Her breath hitches. I see the shiver ripple through her and hate that I frightened her—yet part of me knows she’s safer with me than without. This isn’t bravado. It’s a promise.
“That’s… quite a declaration for someone you hardly know,” she says, attempting a joke. Her heart is racing; I can hear it in her words.
I meet her eyes. “Some things are clear-cut, Lana. Some lines shouldn’t be crossed. Any man who lays a hand on a woman in anything but a loving manner...deserves whatever comes to him,” I finish, the words coming out with a quiet intensity that surprises even me.
Lana studies my face, something shifting in her expression—not fear, but acceptance. “You mean that.”
“Every word.” I take a breath, forcing my hands to unclench beneath the table. “The nightmares make sense now.”
She nods, taking a sip of wine. “They’ve gotten better. Less frequent. But sometimes, when I feel... vulnerable, they come back.”
“Like the other night,” I say, understanding dawning. “After everything with Danny.”
“Yes.” Her fingers trace the rim of her wine glass. “Being grabbed like that, feeling helpless again... it triggered something.”
I reach across the table, palm up—an invitation, not a demand. After a moment, she places her hand in mine.
“Thank you,” I say, “for trusting me with this.”
“Thank you for not looking at me differently,” she replies. “Most people do, once they know.”
“I see you more clearly now,” I tell her, “Not differently.”
The conversation shifts to lighter topics as we finish our dessert, but something has changed between us—a deeper understanding, a bridge crossed. When Henri brings the check, I insist on paying despite Lana’s protests.
“Next time can be your treat,” I suggest, enjoying the way her eyes light up at the promise of a next time.
Outside, the night has grown colder, stars pricking the clear sky above. She shivers slightly, and I wrap my arm around her shoulders without thinking. She leans into me, fitting perfectly against my side as we walk to the truck.
“Look,” she says suddenly, pointing upward. “The Northern lights.”
Sure enough, ribbons of green and purple dance across the northern sky, shimmering like celestial curtains. We stand transfixed, watching the spectacle in silence. In this moment,there are no century-old conspiracies, no dangerous mining companies, no painful pasts—just us and the aurora painting the night.
“Beautiful,” I murmur, though I’m looking at her now, not the sky.
She turns to face me, her pink hair silver-blue in the starlight. “Caleb,” she says softly, my name a question on her lips.
I answer by leaning down, giving her time to pull away if she wants. She doesn’t. Instead, she rises on her toes, meeting me halfway.
Our lips touch, gentle at first—a question, an exploration. Her mouth is soft, warm, tasting faintly of chocolate and wine. I feel her hands slide up my chest to my shoulders, careful of my injury. My own hands find her waist, drawing her closer as the kiss deepens.
Time seems to suspend as we stand there, learning from each other in this most ancient way. When we finally part, both slightly breathless, I rest my forehead against hers.
“I’ve been wanting to do that since I first saw you,” I admit.
Her laugh is low, intimate. “Even when Scout didn’t recognize you and tried to take your hand off?”
“Especially then,” I reply, smiling against her lips. “I like a woman with a protective dog.”
“But he’s not my dog!”
“True, but he seems to think differently. You’re one of his humans.”
She kisses me again, briefly but with a promise of more. “We should get back,” she says reluctantly. “Early day tomorrow with those documents.”
“Right,” I agree, though moving away from her is the last thing I want to do. “The treasure hunt continues.”
The drive back is comfortable, with her hand in mine whenever I don’t need it to drive. We talk about tomorrow’s plans, about the waterfall where Wolf might have hidden the remaining gold, and about what we think should be done with the evidence against NTM.
