Chapter 33
Harper
When I’m discharged from the hospital, Baptiste invites me to stay with him. Temporarily, of course—we’re not jumping ahead. It just feels silly for me to check into a hotel or get a short-term rental when he has a huge, perfectly good townhouse to offer.
At least, that’s the practical version.
The emotional version is, I don’t want to be alone.
The fire took everything. Clothes. Notebooks.
My couch with the broken spring I’d been meaning to fix.
The chipped mug I’d had since college. Years of memories, little pieces of my life—gone in one violent, smoky breath.
The acrid smell still clings to me if I close my eyes.
The stench of burnt fabric, melted plastic, and that metallic tang of something destroyed beyond repair.
And yet, as I stand in the middle of Baptiste’s living room with no belongings to my name, I don’t feel homeless.
I feel… held.
Because I am. By giant, warm hands that smell like cedarwood and clean cotton. His arms wrap around me easily, naturally, as if this is the most obvious place for me to be.
“I’m so glad you’re safe and here with me,” he says, kissing my forehead. “Remember, you can stay as long as you want.”
As long as you want. I savor those words.
Not as long as you need. Not until you figure things out.
I smile, dropping a quick kiss on his lips. “Thank you for all this, and for giving me a second chance. Even though what I did was unforgivable.”
My heart clenches like it does every time I think about how far I went to uncover the truth. How I stole from him in the name of certainty. How close I came to losing him for good. And how lucky—so unbelievably lucky—I am that he came back to me.
“We do crazy things for the people we love, right?” he says softly.
That word, love, still sends a tremor through me. It’s steady now. Real. Not something I’m afraid to touch.
I chuckle, nodding. “Still, my special set of skills will only ever apply to you if you request them. I promise.”
His expression shifts—something warm and relieved passing through his eyes. Trust. That’s what this is all about.
“Seems like a great deal to me,” he says, smiling.
“Just don’t turn to a life of crime, please?” I add with a wince. “I don’t want to have to choose between love and a headline.”
He bursts out laughing, head tipping back, and I suddenly feel like I’m floating. No sound can compare to this man’s laugh. Free, unrestrained, the kind that fills a room and pushes the shadows out to make room for the light.
“Promise,” he says, pulling me back in, his hands sliding to my waist. “No secret identities. No offshore accounts. No underground crime rings.”
“Good,” I murmur against his chest. “Because starting today, I’m retired. At least when it comes to you.”
A slow, crooked smile tugs at his mouth. “I do hope I get a chance to be your sidekick again, though. It was fun.”
“Oh, you enjoyed it, did you?” I narrow my eyes.
“Absolutely. Well… until it put the life of the woman I love in jeopardy. But investigating other people?” He lifts an eyebrow. “I’m game.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh, the sound spilling out of me, leaving me lighter than I’ve felt in weeks.
“And if I ever want to enlist the help of your detective brain when it comes to my past,” he continues, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear, “I’ll file a formal request.”
I nod solemnly. “In triplicate.”
“Obviously.”
His forehead presses against mine, our breaths mingling, warm and steady. No tension in the air between us. No fear humming under the surface. Just the quiet certainty of choosing each other.
For the first time in so long, I don’t feel the urge to chase something.
Not a lead. Not a story. Not even the truth.
Just us.