“What do you love?” he asks, quiet.
The question makes my throat tighten.
I stare into my mug like the cocoa might give me an answer.
“I used to write,” I admit. “Like… real writing. Stories.”
Beau’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Why’d you stop?”
Because I started dating someone who told me it wasn’t practical. Because I got busy trying to be the kind of woman men want to keep. Because somewhere along the way, I decided my dreams were optional.
I shrug again, but it’s not as light this time. “Life happened.”
Beau nods slowly, like he understands that too.
Silence settles between us—not awkward, exactly. Just… heavy with things neither of us is saying.
I realize Beau is still holding his mug, but he hasn’t moved like he’s in a hurry to leave.
My pulse stutters. “So, uh… do you like working with Haven 7?”
His eyes flick to mine. “It’s what I do.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
His jaw flexes once, and for a second he looks like he might shut down.
Then he says, “Yeah. I like it.”
The simplicity of it hits me harder than it should.
“Why?” I ask softly.
Beau’s gaze drops to the floor, then back up. “Because it matters.”
My chest tightens again. “That’s… admirable.”
He makes a sound like he doesn’t know what to do with compliments.
Then his radio crackles.
Beau’s entire body changes—shoulders tightening, focus snapping sharp. He pulls the radio from his jacket and listens.
A voice cuts through. “Beau, you copy? We got a call. Snowmobiler off Trail 3. Possible injury.”
Beau doesn’t hesitate. “Copy. I’m ten out.”
He clips the radio back, already moving toward the door.
My stomach drops with a weird mix of disappointment and worry.
“Beau,” I blurt.
He pauses, hand on the doorknob, and looks at me.
“Be careful,” I say, and immediately hate how soft it sounds. Like I’m allowed to care.
For a second, something shifts in his eyes—something warm and dangerous.
