Page 92 of The SEAL and the Sheriff

She barely recognized herself in the navy dress, hair down, about to go to dinner with a man she’d kissed that morning. She exhaled a shaky breath. She wasn’t entirely sure who this version of her was yet.

A knock sounded at the front door.

She opened the door, and Wyatt walked right in. He was still in his flight suit, orange against the blue dark behind him, clearly straight from a shift.

“Just checking on you. Heard about Nora—” He turned to face her.

“Make yourself at home, Wyatt.” Sarah closed the door.

His eyes moved from her face to the dress, then back up to her face. “Well.”

She pressed her lips together.

“Are you going out?”

“Yes.” She arched a brow at him.

“Anyone I know?”

“Wyatt.” She folded her arms. “Last time I checked, I wasn’t twelve and didn’t need my big brother’s approval.”

“Still my little sister.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Never said you couldn’t.” He leaned against the kitchen doorframe, arms crossed. “You look great. Does he know how lucky he is?”

Her throat tightened. “I think he does.”

Seconds ticked between them.

Wyatt stepped forward and kissed her forehead. She leaned into it. A few seconds, no more, but she let herself have it—the steadiness of her brother, his smell of jet fuel and cold air.

“You look happy,” Wyatt said, stepping back. He headed for the door, then paused with his hand on the frame. He looked back at her. “Does Mom know?”

Sarah groaned. “Don’t tell her.”

“Not a chance.” He grinned, pulled the door shut behind him, and was gone.

The house was quiet again as she headed to the bathroom and took a photo in the mirror. She sent it to Jen with a question mark.

The reply came back in approximately three seconds.

A second message followed immediately:

About damn time. Don’t wear your sheriff face.

Sarah snorted. “I’m not.”

She put the phone down.

She glanced at herself in the mirror again.

There was no sheriff looking back at her tonight. Just a woman who looked a little nervous and, God help her, hopeful.

Sarah reached for the perfume on the shelf above the sink. She sprayed her wrists and throat, releasing citrus, sea salt, and soft white musk. She’d bought it years ago because it smelled like the coast after rain. Now it was almost unfamiliar on her skin.

“Okay, Sarah. Let’s do this.”