“You can make some calls on the way to the airport. Pack that blue dress you bought for your cousin’s wedding. You said it made you feel like a knockout.”
Riley stares at me. The silence stretches between us. Her chin wobbles, but then she laughs.
“You’re insane.”
“Yeah.” I jerk my head toward her bedroom. “Now pack. We’ve got a flight to catch.”
She disappears down the hallway, and I exhale slowly. Her apartment smells like the coconut shampoo she’s used since high school.
I spot a photo on her fridge and move closer. Senior prom. Her in that purple dress, me in a rented tux that was too short in the sleeves. That night was the first time I wondered what it would be like to kiss her. I never found out.
Story of my life.
The sound of her moving around her bedroom and packing is unexpectedly soothing. The tension cramping my muscles eases. My last tour was six months of sand, silence, and too many close calls. Being here, surrounded by her chaos of plantsand romance novels, feels like coming up for air. My last tour was harder than I told her. There were nights when the only thing that got me through was reading our old messages, her ridiculous jokes, and random middle-of-the-night texts about whatever book she was reading.
She emerges in jeans and a soft cream sweater, overnight bag over her shoulder, and looks at me like she’s not sure about this.
I take the bag before she can object and lead her down to my truck. When I open the passenger door for her, she pauses with one hand on the frame.
“Such a gentleman.” Her teasing smile makes want twist low in my gut. “You’d think you were taking me out on a date. Will you be my Valentine?” she teases, but I just huff a breath and shut the door carefully after I’ve loaded her bag next to mine.
By the time I slide into the driver’s seat, she’s already changed my country station to some pop playlist.
“Absolutely not.” I reach for the dial.
She smacks my hand away. “Driver picks the music? That rule is ancient history.”
“It’s my truck.”
“And I’m your guest.” She props her bare feet on my dashboard—sheknowsI hate that—and shoots me a grin. “Guest privileges.”
We argue the whole way to the airport. Her pop station versus my country, with brief truces for songs we both know. She sings along to everything, off-key and enthusiastic, and I can’t stop the smile tugging at my mouth.
“Oh my god! I love this song! It’s Bella’s “Safe In Your Arms!” She turns the volume up and belts it out, using an invisible microphone. Her voice cracks on the high notes, but she’s happy right now, and that’s all that matters.
But this—Riley beside me, singing off-key to her favorite song—is a balm for my soul.
She turns to face me, tucking one leg under herself. “You never told me you were coming to visit.”
“Wanted it to be a surprise.”
“The surprise was me looking like a swamp creature when I answered the door.”
I glance at her, and protectiveness surges through me. “You’re gorgeous, Riley. You don’t need me to tell you that.”
The words come out rougher than I intended. Riley’s breath catches, her hands freezing on her seatbelt. Her cheeks flush pink, and she looks away, fiddling with the hem of her sweater.
“You’re ridiculous,” she mutters.
But she’s smiling, and it reaches her eyes. That smile makes all the driving to get here worth it.
“Thanks for this, Duke. Really,” her voice is soft as she reaches out and puts a hand on my arm. “I didn’t realize how much I needed to get out of my own head.”
“You know you can always count on me.”
CHAPTER 2
RILEY
