The woman had made it a personal mission to exist exactly where she was least welcome. There were days she swept into the house like she owned it, rearranging everything in her path,and others she disappeared for hours without warning. It made privacy feel like a moving target.
Frankie made a small sound under her breath. “Yeah. That tracks.”
“So,” I said, glancing at her. “Lake it is.”
She looked back down at the envelope, fingers curling around it again. “And the results?”
“Those come with us,” I said. “I just don’t want you opening that thing in a parking lot with people walking past and someone’s car alarm going off. This deserves… space.”Wedeserved it.
Silence stretched between us, not uncomfortable, just full.
“Okay,” she said finally.
The way she trusted me with that — withthis— settled something deep in my chest.
I turned the car toward the long, tree-lined road that led away from the city, the envelope resting between us like a quiet, waiting truth.
By the time we reached the lake, the world felt like it had exhaled.
October had decided, for once, to be kind — the air warm without being heavy, the sky impossibly blue, a soft breeze skimming across the water and stirring the trees into a low, rustling chorus.
If I was back in Connecticut, the leaves would be turning with flashes of red and gold to dress up the area. Since it was Texas, well, mostly it was green and brown. Not really autumn colors.
Didn’t matter, Texas had Connecticut beat hands down in the most pivotal area. Texas had Frankie.
I drove us down the narrow gravel road that curved along the edge of the lake and pulled into one of the quieter turnout spots — the kind only locals ever used. No houses. No crowds. Justwater, sky, and enough distance from everything else to feel like we were alone on purpose.
I rolled the windows down, letting the fresh air sweep through the car, then put it in park and shut off the engine.
Silence settled.
Not awkward. Not empty. Just… waiting.
Frankie held the envelope in her lap, staring at it like it might decide to open itself.
I leaned back in my seat and let her take her time.
After a few seconds, she let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a growl. “How are you so patient?” she demanded, irritation salting the words.
It only made me smile.
“Because I’m here with you,” I said easily. “I can wait forever if you need it.”
Her mouth popped open into the most adorable little O, eyes widening like she hadn’t expected that answer at all. Even as I savored that delightful reaction, her expression shifted.
She studied me for a long moment, like she was trying to read something written just beneath my skin. A faint shimmer caught in her stunning green eyes—nerves, maybe, or the weight of everything we were standing on the edge of—and it made my chest ache in the best possible way.
I watched her do what she always did when things got real. She went inward. Centered herself. Found the part of her that didn’t break just because the world was loud.
It was one of the things I loved most about her.
God, she was beautiful. Not just in the obvious way—though that part was impossible to miss—but in the way she moved through things. The way she listened. The way she cared. The way she had looked at me from the very first day like I belonged, even when everything about my life screamed that I came from somewhere else.
She’d been startled by my family’s money, by the size of the house, by the way everything around me had been designed to impress or intimidate. But it hadn’t dazzled her, and it hadn’t scared her away, either.
She’d just… taken it in. Filed it under “part of Archie.” Like it was no more defining than my stupid jokes or the way I hated losing at games.
Each time I tried to picture her back in my old world—Blue Ivy Prep, the endless social maneuvering, the quiet cruelty wrapped in refined politeness—she didn’t fit.
