"But I’m still on the list."
He finally looked at me. The intensity was still there, but the armor was gone. "You’re on the first vehicle."
"Is that a security requirement, Nick? Or a personal preference?"
He straightened, his jaw tightening. “It’s the call I can live with.”
“Don’t make responsibility lie for you,” I said, standing. I rounded the desk until I was inches from him. “I know how to leave early, Nick. I’ve made it look elegant for years. But don’t call this protection. You’re clearing the field so you don’t have to look at what’s actually happening.”
"I am trying to keep you alive," he snapped.
“I know,” I said, and the anger went quiet in my throat. “But I’m still here, Nick.”
Nick took a step closer, crowding my space. He smelled like soap and the fading heat of the day. “I have a daughter on another continent. I have a job that goes wrong fast. My marriage didn’t end because I stopped caring. It ended because I was better at crisis than I was at staying.”
He stopped. His breath caught once in the quiet. His gaze dropped to the floor, his hands curling at his sides.
“I know how to make sending you away look responsible,” he said. “I don’t know what to do when wanting you to stay asks for more than I know how to give.”
“Then stop pretending sending me away is the same thing as protecting me,” I said. My ribs tightened around the next breath. “I know this came with an end date. One week. One retreat. Iunderstand endings. What I don’t understand is you dressing this one up as duty.”
His eyes came back to mine. Neither of us moved.
"If you're here right now to say goodbye," I whispered, "don't touch me."
Nick reached out anyway. His hand didn't go for my waist or my hair. He wrapped his fingers around my wrist, his thumb pressing into the jumping pulse there.
“I’m here because I don’t know how to say goodbye.”
He swallowed, and the quiet around us tightened.
“And because I don’t want the clean exit I keep trying to give you.”
He pulled me toward him, and this time, there was no challenge in the contact. His mouth met mine with restraint that lasted half a breath. Our nights in the bush tent had been all edge. The little room at the lodge had been all urgency.
This kiss stayed.
His shoulders lowered beneath my arms as I wound them around his neck, my fingers digging into the damp hair at his nape.
“Not here,” I breathed against his lips. “Not where everyone knows how to find you.”
He pulled back just enough to look at me.
No argument. No apology.
His hand closed around mine, and he led me through the back of the lodge, past the dark service corridor and into the night, toward the low ranger cabin tucked beyond the yard.
The one place that didn't belong to everyone else.
The cabin was arranged with the efficiency of a man who had never meant to settle into it. A bed with a dark navy duvet, one nightstand, a heavy dresser, and a compact kitchenette tucked beneath a narrow counter. Enough to live. Not enough to belong.
On the nightstand sat a small, framed photo of a girl with his eyes and a defiant tilt to her chin. Sofia.
"She has your suspicion," I said softly.
"Poor kid," he muttered, but the edge was gone.
He turned to me, his silhouette framed by the faint moonlight filtering through the blinds. He didn’t move to undress me. For once, he didn't fill the space with orders.
