“They’re trying to turn what happened with Logan into something that costs me Michigan. And they probably think that’ll make me regret stepping in.”
Her head tilted slightly as she looked up at me. “And do you?”
I leaned down until our foreheads touched. “No. Never.”
Her fingers fisted the front of my shirt. “They underestimated you.”
“They misunderstood what matters most to me.”
For a moment, neither of us moved. The ocean rolled in behind us, the wind carrying the scent of salt through the darkening air.
Her hand slid up the back of my neck before I could say another word. Then she pulled me down to her.
The kiss wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t careful. Everything we had been holding in over the past week collided between us in one breath—fear, anger, relief, the quiet certainty that neither of us had walked away.
Her mouth moved against mine with a kind of urgency that stole the air from my lungs. I felt it in the way her fingers threaded into my hair, in the way she rose slightly onto her toes to meet me.
My hands moved to her waist, steadying her as the wind pushed in off the water. For a second, the world narrowed to heat and breath and the steady crash of the ocean behind us.
She tasted faintly of salt from the wind and something warmer beneath it that I’d spent days trying not to think about. The familiar pull of her mouth against mine eased a tension I hadn’t realized I’d been carrying since Logan’s attack.
Mila kissed with her whole heart. No hesitation. No holding back.
Her hands trailed up my chest, gripping the fabric of my shirt as if she needed something solid beneath her fingers. The movement sent a rush of heat through me that had nothing to do with the cold air off the water.
My palm spread across the center of her back, feeling the steady rhythm of her breathing as the kiss deepened. The quiet sound she made slipped between us and went straight through me.
This was what it felt like when the world tried to take something from me—and I refused to let it.
When she finally broke the kiss, her forehead rested against mine while we both caught our breath. Her fingers were still tangled in the collar of my shirt, knuckles pale from how tightly she held on.
I didn’t move. Didn’t loosen my arms. The thought of letting go—even for a second—felt wrong in a way I couldn’t explain.
The ocean rolled in behind us, steady and relentless. And standing there with Mila pressed against me, I understood something with absolute clarity.
Whatever came next—they were going to have to fight both of us.
Whoever had started the sabotage believed quiet pressure would force a reaction. Force distance. Force retreat.
They had already begun moving. But they were wrong about one thing. I wasn’t stepping away from her. Not now. Not ever.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
MILA
The email arrived just after lunch. I noticed it right away. The subject line carried the gallery’s name. My chest lifted with a quiet spark of excitement before I even opened it. That gallery had been the first place outside of Colleen’s Boardwalk Studio to show genuine interest in my work. The curator had reached out weeks ago after seeing photographs of my charcoal pieces online. She had talked about an exhibit. About the way the rawness in the work felt “intentional and alive.”
Until now, the conversation had carried nothing but enthusiasm.
I opened the message beneath the jacaranda tree near the edge of campus, its faint honeyed scent drifting through the air.
The tone had changed. Not dramatically—just enough to introduce hesitation. The email remained polite, full of professional courtesy. The curator thanked me again for sharing my portfolio and expressed continued admiration for the work.
Then the hesitation arrived.
Recent information had surfaced that might create complications for the gallery if they moved forward with the exhibit on the original timeline. She emphasized that they werenot canceling the opportunity entirely. They simply needed to reconsider the schedule.
I read the paragraph again and understood what the curator hadn’t written. Someone with influence had spoken to them and applied pressure in the right place to make them hesitate.
