“I know,” she said. “I’m not asking you to change. Just… remember that I can also notice weird sedans.”
“I saw you clock him,” he said. “You went still without freezing. There’s a difference. I’m not trying to turn you into a porcelain doll I have to carry around.”
“Good,” she said. “Because I’d be terrible at that.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth; warmth flickered there, layered over the concern. “You’d be terrible at sitting still,” he agreed. “You did good with your parents.”
She let her head tip against his shoulder. “You did good with the mayor,” she said. “Very grown-up. There were terms and everything.”
He huffed a laugh. “Wait until you hear me talk depreciation schedules.”
“Sounds sexy,” she murmured.
He tilted her chin up with one knuckle. “Careful,” he said. “You keep saying things like that, I’m going to forget we’re standing in a room with broken boards and no curtains.”
She kissed him before she could talk herself out of it, slow and deliberate. Dust and light wrapped around them; the harbor scent drifted through the cracked glass.
“We should probably not christen the studio while your friends are downstairs,” she said against his mouth.
“Probably not,” he agreed. “But later…”
“Later,” she said.
They grabbed a late lunch at a little place on Main, then parted ways. Brian and Colby went back to the paddock to tie up loose ends with the team hauler. Hank and Bree returned to the hotel, the quiet of the hallway a strange contrast to the noise in her head.
Inside the room, Bree set her sketchbook on the small table by the window. Blank pages waited, daring her.
Hank tossed the folder onto the desk and sat heavily on the edge of the bed, scrubbing his hands over his face.
“You look like someone just made you run stairs,” she said.
“I’ve had easier briefings,” he replied. “Fewer zeroes.”
“Are you freaking out?” she asked.
“A little,” he admitted. “Feels a lot like planning an op. Only this time, the worst possible outcome isn’t on the battlefield; it’s a foreclosure notice.”
She sat beside him and laced their fingers. “Hey. We went over the numbers three times with Jason. We’ll go over them again with the accountant. We’re not leaping blind.”
He glanced at her. “You’re not scared?”
“I’m terrified,” she said. “I’m just… more scared of going back to my tiny apartment and pretending I don’t know what this feels like. The building. The studio. You. So I’m choosing the fear that comes with possibility instead of the one that comes with being stuck.”
He stared at her for a long beat, something raw and grateful flickering in his eyes. “You keep doing that,” he said, “choosing hard things on purpose.”
“Trick I picked up,” she said lightly. “Grief had a lot of practice making choices for me. I’m trying to return the favor.”
He lifted their joined hands and kissed her knuckles. “Have I mentioned that I’m proud of you?”
“Once or twice,” she said. “Keep it up. It’s starting to sink in.”
His mouth curved. “We’ve got a few hours before we have to show our faces at the team thing tonight,” he said. “Dinner at the tent, sponsor pictures, all that fun stuff. Any plans for the immediate future?”
She glanced at the sketchbook. Then at him. “Yeah,” she drawled. “I was thinking about starting the first piece for the Bryn series. While the building is still a skeleton in my head, I want to catch how it feels right now. And then later… I kind of want to lie in bed with my boyfriend and talk about absurd things like what color we’re painting the bathroom.”
He smiled. “I’m available for both those tasks.”
“I thought you might be.”
