“There’s Forge. He’s the oldest—runs the metalwork shop on the property. Built half the fixtures in this cabin. Grumpier than me, if you can believe it.”
“Impossible.”
“Ask anyone.” His grin widens. “Then there’s Wyatt. Got the nickname ‘Saint’ because he’s—well, he’s Saint. Philosophical. Patient. The kind of guy who quotes Marcus Aurelius at you when you’re trying to have a crisis.”
“Sounds insufferable.”
“He’s the best man I know.” The warmth in his voice makes my chest ache. “Jackson—Tex—is the youngest of us. He was chaos personified. Laughed at everything before our last deployment. Now he laughs at everything because it hides what’s underneath.”
He takes a sip of whiskey. “You’d like him. You’re both menaces.”
“And you’re the?—”
“The loud one. The one who takes up too much space.” He says it matter-of-factly, like it’s just data. “Tex calls me ‘emotionally constipated.’ Saint says I have the subtlety of a freight train. They’re not wrong.”
“They sound like a lot.”
“They are.” His voice softens. “Worth it, though.”
The stars are coming out now, scattered across the darkening sky like someone spilled diamonds on velvet. I tip my head back to watch them, hyperaware of Tank’s warmth beside me. Thesolid weight of his shoulder against mine. The way his breathing has slowed, steadied, like he’s settling into something.
“When can I meet them?”
The question escapes before I can second-guess it.
Tank goes still, as though I’ve said something he needs to process.
“You want to?”
“I’m curious about the people who matter to you.” I shrug, trying to keep my voice casual as if this isn’t a bigger ask than it sounds. “If I’m crashing in your space, it seems like I should know who might show up unannounced.”
“They don’t show up unannounced. I’d kill them.”
“But you’d let me meet them? Officially?”
He turns his head, and suddenly we’re close. Closer than I realized. His face is inches from mine.
“Yeah,” he says, his dark eyes searching mine. “I’d let you meet them. When the time’s right.”
“Okay, then.”
“Okay.”
Neither of us moves. The air between us is electric, like the moment before a storm breaks. I can see the silver threading through his beard, the small scar above his left eyebrow, the way his pupils have blown wide in the low light.
“Jessie.”
“Tank.”
“You’re making it real hard to be a gentleman right now.”
My heart stutters. “Who asked you to be?”
Something shifts in his expression. A crack in the careful control he’s kept since I met him. I see the exact moment he stops holding back.
“Fair warning,” he murmurs, leaning closer. “I’m about to do something I’ve been thinking about since the auction.”
He closes the distance.
