We leaned against his back bumper, the night air warm and thick around us. Crickets sang in the grass as stars started to appear in the darkening sky.
"Do you like this job?" I asked.
He took a sip of soda. "I like keeping people alive."
"And you really think we’re in that much danger?"
His eyes met mine, and something passed between us. Something I didn't have a name for, but it made my pulse jump.
"Yes," he said.
Despite everything that had happened that day, the silence felt comfortable. Way more comfortable than it should have. I made myself turn away.
"Goodnight, Caleb."
He lifted his bottle in my direction. “Goodnight, Marisol. Thanks for the drink.”
I went back inside and locked the door behind me. Lucas was asleep, or at least he was pretending to be. I wasn’t looking forward to the conversation we needed to have. But first, sleep.
Passing back through the family room, I decided to leave the lights on. Just in case. Then I went to my bedroom and looked out the window. Caleb's truck was still there. For the first time in a long time, I felt watched. And strangely, impossibly... safe.
CHAPTER 3
CALEB
By the third morning,I had her routine memorized. Because once Lone Star assigned me to her detail, nothing about her life was allowed to be casual anymore. Every light that flipped on, every door that opened, every shadow that moved across her windows became something I tracked.
I sat in my truck across the street from her house, my coffee cooling in my travel tumbler, radio murmuring low, my eyes never still. The sun was just starting to climb, throwing pale gold across the rooftops and fences.
At 5:32, her porch light clicked off. A minute later, the front door opened and Marisol stepped out, already dressed for work in her scrubs, her hair pulled up in a loose knot that never quite stayed put. She carried her coffee in both hands and paused when she saw my truck parked across the street.
For a moment, she just stood there. Then she looked straight at me. There was no surprise in her eyes this time. No irritation, either. Just awareness. The quiet understanding that whatever had started between us as neighbors was no longer that simple.
I got out of the truck and crossed the street.
“You’re early.” She exhaled, shifting her weight, her gaze sliding past me to the quiet street and back again. “Are you following me to work now too?”
“I’m driving you today.”
Her mouth pressed into a thin line. “I have a perfectly good car.”
“I know.”
Based on the way she studied me, I could see the argument forming in her head. I could also see the exhaustion weighing on her shoulders and the way she stood like she was bracing for another long day before it even started.
“You’re controlling,” she said.
“I’m careful.”
“That sounds like the same thing.”
She hesitated, then shook her head and walked past me toward my truck. “One day. That’s it. I’m not doing this forever.”
I opened the passenger door for her. She paused, then climbed in, setting her coffee in the cup holder and smoothing her scrubs over her thighs.
When I slid into the driver’s seat, the cab felt different with her inside. The scent hit me first. Leather from the seats. Coffee from the cup holders. And her… all clean skin, warm, faintly sweet in a way that had nothing to do with soap.
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel and pulled away from the curb.
