“And?” she murmurs, brushing her nose lightly against mine. “Did he pass inspection, officer?”
My grip tightens just slightly, one hand sliding to the small of her back.
“I think he did, princess.”
Her smile softens. “Yeah,” she whispers, resting her forehead against mine. “Me too.”
She hums—quiet, content. My chest loosens.
I press a kiss to her temple and hold her close.
Yeah. We’re figuring it out.
The drivefrom the tarmac to the hotel is short, but the energy in the van is all over the place. Daisy and Knox are half-hungover from the plane’s espresso machine. Cheese keeps staring out the window, appearing to memorize the palm trees. Willow’s sandwiched between me and Graham, her thigh pressed against mine, her head tilted toward Carson as he scrolls through something on his phone and makes snide comments about the hotel’s Yelp reviews.
She’s relaxed. At least on the outside.
The van turns off the main road and onto a long stretch of palm-lined drive. Our hotel rises in the distance—glass windows gleaming in the late afternoon sun, modern and almost out of place against the Texas sprawl. Daisy hums under her breath, already planning a visit to the hot tub tonight. Twinkle is taking a selfie with the palm trees throughthe window. The energy’s jittery—half nerves, half adrenaline.
Beside me, Willow goes still.
It’s subtle. Her fingers tighten slightly on the strap of her purse, her shoulders rising with a deep breath before she lets it go slowly. Controlled. Graham clocks it too. I feel the tension shift between the three of us.
Not fear. Not exactly.
Nerves.
Game-day proximity kind of nerves. That fine edge before a big moment.
I rest my hand on her knee, my thumb tracing an idle circle through the denim. “We’ve got you,” I murmur. Quiet. Just for her.
She nods but doesn’t look at me. Her eyes are on the hotel entrance now.
And then I see why.
A figure steps through the glass doors, hood up despite the heat, head ducked slightly, hands shoved in the pockets of a black windbreaker. Slim build. Confident stride. He turns just enough for me to catch the jawline.
Finn.
Graham shifts beside me. Carson sees him, too, but none of us make a move. We knew this might happen. It’s not like us quitting our jobs changed the fact that the guy is still obsessed.
She told us she wasn’t sure what she wanted, and we said we’d make space if that’s where her heart pulled her. Seeing him here—showing up for her, showing up for this—it doesn’t feel wrong. I shake my head at my thoughts. When did my view of him change?
“Looks like your favorite stalker made the trip,” I say softly.
“Yeah. Is it bad that I’m glad he’s here?” she says, voicebarely above a whisper. “It’s a little like… the comfort of home, in a strange place. Kinda silly.”
She lifts her shoulders, then lets them fall with a quiet sigh.
“Not silly,” I murmur, giving her knee a gentle squeeze. “Come on. Let’s check in. Sleep. Eat. And tomorrow?”
I offer a grin. “We destroy them.”
Carson smirks from the front row. “I’m assuming we means Willow and her team. Because I’m not putting on skates.”
Willow finally laughs, the tension breaking just slightly.
The van pulls to a stop, and the door slides open. Carson hops out first, then Cheese and Daisy, practically bouncing onto the curb. Graham grabs Willow’s bag before she can, falling into step beside her. I take the other side, instinct more than strategy.
