“What if I do?” His voice dropped low, steady, holding her in place with his blue eyes.
The air between them crackled with that same pull from earlier on the rock—the one that made him want to close the distance, hold her, never let go. He reached up, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Do you think it would be okay if?—”
“Uncle Liam, you left your phone!”
Jimmy, Asher, and Easton came running from the campground.
He and Nimue stepped apart as Jimmy held out his phone. The kid nearly reached his shoulder now.
“Thanks.” He hadn’t even realized it was missing. The boys sprinted back to the fire.
The moment dissolved like smoke as she stepped away. He jingled his keys, walking toward the Bronco, acutely aware of her footsteps behind him.
“I’m glad you came tonight.” His voice carried weight beyond the simple words. “Really glad.” He turned.
Something shifted in her expression—walls lowering, just a little. “Your family’s incredible, Liam. They made me feel…”
“Like you belonged?”
She nodded, swallowed, then headed toward the passenger side.
Right.But as he got in, he realized that for the first time in months, the restless ache in his chest had quieted. His family was here, Nimue was here, and suddenly the canyon didn’t feel like a place to hide from his past but like a place to build his future.
Sleep was overrated anyway. Nimue rolled off the couch, padding to her tech setup in bare feet.
Seven days since the campfire with Liam’s family. Seven days of him arriving at six sharp for their runs, returning at seven in the evening for canyon-side conversations that stretched until stars appeared. Seven days of anticipation that had her bolting upright at four a.m., pulse hammering for reasons that had nothing to do with caffeine withdrawal.
And seven days in which he’d said nothing, nada,nichevoabout their near kiss.
Maybe she’d read his actions, his invitation, way, way, off-the-map wrong.
She jabbed the Keurig’s button, flicked on the LED strip above the window, and folded herself cross-legged onto the cushioned bench. Her laptop screen glowed to life—4:17 a.m.—and demanded her password. Her fingers moved from muscle memory as the familiar whir of her computer fans filled the silence.
Last night she’d sketched Alani to distract herself from thoughts of Liam. This morning, even that felt too raw. The campfire had reopened wounds she’d thought had healed—the ache for family, for belonging. The Kingsley clan’s easy laughter and shared stories had left her simultaneously warmed and hollowed out. How did everyone around her manage sprawling families while she collected scraps?
Even Emberly had been absorbed by family. Steinbeck Kingston and his mighty clan. And sure, they would probably welcome her too, but she’d always be the outsider looking in. The stray they’d taken pity on.
And then there was Liam. Those blue eyes that seemed to see straight through her carefully constructed walls. It wasn’t just attraction—though that certainly complicated things. It was the way he looked at her like she mattered, like he wanted to know every layer she’d built up. Dangerous territory. She’d known him barely two weeks, but he was already slipping under her defenses, and that scared her more than any encrypted file.
She pulled up the files she’d intercepted months ago. She’d gone over them more times than she could count, but maybe today would be different. The files were unassuming—PDFs, text documents, nothing that screamed immediate danger. She lifted her coffee mug, wincing at the bitter brew, and opened the first file.
Spreadsheet. Columns of numbers resembling inventory logs. She’d memorized every cell by now, but something grabbed her attention—a word with a slightly different font. Almost like…
She clicked on it.
A soft ping filled the air. Her cursor spun into a loading wheel. Her pulse kicked up as new files cascaded across her desktop like digital confetti.
“No way.” Coffee sloshed as she set the mug down too fast. She clicked another file, expecting schematics or communications or code.
A Roomba manual?Pages of vacuum diagrams in Cyrillic text.
“Are you kidding me?” She stared at the screen. Either this was elaborate misdirection or the Russian mob had branched into home cleaning solutions.
She grabbed her phone, pacing the narrow aisle. “Em, you awake?”
“Just getting up, but it’s four thirty a.m. there. What’s wrong?” Emberly’s voice carried concern even through morning grogginess.