Long minutes passed before he eased out, kissing her softly once more.
“Pancakes are cold,” he murmured against her lips.
She laughed—soft, breathless. “We’ll reheat them.”
He lifted her off the bench, carrying her back toward the bedroom, arms strong and sure.
“Later,” he said. “Much later.”
They crawled back under the sheets—still warm from each other—and tangled together again. No more words. Just the quiet rhythm of breathing, slowing, steadying.
The world outside could wait.
They’d waited long enough
???
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Lucas
The final debrief wrapped in the usual mid-season chaos—whiteboards wiped, laptops snapping shut, the room already emptying like everyone had one foot on a plane. Claire leaned back in her chair, feet up on the table, running her traditional end-of-season roundup with that sharp, no-nonsense grin.
“Right, people. Four weeks of freedom. Don’t make me regret it. Where’s everyone vanishing to?”
Jax launched into his Gold Coast plan—surfing, beers, the full larrikin checklist. Engineers rattled off family trips to Greece, Spain, Cornwall. Mechanics talked pub crawls and lie-ins. The mood was loose, relieved, the kind of tired-happy that comes after a long season.
Claire’s gaze eventually landed on them. She tilted her head.
“Mia? You heading back to New Zealand this time? Family farm, winter sun?”
Mia shook her head, voice steady—practiced. “Not this break. Thought I’d skip the long haul. Too much jet lag, too little time. I’m staying in Europe—heading to France actually. Renting a little place near the coast. Escape the city heat, get some quiet. Read books, drink rosé, pretend I’m normal for a few weeks.”
A few chuckles rippled around the table. “Very civilized,” someone said.
Claire nodded approvingly. “Smart. You deserve it after keeping Jax in line all season.”
Then she turned to him. “And you? Kent estate again?”
Lucas shrugged, keeping it casual. “Family villa in the South of France, yeah. Low-key. Pool, sea, no schedule. Same as every year.”
No one blinked. No raised eyebrows. No sidelong glances. Just the usual “sounds nice” murmurs.
Claire clapped once. “Perfect. Everyone—go recharge. See you at Spa looking human again.”
The room cleared fast. Lucas lingered, packing his notebook slowly, waiting for the last footsteps to fade. Mia did the same beside him—methodical, unhurried.
When the door clicked shut behind the final person, Claire stayed seated, legs still crossed on the table, eyes flicking between them with sudden calculation.
“Wait,” she said, voice dropping to that calm, opportunistic tone she used when she saw an opening. “Mia—France. South of France, specifically?”
Mia paused, mid-zip on her bag. “Yes… why?”
Claire’s smile turned faintly triumphant. “Coincidentally, your change in plans might just help me out. I was going to have to interrupt my holiday in the Maldives with my family to fly back early for the Louis Vuitton shoot in Nice. Lucas is the face of their new campaign—three days, two looks, beachside, very pretty, very expensive. I was dreading dragging myself across three time zones mid-break.”
She leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Since you’ll already be somewhere in the South of France… do you think you could make it to Nice for a few days to help manage our driver? Keep him on schedule, handle press if it leaks, make sure he doesn’t say anything too cryptic in interviews. We’ll obviously pay you for your time—full rate plus expenses—and I’m happy to arrange transportation from wherever you’re staying.”
Lucas felt Mia’s quick glance flick to him—neutral, professional. He kept his expression blank.
