“Forever’s a big word,” she said. “But it’s getting less scary.”
He kissed the top of her head. “Good.”
"We should also talk to a realtor and find a house."
He chuckled. "I've been thinking that too. I want to live with you. I want you to live with me."
She smiled softly as she stared at their joined hands. "I want that too."
Outside, the sounds of Copper Moon drifted up from the street. A distant motorcycle engine. Laughter from the boardwalk. The faint echo of someone calling out about fresh fish at a stall.
Inside, the room smelled like them: soap, sweat, hotel sheets, and something new that felt a lot like home.
Bree closed her eyes and let herself imagine it. Not just this room, temporary and anonymous, but the upstairs of the warehouse with their life layered into it. Paint-stained floors. The thump of tools downstairs. Hank’s laughter slipping under the studio door. Her parents sitting on a mismatched couch at an opening, pointing out details in the Bryn paintings to anyone who would listen.
The future wasn’t a cliff anymore.
It was a long, winding road, full of potholes and unexpected turns; she knew that. Some people out there didn’t like what they had done with Marcus and the nitrous kit. There were conversations ahead that would hurt.
But she wasn’t standing at the edge of nothing.
She was already walking.
“Hey,” Hank murmured. “You zoning out on me?”
“Just plotting,” she said.
“Anything I need to be worried about?”
“Only if you hate the idea of the studio bathroom being teal,” she said.
He groaned. “You’re going to turn my shop into an art installation.”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “We’ll keep the flames on your logo.”
He laughed, the sound low and easy. “I look forward to the arguments.”
She smiled into his skin. “Me too.”
They lay there a little longer, letting the light change and the day shift around them. In a few hours, they’d pull on clean clothes and go be public faces again, shaking hands and taking pictures and pretending to be slightly more put together than they actually were.
For now, it was just the two of them, the echo of the future humming quietly between their heartbeats.
Chapter 18
Hank leaned his shoulder into the tent pole and let the noise of the celebration wash over him for a minute.
The team dinner had turned into more of a loose, wandering gathering; half the paddock seemed to be crammed under the big hospitality tent, plates balanced on laps, beer bottles sweating on folding tables. Someone had dragged a speaker over; classic rock threaded through the hum of voices and the occasional burst of laughter.
Brian stood near the buffet, telling a story with his hands as much as his mouth. Colby was perched on a cooler with his tablet on his knees, alternating between taking notes and swatting at Brian when he got too close.
Across the way, Bree stood with Carmen, the two of them forming a small island in the chaos. Bree’s head was tipped back in laughter; the sight hit him as hard as any adrenaline spike he’d had all weekend.
He felt Diaz before he saw her; a shift in the air, a different kind of alertness.
“James,” she said at his elbow.
He straightened. “Sergeant.”
