Nova stares at me, eyes filling in real time. “Kaz?—”
“And we build a ship,” I go on, heart thudding. “One that doesn’t belong to the Alliance. One that’s ours. Dar gets his own seat. And we paint it weird colors and argue about names.”
“‘Paint it weird colors,’ he says like he ever picked up a brush in his life.”
“Oh please. I started painting before you ever stepped foot on Daveros.”
She snorts. “You painted one wall.”
I smirk. “One and a half.”
She rolls over and flicks my nose. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
I grab her hand and kiss her knuckles. “I kept the big one.”
Nova goes quiet. Really quiet.
Then she blinks fast, looks away, and says, “Shit. You made me cry.”
I pull her close, wrapping her in my arms until she’s tucked under my chin.
“I’m grateful,” I murmur. “For everything. For the second chance. For you. For Dar.”
She sniffs.
Then smacks me in the chest with a pillow. “You still never painted the other side of the railing.”
“I was distracted.”
“Oh, you were distracted.”
“Very,” I grin. “By a hot ex-assassin who keeps stealing all the covers and swears she doesn’t snore.”
She huffs and turns over dramatically. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re mine.”
Silence again, but this time it’s the kind that wraps around you like a warm blanket. Full. Safe.
Nova grabs my hand under the sheets and laces our fingers.
“We’re really doing this,” she whispers.
I squeeze her hand. “Yeah. We are.”
And in the quiet that follows, I realize something.
I’m not falling.
I’m grounded.
And gods, it feels good.
But the silence doesn’t last. Not when she shifts against me like that—just a little grind of her ass into my hips—and something in me wakes up, hot and sudden and sharp.
I groan, low and warning.
Nova half-turns, glancing back with that mischievous glint in her eye. “Oops.”
