Chapter 3 #2
They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of what lay ahead settling over them like a blanket.
“Tell me something good,” Liza said suddenly. “Something that has nothing to do with shootings or death threats or crazy ex-cops.”
Grant looked at her in surprise. “What?”
“Something good. A happy memory. Your favorite place. Anything.” She needed something to hold on to, something to remind her that the world was more than just fear and violence.
He was quiet for a long moment, and she thought he might not answer. Then his expression softened.
“When I was a kid, I used to spend summers here,” he said.
“My parents would send me to stay with my uncle’s family.
Blaze and I became friends—he taught me to fish, to ride, to navigate the mountains.
” A smile touched his lips. “There was this spot by Forgiveness River where the water runs clear and cold over smooth rocks. We’d spend hours there, just…
being kids. No responsibilities, no worries.
Just the sound of the water and the mountains all around us. ”
Liza could picture it—a younger Grant, before the job and the betrayals and the scars. “Do you ever go back there?”
“Haven’t in twenty-five years.” He looked at her. “Maybe after this is over, I will.”
The way he said it—like he was making plans for a future that might not exist—made her chest tight.
“I’d like that,” she said softly. “After this is over, I mean. I’d like to see it.”
His eyes darkened, and suddenly the space between them felt charged. Electric. He leaned in slightly, and she found herself doing the same, drawn by something she couldn’t name.
“Liza,” he said.
“Grant,” she whispered back.
His hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing across her cheekbone. She could feel his breath on her face, could see the way his gaze dropped to her mouth.
This was crazy. They’d known each other less than a day. Someone was trying to kill them. She had a concussion, for crying out loud.
But none of that mattered. Not when he was looking at her like she was something precious. Not when every instinct she had was screaming at her to close the distance between them.
He leaned in closer, his lips mere inches from hers—
His phone buzzed loudly in his pocket.
They both jerked back. Grant pulled out his phone, his jaw tight with frustration.
“Colt,” he said, answering. “Yeah. Okay. Got it. Thanks.”
He ended the call and looked at her, something regretful in his expression.
“Blaze is out of surgery,” he said. “Doing well. And state police are setting up a perimeter around town. Colt thinks we should leave soon—before they lock everything down and make it harder to move.”
Liza nodded, trying to ignore the disappointment flooding through her. “How soon?”
“An hour. Maybe less.” He stood, putting distance between them. “You should rest while you can. It’s going to be a long night.”
As he moved away, back to his pacing and planning, Liza settled against the couch cushions. Her head still ached, her world had been turned upside down, and someone wanted her dead.
But all she could think about was how close his lips had been to hers.
And how much she wanted to finish what they’d started.
The hour passed in strange suspension. Grant moved through the apartment like he was choreographing a dance—checking weapons, organizing supplies, planning routes in his head. Liza watched him from the couch, tracking the economical way he moved, the way his hands were never still.
He was beautiful in motion. Controlled violence wrapped in discipline.
She shouldn’t be noticing. Shouldn’t be cataloging the way his shoulders filled out his shirt, or how his jaw tightened when he was thinking hard, or the way his eyes kept finding her across the room like he couldn’t help himself.
“Stop staring,” he said without looking up from the tactical gear he was organizing.
“Can’t help it. You’re very stare-worthy when you’re being all protective and competent.”
That got his attention. He looked up, caught her gaze, and something electric arced between them. “Liza—”
“I know. Wrong time. Wrong circumstances. We barely know each other.” She wanted to touch him. “Doesn’t change the fact that I haven’t stopped thinking about that almost-kiss.”
His jaw worked. “Neither have I.”
“So what do we do about it?”
“Nothing. Not until you’re safe. Not until this is over.” But his eyes told a different story—heat and want and barely restrained need.
“Very noble of you.” She stood slowly, testing her balance. The room spun slightly but settled. “What if I’m not interested in noble?”
Grant’s hands stilled on the gear. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t look at me like that. Like you want me to forget every rule I’ve ever had about keeping people safe.” He crossed to her in three strides. “You have a concussion. Someone’s trying to kill you. This is the worst possible time for us to—”
“To what?” She stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him. “To acknowledge that there’s something here? That whatever this is between us, it started the second you walked into my bakery?”
“Liza.” Her name came out harsher than he’d wanted. “I can’t protect you if I’m distracted.”
“Then don’t get distracted.” She reached up, traced the scar on his jaw with one finger. “But don’t pretend you don’t feel this too.”
His hand caught hers, held it against his face. For a moment they stood frozen, both breathing hard, the space between them charged with everything they weren’t saying.
“When this is over,” Grant said finally, his voice low and intense.
“When you’re safe and Caine is locked up and we have time to think straight—I’m going to kiss you properly.
Not an almost-kiss interrupted by a phone.
Not a stolen moment in the middle of chaos.
A real kiss. The kind that means something. ”
“Promise?”
“Promise.” He released her hand, stepped back. “But until then, I need you to stop looking at me like that. Because my self-control has limits, and you’re testing every single one of them.”
Liza smiled despite everything. “Good to know.”
The radio on the table crackled. “Grant, it’s Wyatt. I’m five minutes out. You two ready?”
Grant picked up the radio. “Ready.”
But he was looking at Liza when he said it, and the promise in his eyes made her pulse quicken.
Five minutes. Then they’d be running for their lives into the mountains with a killer on their trail.
But when this was over—when they were safe and had time to breathe—she was going to hold him to that promise.
All of it.