Chapter 20 #2
He did, mapping her with his mouth and hands, tasting the salt of her skin, the faint hint of sunscreen. She arched into him, fingers digging into his shoulders, as if she needed something solid to hold on to while the rest of her came loose.
By the time he slid into her, both of them were already half undone.
He moved slowly at first, letting them find a rhythm that matched the sway of the boat.
She met him, every roll of her hips saying yes, this, more.
The world narrowed to the heat between them, the sound of their breath, the quiet slap of water against the hull.
When she came, it was with his name on her lips, her body tightening around him in a way that dragged him over the edge with her. He buried his face in her neck and let go, shuddering, the release as much emotional as physical.
They lay there for a long moment afterward, tangled and flushed, the boat rocking them in a slow, absentminded cradle.
“This might ruin all future dates,” she said eventually, voice muffled against his shoulder. “The bar is very high now.”
He laughed, feeling loose and wrecked in the best way. “I’ll try to keep up,” he said.
“You usually do,” she replied.
He kissed her forehead, then reluctantly disentangled enough to help her sit up and straighten her clothes. They made some attempt at tidying themselves, laughing quietly whenever the boat shifted at the wrong moment and threw them against each other again.
Once they were mostly presentable, she leaned back against the rail, closed her eyes, and tilted her face to the sun.
“This feels like cheating,” she said.
“On who?” he asked.
“On our past selves,” she said. “The ones who couldn’t imagine this. Sun, boat, sex, plans that extend beyond next week. Feels a little unfair to them.”
“They got us here,” he said. “They deserve to be retired somewhere nice.”
She opened one eye and smiled. “You going to put them in a home by the sea?”
“Maybe,” he said. “Visit them on holidays.”
His phone buzzed in his pocket, disrupting the lazy contentment. He considered ignoring it, then thought of Diaz and shell companies and sighed.
“Sorry,” he said, pulling it out.
A text from Diaz flashed on the screen.
Got that plate back from the state. Your sedan friend is connected to an active case in three states. You and your girl stay visible when you can; avoid isolated parking lots for a bit. Coffee at Harbor Station tomorrow a.m.? I want to loop you in on what we can share.
He showed it to Bree.
Her mouth tightened, but she didn't flinch. “Well,” she said. “That’s one way to bring us back to reality.”
“You okay?” he asked.
She took a breath, letting it out slowly. “Honestly? Yeah,” she said. “I mean, I’m not thrilled there’s a multi-state case attached to our shadow, but I’d rather know than pretend.”
“Awareness, not paranoia,” he said.
“Exactly,” she said.
He typed a quick reply.
We’ll be there. And we’ll stick to well-lit, populated places.
He slid the phone back into his pocket and looked at her. “We can head in if you want,” he said. “I don’t want you to feel exposed out here.”
She glanced around; the cove was still as quiet as it had been, the only other boat a distant speck near the horizon.
“I feel safer here with you than I did in my own apartment a month ago,” she said. “Let’s steal a little more time before we go back in. Diaz has us; we’re not alone in this.”
He nodded, some of the tension easing. “Deal,” he said.
They sat there together, watching the light play on the water, talking about small things: paint colors, tool brands, whether Brian would survive if they banned neon in the shop. They argued, cheerfully, about the merits of teal in a bathroom; he lost, mostly willingly.
On the ride back in, Bree sat at the bow, hair whipping in the wind, one hand curved around the rail. She looked back at him over her shoulder, joy clear on her face; the sight lodged in his chest like a promise.
At the dock, he helped her out of the boat and returned the keys. The teenager barely looked up, mumbling “have a nice day” as he shoved the clipboard into a plastic bin.
They walked along the harbor path toward town, hands brushing, then twining. The sounds of Copper Moon grew louder with each step; kids shouting near the fountain, someone busking with a guitar, the clink of dishes from café patios.
“Tomorrow,” Bree said, “we talk to Diaz and hear how big this thing really is.”
“Yeah,” he said.
“After that,” she went on, “we go back to the warehouse and argue about whether the shop bathroom can be teal.”
He smiled. “I thought we settled that.”
“We settled that I’m right,” she said. “You’ll come around.”
He laughed. “Probably.”
“And somewhere in there,” she said, “we call the realtor Diaz’s assistant recommended and start looking at houses.”
He looked at her, at the way she said houses like a thing she believed in now. “You sure you want to tie yourself to a mortgage with a guy whose idea of a good time is running spreadsheets on part shipments?” he asked.
“I just had sex with you on a boat,” she said matter-of-factly. “I think I’m pretty in.”
He felt the grin spread across his face, unstoppable. “Fair,” he said.
They reached an intersection; the light changed. Across the street, a dark sedan paused at the stop sign, then turned the other way, disappearing into the flow of traffic. Hank’s muscles tightened for a second, then eased when he saw the local dealership plate frame.
Bree noticed; her fingers tightened briefly in his. He squeezed back.
“Awareness,” she murmured.
“Not paranoia,” he finished.
They crossed together, stepping into the bright patch of afternoon that lay over Main Street. Copper Moon bustled around them: imperfect, messy, alive.
The threat was out there; they both knew it. A network of people who would rather stay in the shadows. A supplier with a grudge. A sedan with a plate that pinged in three states.
But they were not alone.
They had Diaz and her sharp eyes, the mayor and her stubborn pride, Jason and his honest tape measure, Colby and his spreadsheets, and Brian with his unshakeable loyalty. They had a warehouse that was about to become a shop and a studio, a future painted in light and grease and color.
And they had each other.
Hank squeezed Bree’s hand and felt her squeeze back, their steps falling into an easy rhythm as they walked toward whatever came next, side by side.