He looked amused but nodded, leaning back against the doorframe as I slipped back into the suite. I crossed the room and opened my bag, my fingers brushing the edge of the frame before I even saw it. The photo. Me in the middle, Wyatt on one side, Jonesy on the other—sunburned and grinning, arms slungaround each other like nothing bad had ever happened, like the world had been safe then.
I set it on the console by the window, angled so it caught the light, so it would be the first thing you saw when you walked in.
When I came back to him, he was watching me carefully.
“I just wanted to put that somewhere we could see it,” I said softly. “Make this feel a little more like home.”
Something shifted in his expression—quiet, deep, unmistakable—as he reached for me, his hand settling at my lower back like it belonged there.
I smiled as he opened the door for me, guiding me out into the hallway, his touch steady and warm. The hotel felt different now—quieter, softer—as evening settled in and the lights dimmed, like the world was giving us space to begin.
In the elevator, he stood close enough that our arms brushed with every tiny shift. I could feel his attention on me.
“You sure you can do this?” he asked quietly as the numbers descended.
“Yes,” I said without hesitation. “With you.”
The doors opened, and the lobby greeted us with its hushed elegance. Sasha glanced up from the desk, her eyes flicking between us, then softening with something like approval.
“Heading out?” she asked.
“For a bit,” I said.
She nodded once, like she understood more than I’d told her. “I’ll be here.”
Outside, the air had cooled just enough to raise goosebumps on my arms. Wyatt noticed immediately, shrugging out of his jacket and draping it over my shoulders before I could protest.
“I’m fine,” I said, though I leaned into the warmth, anyway.
“I know,” he said. “Still.”
We didn’t talk much as we walked. Not because there was nothing to say—but because the silence felt companionableinstead of heavy. Charleston at dusk had a way of easing itself into your senses. Streetlights flickering on. The low murmur of voices drifting from open patios. The faint scent of salt and something fried and delicious from somewhere nearby.
As we waited for a ride, my phone buzzed in my hand.
Beth:Alive? Kidnapped? Blink twice if you need rescue.
I smiled and typed back quickly.
I’m good. Will explain later. Promise.
Natasha’s message came in seconds later.
Natasha:We’re not worried. Just curious. Take your time.
Of course, she wasn’t worried.
When the car arrived, Wyatt opened the door for me, hand steady at my elbow as I climbed in. The city slid past the windows again, familiar now.
The bridge appeared in the distance sooner than I expected.
Even lit up, even beautiful, it made my chest tighten a little.
Wyatt felt it immediately. His hand found mine, fingers lacing together with quiet certainty. “I’ve got you,” he said.
I squeezed his hand back. “I know.”
The car pulled over near the pedestrian access, the bridge arching overhead like something both elegant and imposing. Traffic hummed steadily, a constant reminder of movement, momentum, life continuing.
