The capsule dipped toward the platform. Allegra risked a glance through the glass. The man in the dark suit was walking away, fading into the crowd. She exhaled, letting the tight coil around her ribs loosen.
Nate’s fingers slipped from hers as the wheel eased into its second rotation, leaving behind a lingering warmth in her palm.
As they crested the top again, Allegra made a split-second decision. She pulled out her phone and scooted across the bench until her thigh pressed firmly against his.
“Seeing as I’m finally conquering one of these,” she declared, lifting the camera high so the skyline spilled behind them, “there will be photographic evidence I looked hot and fearless.”
“Sure. Fearless,” Nate said dryly.
She jabbed him in the ribs. “Careful, Mr. Suspicious of Structural Engineering. I look enigmatic. That’s a different genre entirely. Hold still.”
The capsule jerked into its downward glide just as she snapped the photo, catching his half-laugh and her wide-eyed, slightly manic grin.
She checked it quickly, then shifted back into her own side. “Oh. I look good.”
Nate snorted then rapped lightly on the glass. “You know what would be great right now? Being out on one of those.”
She followed his finger to a sleek speedboat carving a white scar across the lake. “Yes,” she said immediately. “Let’s.”
He flashed his teeth. “About that. Looked into it. Thought I’d surprise you.”
“And?”
“And,” he continued, pinching an eyebrow, “apparently if you want a prayer of availability, you have to book something weeks in advance.”
She looked at him—the way his mouth quirked in that self-deprecating smile, the way he acted like he’d failed her when all he’d done was try—and something inside her shifted. A reckless, giddy warmth spread through her ribs. Tomorrow, he’d be halfway across the world. She’d return to a world of motorcades and people who corrected her mid-breath. So why let this end small?
She’d spent her life being reasonable. She wanted memorable.
“I have an idea,” she said.
His brows lifted. “That’s an uh-oh, right?”
She considered it. “Maybe.”
“I’m listening. Nervously.”
“It’ll have to wait until it’s dark,” she added.
His eyes narrowed, but there was a flicker of intrigue there. “Will this idea involve bail money?”
“Uhhhh.”
“That’s reassuring.”
She leaned in close.
“Trust me.”
Chapter Seventeen
Nate had always assumed sneaking required at least a hint of subtlety: a fundamental understanding that the goal was to not get caught.
Ella had apparently missed that memo.
She moved down the marina like she was strolling into a rooftop bar: high-waisted shorts, an oversized linen button-down half-tucked and fluttering in the breeze, pale sneakers flashing against the dark planks. Her hair was loose, catching what little light there was, and her posture was so upright it practically announced:Hello, world. You’re welcome.
Nate, meanwhile, was dressed like someone about to backpack through Europe: faded T-shirt, worn jeans, boots, and a stupidly overstuffed backpack slung over one shoulder that kept thumping against his spine every time he tried to hurry—which he was.
