“You know something?” he murmured.
“What?” The word came out as a whisper.
“I’m very glad your parents interrupted those negotiations.”
He didn't pull back. Instead, he let his lips linger for a fraction of a second against the pulse point just below her ear. The abrasive brush of his stubble scraped lightly against her skin, sending a violent shiver down her spine.
“Oh?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He smiled slowly, drawing her a fraction closer against him.
“Because now we get to start them all over again. And this time, I don’t plan on getting interrupted.”
Something low and sharp curled in her stomach at the implication in his tone.
She laughed softly, but the sound was threaded with something else now. She let her head rest against his shoulder, taking him in—clean soap, faint spice, and the low, steady heat of him. For the length of the song, the world outside this circle of lantern light didn't exist. There was no Charleston, no cold case, and no courtroom.
But the dark beyond the riverbank wasn't empty.
Behind them, the long lens adjusted, focusing sharply on the way Reid’s hand dipped below her waist, the image crisp and damning. The camera flashed quietly—a brief, artificial heartbeat in the shadows, capturing the exact moment the District Attorney forgot to hide how much he wanted her.
And neither of them noticed.
They were too warm, too close, and too far gone.
The walk back to the Jaguar was slower, the air cooler, their fingers still intertwined. Reid was still riding the high of the dance; Eleanor felt the familiar prickle at the back of her neck—the one she’d lived with for two years in Charleston.
She pulled her phone from her clutch to check the time.
A notification glared on her lock screen—a Jackson County Ledger alert, or rather, the comments beneath it.
@SylvaTruth: Saw the DA’s Jag headed toward Bryson City with a blonde in the passenger seat. Conflict of interest much?
@MercerJustice: Calloway’s too busy dancing to find Caroline. Guess we know whose side he’s on now.
Eleanor’s steps faltered. “Reid.”
“Mm?” He was watching the river, not his phone.
“People are talking. Online.” She turned the screen toward him, the blue light harsh against the lantern glow. “They’re tracking the car. They know we’re here together.”
Reid didn’t even slow. He pressed his thumb to the power button, dimming the screen, tucked her hand—phone and all—back into the crook of his arm.
“It’s not just talk,” she said, the words tight. “Lila’s followers are vicious. If they make it look like you’re compromised because of me?—”
He stopped then, turning her to face him. He didn’t look rattled; he looked done performing for the gallery.
“I’ve spent ten years building a reputation so I could choose my own life,” he said quietly. “If the price of tonight is a few nasty comments, I’ll pay it.”
“It won’t stay in the comments,” she whispered. “They don’t want the truth. They want a villain.”
Reid cupped her jaw, his thumb tracing her lower lip. “Then let them have one. I’m the District Attorney. I’ve been called worse than ‘compromised.’”
He leaned in, resting his forehead against hers. “And I’m not spending my Saturday night staring at a screen when I could be looking at you. Put the phone away, Counselor. That’s an order.”
