“I don’t want to make things weird. We work together. People talk. It could complicate everything.”
His jaw flexes, but his voice stays soft. “Maybe, but when has anything worth havin’ ever been simple?”
I laugh quietly, almost tearfully, because damn him, he’s right. “There’s something happening here,” I admit. “And I don’t even know what to call it, but… it’s there. I feel it.”
He takes a small step closer, closing the last inch of space between us. “Then maybe we stop tryin’ to name it, aye? Maybe we just let it be what it is.”
The world blurs behind him—the blue of the sky, the glitter of the ocean, the rush of the wind. All I can see is him.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe for once, I don’t need to have it all figured out.
I nod barely. “Okay.”
His shoulders relax, and before I can overthink it, I step into him. His arms come around me without hesitation, warm andsolid and sure. For the first time in forever, I feel small. Safe. Like the world could fall apart and I’d still be standing right here.
He presses a kiss to the top of my head—soft, reverent. “Thank you for sharing this place with me, lass,” he whispers again, voice barely carried by the wind.
I close my eyes, breathing him in, the salt, the warmth, the faint trace of cologne that feels like it was made to find me here. His arms stay around me, steady against the wind. For a long time, neither of us move. The waves crash and hush again, gulls crying somewhere above, the world spinning on, but all I feel is the slow, certain rhythm of his heartbeat against my cheek. Something shifts—deep and quiet—like the tide surrendering to the moon, like gravity remembering where it belongs, and for one suspended heartbeat, it feels as if the universe itself is holding still, waiting to see if we’ll be brave enough to let this become what it’s meant to be.
Chapter 23
We walk the few blocks back toward the train station in silence. Good silence, full and easy. Her shoulder brushes my arm now and then, a rhythm that feels almost deliberate. Each time, my pulse kicks like I’ve sprinted the length of the pitch.
She doesn’t speak, and I don’t press her. We’re both still carrying whatever that moment on the beach was—heavy, beautiful, terrifying. The kind of thing you don’t dare name because sayin’ it aloud might scare it off.
At the last crossing before the station, the red light holds us in place. I shouldn’t, but I slide my arm around her shoulders and draw her in until her temple rests just beneath my jaw. Her hair smells of salt and sun and the faint trace of whatever shampoo she uses that’s been haunting me for weeks. I breathe her in, and her hand slides up my chest.
For the first time in years, I feel feckin’ content. Not victorious, not relieved—just… right.
When the light shifts to green, she tilts her head up and looks at me, a soft smile on her face. Without a word, she threads her fingers through mine. I squeeze back, afraid that if I let go, the world might tilt away again.
The rest of the way to the station, we hold hands, the quiet between us louder than any crowd I’ve ever faced. Only when we reach the turnstile do I release her. She glances back once, eyes bright, and that look alone is enough to keep me breathing.
The train’s already waiting. We slip into the nearest car, the doors sliding shut behind us. She chooses a seat near the window and looks up at me, eyes wide and a little dazed, my words still settling in her chest. I sit beside her. The train lurches forward, and without thinking, she leans into my arm.
Instinct kicks in. I wrap my arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. She fits there like she’s always meant to be—as if she was made for the space beside me. My thumb finds a slow circle against her upper arm, and I have to force myself to stop before I do something stupid. Like trace the shape of her jaw with my fingers just to see if she shivers.
It’s mad, the things running through my head. Every wicked, selfish thought a man could have. But right alongside them, there’s something quieter. The need to protect, to hold, to keep her close, just because she brings me peace.
She looks up at me, eyes shining, and murmurs, “I’m hungry. Are you up for one more adventure?”
I smile before I can help it. “I don’t want this day to ever end.”
Her grin widens, and for a few stops, we stay close, her cocooned against me, my arm tight around her.
People come and go, none of them paying us any mind. I’m still wearin’ her hat, and I’ll be damned if I ever want to take itoff. Every time I catch our reflection in the train window, all I can think of is the way she laughed when she put it on me.
The train slows again, brakes hissing, and she lifts her head. “This is our stop.”
I glance up at the sign—Brooklyn Bridge–City Hall—and can’t help but smile. “Aye. Seems perfect.”
We stand, and without thinking, I reach for her hand again. She takes it, no hesitation, our fingers slotting together.
We follow the crowd off the train, through the tiled tunnels and up toward the light. Late afternoon now, the sun low, the air cooler but still golden. The streets buzz with sound: kids shouting in a playground nearby, a busker strumming a guitar, the hum of weekend traffic blending with laughter. New York at its finest—alive and oblivious.
We walk side by side, hand in hand, until I see it, the sign ahead: Brooklyn Bridge next left.The crowd thickens, everyone heading the same way, and the air shifts with that strange kind of magic cities hold right before sunset.
We climb the narrow, steep stairs, the metal rail cold beneath my palm. Then, all at once, we emerge into open air.
