"You're acting awfully possessive."
"Maybe I am being possessive," I admit, meeting his stare head-on. "Maybe I wouldn't mind being a hell of a lot more, if she wanted that."
Gabriel's expression doesn't change, but something shifts behind those blue eyes. "I see. And you're telling me this because?"
"Because I can see you've got feelings for her too. And I'd rather know where we stand than dance around it like idiots."
For a moment, we just stare at each other. Two men circling the same woman, trying to figure out if we're about to throw punches or find some other way through this mess.
"I don't believe she's involved with the Cutters," Gabriel finally says, deflecting. "My gut says wrong place, wrong time. But I had to ask."
"And I had to make sure you weren't using her trust to build some kind of case against her."
Gabriel nods slowly. "We both care about her more than we should."
"Yeah. We sure as hell do."
Lucy appears with two steaming mugs, and the tension between Gabriel and me shifts, becomes something else. Not competition exactly, but awareness. We both want her safe. We both want her happy. What that means for the future is a problem for another day.
"Here you go." She hands us each a mug, her fingers brushing mine for just a second longer than necessary.
"Thanks, Shortie. This smells incredible."
Gabriel drinks his coffee and checks his watch. "I really do need to get to the station. You two going to be all right?"
"We'll be fine," Lucy assures him.
Gabriel hesitates, like there's something he wants to say but can't find the words. Finally, he just squeezes Lucy's shoulder gently. "Take care of yourself."
After Gabriel leaves, Lucy and I head back inside. The house feels different with just the two of us, charged with possibility and things unspoken. Tyson settles in a patch of sunlight streaming through the windows, already claiming his territory.
"So," I say, rolling up my sleeves. "What's the plan for today?"
"I was thinking I should tidy up the kitchen, maybe do some light cleaning. Gabriel's been so kind, and I feel like Ishould—"
"Absolutely not." I move to block her path to the sink. "You're supposed to be resting, not playing housemaid."
"I feel fine. And I need to do something useful."
"Then let me help." I'm already moving toward the sink. "We'll tackle it together."
We fall into an easy rhythm, me washing and her drying with her good hand, and the domesticity of it feels natural in a way that should probably scare the shit out of me.
"What do you want to do today?" I ask as I hand her a clean plate, letting my fingers linger against hers. "What would make you happy?"
She's quiet for a moment, considering the question like it's a foreign concept. "I know this might sound silly, but I've only seen Montana's beauty from car windows and this porch. I want to really feel it, you know? Touch the earth, breathe the air without glass between me and the sky."
The longing in her voice catches me completely off guard. "That doesn't sound silly at all."
"When I was little," she says suddenly, "my mom used to take me on picnics in Central Park. We'd spread a blanket right on the grass and she'd say that was how you really experienced a place, by sitting still in it long enough to feel its heartbeat."
"She sounds like she was a hell of a woman."
"She was." Lucy closes the cabinet and leans against the counter, something wistful and achingly sad crossing herface. "I miss those moments. Miss being still somewhere beautiful."
The wistfulness in her voice gives me an idea that feels like the best one I've had in years. "You know what? We should have a picnic today."
"What?"
