She stepped forward and pulled Caitlin into a hug—tight, grounding.
“I missed you,” she said quietly. “More than I realized.”
Caitlin squeezed her back, then leaned away, eyes searching Izzy’s face.
“And for the record,” she added, voice dropping into something conspiratorial, “Burke’s not the only Scott who’s happy you’re here.”
Izzy blinked. “What does that mean?”
Caitlin’s mouth tipped into a knowing smile. “Have you seen the way he looks at you?”
Color crept up Izzy’s neck before she could stop it.
“Absolutely not,” she said. “We are not doing this.”
“Oh, we are so doing this,” Caitlin said, grinning. “You can pretend you don’t notice, but those eyes are practically a public service announcement.”
Izzy opened her mouth, ready with a deflection?—
“Alright, alright?—”
A deep, amused voice cut in from the doorway.
They pulled apart to find Burke leaning there, uniform swapped for worn denim and a faded shirt, a pair of tongs in one hand.
He reached past them into the fridge, grabbing two beers.
“Time to break up the emotional support group,” he said, popping a cap. “Steaks are five minutes out. And if you miss this sunset, Grant’s gonna personally escort you off the property.”
Caitlin grinned. “Threat noted.”
* * *
The view from the back patio was, as promised, unreal.
The sun dipped behind the jagged line of the Blue Ridge, painting the sky in violent shades of violet and gold.
They settled around the long timber table, plates filling, glasses clinking, the low hum of a perfect evening settling in around them.
Burke didn’t even pretend to behave.
Caitlin ended up in his lap before the food hit the table, his arm wrapped around her waist like it had always belonged there. His hand traced slow, absent-minded patterns along her thigh, his mouth brushing her temple, her neck—like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.
Grant came out of the house carrying a heavy wooden board loaded with steaks, one hand steady underneath it. Steve abandoned his spot beside the grill and headed straight for Izzy, settling beneath her chair.
“Move,” he said to Burke, nudging his chair with his boot.
Burke didn’t budge.
“Or what?”
Grant set the board down with a solid thud.
“Or I’ll feed you last.”
Burke snorted. “You wouldn’t.”
Grant didn’t even look at him. “Try me.”
