“I can’t believe you chose to swim in the water with a gator named Old Moses just to get this man’s attention.” Dove patted Trent’s cheek.
"It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Fallon said.
Buddy pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I'm glad the gator didn't eat you. For selfish reasons."
"The crush didn't last anyway," Fallon said, waving her hand dismissively. "Living with him killed it pretty quick." She shot Trent a look. "He's a pain in the ass. Leaves his boots everywhere. Talks to the gators more than he talks to people. And don't even get me started on his cooking."
"My cooking is fine." He lowered his chin.
"Your cooking is survival food at best. I gained ten pounds after I moved out just from eating actual meals." Fallon leaned into Buddy, and it warmed Trent’s heart that she’d found love.
"She's not wrong," Cullen said. "I've had your chili. It's basically meat-flavored punishment."
"Everyone's a critic." Trent finished his beer and set the empty bottle on the table. But he was smiling. This—the teasing, the laughter, the easy comfort of people who'd known each other long enough to mock each other with love—this was what he'd been missing. What grief had stolen from him for the past few weeks.
It felt good to have it back.
"We should settle up," Buddy said, pulling out his wallet. "Fallon's got an early shift, and I promised I'd make her breakfast."
“Wow, look at you all domesticated.” Trent raised an eyebrow.
“Love will do that to a man,” Buddy said with a wide grin. "Also, she does this thing where she?—"
"Nope." Fallon clamped her hand over his mouth. "We are not sharing that with the table."
"I wasn't going to say anything bad." Buddy kissed her palm.
"You were going to say something that would make me murder you in your sleep." She removed her hand and kissed him quickly. "Let's go, Romeo. Before you get yourself killed."
They settled the bill liked they'd done a million times. No one argued about who should pay what. It all evened itself out eventually.
Harley pushed back from the table. "Alright, I need to get going. Early morning tomorrow—those mangroves aren't going to trim themselves."
“Right behind you,” Cullen said, standing and stretching. "Walk you to your truck?"
"It's fifty feet away."
"Fifty feet of dangerous parking lot. You never know what's lurking."
"Possums, mostly." But Harley smiled as she stood, and she didn't object when Cullen fell into step beside her.
“We’re gonna head out the front,” Buddy said. “We walked.”
“See you later.” Trent nodded before taking Dove’s hand and guiding her through the maze of people and out to the parking lot.
The night had turned soft and warm, the kind of evening that made Dove want to drive slow with the windows down and nowhere particular to be. Cullen and Harley were already gone, their trucks no longer in the side lot.
"Just us," Dove said, bumping her shoulder against his.
"Just us."
They walked around to the back lot where they'd both parked, the gravel crunching under their boots. Trent reached for her hand, her fingers threading through his like they belonged there.
Her truck was parked under the single light in the lot, a cone of yellow illumination in the darkness. He walked her to the driver's side door and didn't let go of her hand.
"Where's your uncle tonight?" he asked.
"Went to see a friend." She met his eyes. “He asked if you’d been notified about the exhumation?”
