"Anytime." The word carries weight, promise. Not just a polite response but a genuine offer.
"Hey, if you're going to be sleeping on my couch, I think we should be on a first name basis. Holden, right?"
His mouth quirks in a half-smile. "Yeah. Holden works."
"Fallon." I offer, even though he's been using it all along.
"I know." The way he says it, low and certain, makes warmth spread through my chest. "Go get ready. I'll handle food."
The shower helps wash away the lingering vulnerability from waking up wrapped around him. By the time I emerge dressed in jeans and a soft sweater, hair braided wet down my back, the smell of coffee and eggs fills the apartment. Holden's moved with quiet efficiency through my kitchen, locating supplies and cooking like he's done this before.
He's changed into clean clothes, though still casual. Jeans and a navy henley that does absolutely nothing to hide the breadth of his shoulders or the way muscle shifts under fabric when he moves. Focus on anything else. The coffee. The eggs. The way morning light streams through the window. Anything except how good he looks making breakfast in my kitchen.
"Scrambled okay?" He slides a plate across the counter, steam rising from perfectly fluffy eggs alongside toast.
"Perfect." I doctor my coffee, adding cream until it's the right shade of tan. "You didn't have to do all this."
"Wanted to." He leans against the counter with his own mug, watching me with those calm gray eyes. "Besides, figured you could use a normal morning after yesterday's disaster."
Yesterday. Bruce showing up at the briefing. My lab destroyed. The revelation that someone hired a professional to target my research. All of it crashes back, stealing my appetite despite the food in front of me.
Holden must see it on my face because he shifts topics smoothly. "Tell me about your research. The actual science, not the threat assessment version."
The question surprises me. Most people's eyes glaze over when I start talking about sediment analysis and tidal patterns.But Holden's expression shows genuine interest, curiosity that has nothing to do with protection protocols.
"You really want to know?" I spear a bite of eggs, testing his sincerity.
"I really want to know." He settles onto the stool across from me, giving me his full attention in a way that makes my pulse kick up. "You're passionate about it. That makes it interesting."
The quiet confidence in his voice, the certainty that my work matters because it matters to me, loosens the knot between my shoulders. I explain the research in detail, talking about how coastal erosion isn't just about beaches disappearing but about understanding how water reshapes land over time. How storm patterns and tidal forces interact with sediment composition. How human infrastructure changes natural processes in ways we're only beginning to understand.
Holden listens, asks intelligent questions that show he's actually processing the information. Not just nodding politely but engaging with the concepts, drawing connections I hadn't considered.
"So the base is built on land that's actively changing," he says slowly, putting pieces together. "And your research is mapping how fast and in what patterns."
"Exactly." I warm to the topic, forgetting to be self-conscious about talking too much. "The military picked this location for strategic reasons. Deep water access, proximity to shipping lanes, defensible position. But they didn't account for long-term geological shifts. My data shows erosion rates that could compromise training areas within years, not decades."
His expression shifts, sharpening with understanding. "That's classified-adjacent information. Knowing where the base is physically vulnerable."
Ice shoots through my veins. Of course. My research isn't just about science. It's about identifying weak points in militaryinfrastructure. The kind of information that has strategic value to anyone wanting to know where Tidewater's defenses could be compromised.
"Oh god." My coffee cup stops halfway to my mouth. "That's why someone wants it."
"That's why we're keeping you safe while we figure out who and why." Holden's voice stays calm, pulling me back from the edge before panic can take hold. "But first, you need to present those findings to base leadership. They need to know what you know. And Fallon?" He waits until I meet his eyes. "You're going to walk in there and show them exactly why they contracted you. Because you're brilliant, and your work matters."
The certainty in his voice, the absolute conviction that I can handle this, steadies me more than any reassurance about security protocols could.
"Okay." I drain my coffee, squaring my shoulders. "Let's do this."
The morning passes in a blur of preparation. I review my presentation slides while Holden coordinates with Hartwell, double-checking security for the meeting. He disappears into my guest bathroom and emerges in his Service Dress Blues, the transformation so complete it steals my breath. By the time we arrive at the base conference center, my nerves have shifted from personal anxiety to professional focus.
Walking into the conference room with Holden beside me, I have to remind myself to breathe given the sight of him in full dress uniform. The dark jacket fits perfectly across his broad shoulders, ribbons and insignia marking years of service and achievements I can only guess at. The cover tucked under his arm, the polished shoes, the way he carries himself with quiet authority that commands the room.
Heat floods through me, visceral and immediate. This is Lieutenant Commander Holden Lange, Navy SEAL, leader ofmen who run into danger while everyone else runs away. Not just the comfortable presence who makes me breakfast and lets me fall asleep on his chest. Both versions exist simultaneously, and the combination does things to my pulse that have nothing to do with the presentation I'm about to give.
Commander Bradford nods as we enter. "Dr. McKay. Lieutenant Commander Lange. Thank you for coming."
Hartwell is already seated, along with several officers I recognize from previous meetings. And two civilians I don't know, both in business casual attire that screams government contractor.
