Page 59 of The SEAL and the Sheriff

Hudson set his fork down. “We’ve made some progress.”

“What sort of case is it?” Grace asked.

Hudson picked his fork back up. “Missing person.”

“That doesn’t sound like Alaska,” Caleb chuckled. “Most people here who go missing want to be missing.”

“Caleb,” Sophie said mildly, though there was a smile in it.

“I’m just saying.” Caleb shrugged. “People don’t usually wander off by accident up here. Not for long.”

“That’s consistent with what I’m seeing,” Hudson said.

Sarah looked across at him. “And what are you seeing?”

Hudson met her gaze for a second, then looked back down at his plate. “Nothing definitive.”

Wyatt let out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh. “That’s another way of saying not much.”

Hudson shrugged one shoulder. “It’s accurate.”

“Mmm,” Wyatt said.

Ty cut in before the silence stretched. “Weather’s been turning. Ice’ll come in early this year if it keeps like this.”

Caleb picked it up immediately, talking about the marina and how they’d lost power for two days the previous winter. The table shifted with it, conversation sliding sideways into safer ground.

Sarah met his gaze and didn’t look away. He’d spent fifteen years believing he’d made the hard choice for both of them. After last night, he could no longer pretend the future was his decision to make.

Caleb said something, and she turned back into the conversation.

Hudson picked up his fork and ate another bite of pot roast he couldn’t taste.

Across the table, Sarah laughed. His glass stopped halfway to his mouth. Her head tipped back a fraction, cheeks flushed, eyes bright in the soft lamplight.

She’d always laughed like that. How had he ever forgotten?

He set his beer on the table before he dropped it.

Sophie was asking who wanted seconds. The conversation rolled on around him, easy and loud and alive. For the first time in a very long time, going back to the hotel sounded like the worst part of his day.

Because Sarah wasn’t there.

The kiss hadn’t changed the investigation or the fact that he might still have to leave.

It had only made him understand exactly what leaving would cost.

25

Sarah stood in the doorway, shrugged into her jacket, and let herself have it—the warmth, the dwindling noise, the safety of a house that had never once let her down.

Her mom had packed three separate containers of leftovers before anyone had properly stood up from the table, stacking them by the door. No one ever left her mom’s house hungry.

Josie had gone boneless against Grace’s shoulder somewhere around the second slice of pie, her breathing slow and even, one small fist curled loosely against her mother’s collar. Jen gathered glasses, stacking them by the sink.

The cold outside hit like a wall, brittle after the kitchen’s close heat, everyone’s breath hanging pale as they drifted onto the porch in a loose cluster. Hudson crossed to his rental, keys already out. He got in, but the car remained dark and silent.

Caleb knocked on the window glass. “That thing finally admitted defeat? Pretty sure it’s legally a lawn ornament now.”