"I know."
"I'm not good at casual, Callie. I don't want to be something you regret."
"You're not." I prop myself up on one elbow, looking down at him. "I don't do this lightly. I don't do any of this lightly."
"I know." He reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "That's why I'm telling you. Whatever this is, I'm in. All the way."
The words land somewhere deep in my chest. Scary and wonderful all at once.
"I'm in too," I hear myself say. "All the way."
He smiles—not the charming grin, not the performance, just real and warm and mine.
We talk in the dark. About nothing important and everything important. About his brothers and my parents and the dreams we had when we were young and stupid. About fears we don't usually admit and hopes we don't usually voice.
He tells me about the first time he flew solo—the terror and exhilaration, the moment he knew this was what he was meant to do. I tell him about my first surgery, the one that almost went wrong, the sleepless nights afterward wondering if I'd made the right choice.
"You did," he says. "You're brilliant at what you do."
"You've seen me examine one dog and consult on a kennel."
"And handle a chaotic Belgian Malinois invasion, and put up with my terrible flirting, and march across a bar like a woman on a mission." He kisses my forehead. "Brilliant."
I'm half-asleep when his phone buzzes on the nightstand.
Dean reaches for it, squinting at the screen. The glow illuminates his face, and I watch his expression shift—something tightening behind his eyes.
"Everything okay?"
"Yeah." He silences the phone and sets it back down. "Just a reminder."
"For what?"
He's quiet for a moment. Then: "Re-enlistment meeting. Thursday morning."
The words hang in the air between us. I know what that means. I know what decision is waiting for him. Sign the papers and ship out. Don't sign and... what?
"Dean—"
"Not tonight." He pulls me closer, pressing a kiss to my temple. "Tonight, I just want this."
I should ask about Monday. About re-enlistment and what happens after. About whether this is real or just two people scared of being alone.
But his heartbeat is steady under my ear, and his hand is warm on my back, and for once I don't want to think three steps ahead.
Next week can wait.
Chapter 8
Dean
Morning light filters through Callie's curtains, painting everything gold, and the first thing I see when I open my eyes is her.
Hair spread across the pillow like spilled honey. Face soft with sleep. One hand tucked under her cheek, the other resting on my chest like she reached for me in the night and found me there.
I could get used to this view.
Hell, I already am used to it, and it's only been one night. That's probably a problem. I don't care.
