Page 97 of The SEAL and the Sheriff

He cleared his throat and met her gaze. “You look different tonight.”

She glanced down at herself. “I’m not wearing my uniform.”

His mouth twitched. “I noticed.”

She waited for the compliment about the dress. The earrings. Her hair. Something easy to laugh off. Instead, he studied her for a quiet moment, his gaze resting on her face with the same careful attention he’d given everything else this evening.

“You look lighter,” he said at last.

She frowned. “Lighter?”

“You’ve smiled more tonight than I’ve seen you smile since I got here. You’ve laughed more, too.”

Heat flushed up the back of her neck, and she looked down, pretending to inspect the bourbon.

“I think...” She shook her head, gathering her words. “I think that might be the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in a very long time.”

“Then people haven’t been paying attention.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. A log in the fire popped somewhere in the background, the murmur of other conversations cocooning them.

Sarah looked across the table at the man she’d once thought she’d never see again. She smoothed the wool over her thigh, needing something to do.

He took another sip of bourbon, as though buying himself a second. “So,” he said, a little too casually. “Do you ever go down to the river anymore?”

She smiled. “The falls?”

“Yeah. The spot with the flat rocks. Do you remember Wyatt’s fish?”

“Wyatt’s enormous fish that he absolutely caught and definitely didn’t lose.” She shook her head with a snort.

“He talked about that fish for years.”

“He still talks about that fish.”

“That day stuck with me.” Hudson smiled into his glass, his expression turning thoughtful. “Do you remember we went behind the waterfall?”

His gaze drifted toward the snow beyond the window. “The light came through the water and threw rainbows across the rock, and Caleb was yelling himself hoarse for you to come swimming, and you never even heard him. You were watching the light.”

The memory came back with startling clarity. The cold spray on her skin, the thunder of the water so loud it became a version of silence, the colors shifting across the wet stone. She’d been twelve years old and completely mesmerized. “You remember that?”

He shook his head. “You stuck out your tongue because you said you wanted to taste the rainbow.” His eyes met hers. “I remember, Sarah.”

Something caught painfully in her chest. For years she’d believed she’d been the only one carrying memories.

She reached across the table and stole one of his fries.

He blinked. “Hey.”

“You weren’t eating it.” If she didn’t say something ordinary, her voice was going to betray her entirely.

“That’s theft.”

“I’ll write myself a warning.” She ate the fry. “Consider it a tax.”

“A tax?”

“For making me emotional.”