“You’re overthinking the frame again, Wilder.”
I lowered the Leica. “I am assessing the composition, Nick. It’s what civilized people call looking.”
“No.”
“You’ve become very fond of that word.”
“You keep needing it.”
My pulse kicked once, hard and deeply unhelpful. “And what am I doing wrong this time?”
His expression stayed unreadable behind the dark lenses of his Oakleys. The certainty in his voice did the damage. “You’re trying to include everything so you don’t have to choose what matters.”
My grip tightened on the Leica strap. I looked away first, which was unacceptable on several levels. “That's a lot of psychological violence for a scenic overlook.”
His mouth almost moved. Not a smile. A controlled shift at the corner, gone before it could become anything merciful. “You asked what I was looking for.”
“And?”
“I’m still deciding what to do with it.”
His hand came close enough to make my pulse misbehave, then caught the Leica strap twisted against my wrist.
Practical. Professional. Completely reasonable.
His fingers slid beneath the leather and turned it flat against my skin. A small correction. A meaningless adjustment.
Apparently, I was one practical correction away from becoming a cautionary tale at a scenic overlook.
I stayed still. His expression shifted by fractions, the professional restraint thinning until the man beneath it showed through.
“The other two are right there,” I managed, though the words felt like they belonged to a woman with far better judgment.
Nick’s head turned slightly, the dark lenses cutting past me. Owen by the hood. Naomi near the marker stones. Both safe. Both deeply invested in their own irritation.
“They’re inside the boundary,” he said, his gaze cutting past me once more. “And I’m still watching.”
His hand moved from the strap to the back of my neck. His palm was hot, his grip firm enough to make the rest of the ridge go strangely quiet, but his thumb brushed once beneath my hairline, careful enough to undo me.
He didn’t pull me closer. He simply held me there. On a ridge where nothing could reach me except him.
This was where the map stopped helping, and inconveniently, the view was fucking spectacular.
"Juliette."
He said my name like it was a confession, stripped of every title I knew how to hide behind.
Game over.
He knew exactly what he was doing. Worse, he knew I was going to let him.
"Nick," I whispered.
The space between us became the only thing in the world.
He didn’t lean in.
He waited for me to close it.
