He didn’t snarl or glare at the nickname this time, he merely gave a tiny exhale through his nose. Jaime looked almost amused.
We kept talking and the space between us changed shape as the minutes slipped by.
We talked about the handlers we’d seen at the show, about the dogs who surprised us, about Cooper’s knack for throwing unexpected assignments at people.
“We really were lucky there were no incidents today,” Jaime said.
“Maybe whoever tried messing with things yesterday got spooked,” I said. “Or realized everyone’s on high alert.”
“Maybe,” Jaime murmured. His eyes were thoughtful. “Or they’re waiting.”
The soft dread curling through his voice made something inside me flare protective. I wanted to shield him from it. Ridiculous, probably.
He was more experienced than me. Stronger in ways that weren’t about muscle. But the instinct was there, sharp and sure.
We finished eating and paid, the night air hit us cool and fresh as we stepped outside. Jaime inhaled deeply, tilting his head back a little. He looked younger for a moment. Lighter.
“Feels good,” he said.
“Better than being stuck in the ballroom, right?” I asked.
He huffed a laugh. “Much.”
We walked back to the hotel without rushing. Streetlights cast long amber stripes across the sidewalk. Our steps synched without trying.
At one point our arms brushed, just a whisper of contact, and heat shot through me like a spark dropped into dry tinder. Neither of us said anything.
Back in the hotel room, Pampi greeted us with a tiny yap and a wag that involved her whole body. Jaime knelt immediately, giving her water, checking her paws, smoothing her fur the way she liked.
It was domestic and intimate and unfairly attractive.
I leaned against the wall, watching him. His gentleness did something to me. Something confusing and warm and huge.
After tending to Pampi, Jaime stood. “I’m going to shower.”
“Yeah. Me too,” I said. “Just, uh… after you.”
Smooth, Chris. Real smooth.
He didn’t comment, just grabbed a change of clothes and disappeared into the bathroom. The shower started. I tried not to imagine him in there. I failed spectacularly.
He emerged a while later, damp hair curling slightly at the ends, wearing a soft T-shirt and loose joggers that did terrible, wonderful things to my self-control.
“My turn,” I muttered, practically fleeing into the bathroom.
The hot water grounded me. By the time I reemerged, Jaime had settled on his bed, scrolling through something on his phone while Pampi snored in a tiny, determined heap beside him.
He glanced up. “Feel better?” Jaime asked.
I wiped a towel through my hair. “Yeah,” I said, letting the word stretch. “Actually… I do.”
He set his phone down. “It was a good night.”
“Yeah,” I said again. The warmth in my chest hadn’t left. It had spread. Anchored. “It really was.”
He nodded once. We turned off the lights. The soft glow from the window painted silver shapes across the room. As I settled into bed, my wolf curled tight inside me, humming with something like hope.
7
