Page 150 of The Best Shot

“But I’m not going to promise I’ll look the other way if somebody hurts you. And I’m still not sorry I chose you.”

Her mouth trembled. She didn’t say it was okay. She didn’t say it wasn’t. She just nodded once and put her face in my neck.

Morning grayed the window over the sink.

In two weeks, Yasmine would be gone.

But for now, she stayed.

I didn’t let go.

43

“I’M COMING BACK TO YOU.”

YASMINE

Fourteen days became thirteen, then twelve.

After that, I stopped counting.

We didn’t talk about me leaving, but it had gotten into everything. Every look. Every touch. Every night I spent wrapped around him in the dark.

Neither of us knew how to say, I’m not ready for this to pause.

So we didn’t.

Hale showed up early and stayed late, fitting himself into my routines until I stopped noticing where mine ended and his began.

My gear went down across the living room floor in a grid. He learned the system without asking—charged batteries here, backup lenses there, thermal layers sorted by weight. I’d find him cross-referencing my packing list against the NSF guidelines I’d printed out, brow furrowed, pencil in hand like he’d been doing it for years.

“You don’t have to do this,” I said once.

He looked up. “I know.” Then went right back to it.

He fixed the zipper on my secondary duffel, replaced the worn carabiner on my camera bag with one that actually locked, and spent three hours researching cold-weather hand warmers before coming back with a ranked list and a look of quiet triumph.

“These last twelve hours,” he said.

“You’re insane.”

“They had good reviews.”

I kissed him instead of arguing.

We did a lot of that, kissing.

We fucked even more.

Mornings, I’d wake with his chest at my back, one big hand spread over my breast, already feeling the heavy slide of him inside me before I’d fully opened my eyes.

“Go on back to sleep, darlin’. I’ll take care of it.”

“This a service call?” I managed, tilting my hips just that bit more.

“You complaining?”

“No.”