He’s a collision of all the versions of him I’ve loved, and sometimes I try to forget: dark hair pushed back like he’s been running a hand through it all night, frustration etched into every careless strand.Scruff along his jaw that makes him look undone in a way that feels intentional even when it’s not—like he doesn’t bother softening himself for the world anymore.
His shoulders sit tense beneath his jacket, wide and strong, like he’s built to brace for impact and has learned not to give an inch when it comes.
Then his eyes lock on me.
Blue-gray.Focused.Stripped bare of pretense.They don’t skim or search—they land and stay, like he’s cataloging every exhausted line of my face, every breath I haven’t taken yet.
My pulse reacts before my brain does, a low, traitorous thrum that sinks straight into my core.He’s close enough now that I can smell him—clean soap, coffee, something unmistakably him—and my body leans without permission, like it remembers how easily it used to fit against his.
He doesn’t smile wide.He never does.It’s just a slow curve of his mouth, restrained and private, like he’s letting me see something no one else gets.And the chemistry between us hums—quiet, dangerous, undeniable—stretching tight across the space like a held breath neither of us is willing to release first.
Monty lifts his chin toward Cally, then points at him like he’s calling a penalty.
“What the fuck is he doing here?”
“I came here to take her home.”Cally puffs his chest, like trying to claim me.
Monty’s eyes narrow.“Really?Home?”He turns to me.“We don’t have time for games.Your dad’s on his way to Baker’s Creek.The hospital’s waiting.I have the car ready.”
Cally bristles beside me.Of course Monty already handled it.He probably called three specialists and memorized the hospital layout while Cally was still deciding which flannel to wear.Then Monty steps forward and gently presses the cup into my hands, his thumb brushing beneath my eye like he’s wiping away exhaustion itself.
“You look tired,” he murmurs.
Cally’s body shifts beside me.A small movement, the kind you’d miss if you weren’t paying attention.His smile stays, but the muscles around it tighten like he’s resisting an impulse.
I’m standing between, and it feels like every year that’s passed since Juniper Ridge just got shoved into a suitcase and thrown at my feet.They stare at each other.Neither of them looks away.Neither of them moves first.
This is what I get for thinking I could keep them separate forever—two parallel lines that never intersect, two worlds I texted at midnight and then closed the app on, pretending it didn’t count.
Two men I once believed I could walk away from.
Spoiler: I couldn’t.
Do they even know they’re teammates now?Probably not, because neither one of them have a black eye or a broken something.My brain scrambles for control.
“Hi,” I blurt, like that’s going to fix any of this.“What are you doing here?”
Cally’s grin flashes again, too bright, too quick.“Picking you up.”
Monty’s voice comes right after, calm as a blade.“Picking you up, like we discussedyesterday.”
I blink.“Okay.Great.Love that we coordinated.”
Cally laughs like I’m hilarious.Monty doesn’t.He watches me, like he’s waiting for me to pick a side without asking me to.
Then Monty takes my carry-on and my backpack like it’s non-negotiable.“We agreed.And I’m guessing Pretty Boy over here just decided to crash whatever plans you had.”
“Please don’t do this,” I mutter, rubbing my temples.“I’m running on zero hours of sleep and emotional caffeine.I cannot referee your testosterone showdown right now.”
Cally smirks.“Emotional collapse looks good on you.”
“Shut up,” I mutter, then glance between them.“Seriously.Why are both of you?—”
“Vesper,” Cally says, softer now, with that devastating seriousness that always cracked me open.“We’re here because your dad is sick.”
Monty’s gaze flicks over my face, like he’s reading everything I’m trying to hide.
“We’re not doing this at an airport,” Monty says.“We have to go.Now.I bet you haven’t slept since ...probably Finland.”
