The word stuck.
Her chest tightened. When was the last time she'd let herself have this? Real friends. Real conversation. Not just surface-level politeness or professional courtesy.
Not since Tessa.
Buddy had cracked something open. These women—Baily, Trinity, Audra—were slipping through that crack, filling spaces she'd kept empty for years.
She'd had Trent once. But back then, she'd been too raw. Too aware that connection meant attachment and attachment meant loss. She'd pushed him away before he could leave first.
Buddy was different. Bigger. Brighter. Something solid she could actually hold onto.
Which made him just as terrifying as a gator waiting submerged in dark water—patient, invisible, ready to strike.
Trinity nudged her foot. “You’ve been quiet, and you're usually one to take a shot at Fletcher. And if Chloe were here, I know you’d have a good story about Hayes falling off his little fishing boat the other day.”
“Yeah, that was a good one. But, right now, I’m enjoying the show,” Fallon said, swirling the last bit of her beverage. “It’s like National Geographic: Domestic Edition.”
“Domestic?” Audra cackled. “Honey, have you met our husbands? Keaton once tried to convince me that using duct tape to secure Christmas lights was ‘structurally sound.’ And Fletcher wears Crocs in public.”
“Those were a gift,” Baily protested. “From someone he helped after falling on a trail. He was being polite.”
“He kept wearing them,” Trinity said. “That man does not need encouragement.”
Fallon smiled, but something inside tugged—soft, uncertain. The warmth of the fire blurred into a sweetness she hadn't expected. Watching these women tease their husbands, talk about their kids, build this little community of chaos and comfort… it hit somewhere she rarely let herself look.
The future.
A real one.
A house. A yard. A dog. Maybe a kid—a little girl—with a stubborn streak and her father’s eyes.
It wasn’t a dream she chased. Never had been. Fallon had always lived moment to moment because she knew better than anyone how fast life could tilt. One second, she’s making spring break plans with her best friend—the next, she’s searching the Everglades for a body.
But lately…
Buddy had become a complication she hadn’t seen coming. Older, sure. A little damaged, absolutely. But steady, and warm in ways that terrified her. And when she let herself look even half an inch too far into the future, she saw a white picket fence—something she didn’t think she wanted until she could imagine wanting it with him.
Not that she was in love with him.
That would be ridiculous.
Dangerous.
They’d been dating for a week. It was intense. Wild. And the love making—well, just wow.
But if she wasn’t careful, he was the kind of man she could fall in love with.
And maybe she wasn’t being as careful as she thought.
“You’re doing it again,” Audra said gently, pulling Fallon back. “The thinking face. The one where you stare past the horizon into space like you're already on a rocket ship heading for the moon.”
Fallon rubbed her forehead. “I don’t have a thinking face.”
Baily raised a brow. “Sweetie, your thinking face has a thinking face.”
“We started these nights so none of us had to be lost in our own thoughts. So that we always had a safe place to land and say anything, no matter how outrageous we think it might be. So, whatever it is that’s got you looking more constipated than Fletcher when he can’t figure something out,” Trinity said, eyes twinkling. “Just let it out. It’s not going anywhere but up to the sky with smoke from the fire.”
“Is it about Buddy?” Baily asked.
