I smiled, the coincidence filing itself away somewhere in the back of my mind, too crowded with everything else to investigate just yet.
Natalie leaned back slightly. “Jax Moore from Channel 4 mentioned you were open to a brief on-camera interview.”
“I am,” I said, though my stomach fluttered.
“I had a thought,” she continued. “The pedestrian walkway on the Ravenel Bridge. The harbor behind you. It’s iconic, and it frames the story beautifully—Charleston, resilience, perspective, heroics on a dinner cruise.”
The bridge.
My pulse skipped.
“That sounds … great,” I said, forcing the words out evenly.
“Wonderful,” Natalie replied, already reaching for her phone. “If you’re comfortable, we can head over now.”
Comfortable was not the word I would’ve chosen. But I nodded, anyway.
We gathered outside—Natalie, me, and a media coordinator—when Beth and Natasha appeared, sunglasses on and coffee cups in hand, grinning like they’d pulled off an ambush. I blinked at them. I’d been sure they were still at the hotel, committed to pool chairs and downtime.
“Moral support,” Beth announced cheerfully.
Natasha nodded. “You didn’t actually think we were letting you do this alone, did you?”
The day was clear and bright, the bridge rising in a clean arc against the sky, its cables slicing upward against the blue like something purposeful instead of intimidating.
Beth leaned in. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I lied automatically.
Natasha studied my face. “You’re pale.”
“I’m fine,” I insisted, even as my pulse skittered uneasily under my skin.
I’d texted Wyatt earlier—kept it casual.Mayor wants to do a quick interview. Ravenel Bridge.I hadn’t thought much beyond that. Definitely hadn’t expected him to rearrange his day. I’d assumed he was working. Busy. Elsewhere.
So, when a familiar figure approached a few minutes later, my breath caught before I could stop it.
Wyatt.
He looked relaxed—jeans, boots, button-down sleeves rolled up—but the second his eyes found mine, that ease vanished. Concern flickered across his face immediately, sharp and instinctive.
Something warm bloomed in my chest.
He hadn’t said he was coming.
He’d just … shown up.
And the realization—that he’d read my text and decided to be here, no questions asked—hit me harder than I expected.
“You all right?” he asked quietly, stepping close enough that I could feel the solid reassurance of him beside me.
I nodded, even though my gaze stayed fixed somewhere safely below the bridge cables. “I will be.”
His eyes flicked up toward the span, then back to my face, understanding settling in without me having to say it out loud. “Heights,” he said gently. Not a question.
I let out a slow breath. “Yeah. It’s not logical. I know that.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” he said. “You don’t have to be brave about it, either.”
