.
