Page 98 of The SEAL and the Sheriff

He stared at her for a second. Then a laugh rumbled out of him, and relief loosened her muscles.

The conversation wandered after that, finding easier ground. The food was good, the fries dangerously so, and at some point Hudson surrendered half of them without ever admitting she’d won.

She couldn’t remember the last time two hours had disappeared so quickly. Or the last time she’d sat across from someone and felt her breathing slow. She kept catching herself watching things that had nothing to do with the conversation—the glimpse of skin where his collar fell open at his throat, or how candlelight found the hollow at the base of it when he leaned back in his chair. She looked away before he noticed, then looked back sooner than she should have.

Hudson wiped his mouth with his napkin. “I’ve been watching you this week.”

“That sounds slightly alarming.”

“It probably does.” He wasn’t smiling now. He was choosing his words. “People relax when you walk into a room,” he said. “At the station. With Petey.” A small shrug. “Even Walter.”

She laughed. “Walter never relaxes.”

“The closest Walter gets.”

That earned another smile, but she sensed the current beneath the words.

Hudson examined his glass for a moment before meeting her eyes again. “People breathe easier when you’re there, Sarah. You walk in and something changes. I’ve seen it happen a dozen times over the last few days.”

She’d been called capable. Reliable. Tough. Difficult, more than once. Nobody had ever told her people breathed easier because she was there.

She swallowed against the swelling in her throat. “Thank you.”

He nodded as though he’d confirmed something she’d somehow missed about herself, and let the silence carry it.

The waitress appeared beside the table with her notebook, and the small interruption felt almost kind, a chance to breathe and come back to the surface.

“Dessert?”

Sarah didn’t hesitate. “The chocolate torte.”

Hudson glanced at the menu for barely a second. “Peach cobbler. And coffee for two.”

The waitress scribbled their order and disappeared. Sarah folded her menu closed and studied him across the table.

“You like chocolate,” she said.

“I do.”

“So you ordered peach cobbler.” She narrowed her eyes.

He held her gaze with an expression that was trying to be innocent and failing.

“You were hoping we’d share.”

His mouth curved. “The thought crossed my mind.”

She shook her head slowly, but the smile pulled at her mouth, impossible to stop.

Five minutes later, the waitress brought the desserts. Before she’d reached the table, Hudson had already moved his water glass, folded his menu, and cleared a space. The waitress smiled her thanks as she set the plates down. He slid the cobbler into the space between them. Sarah pushed the chocolate torte to meet it and reached for her spoon at exactly the same moment he reached for his.

Their spoons bumped.

She laughed. “So much for the plan.”

His eyes creased. “The plan was flawless. Your timing was the problem.”

“My timing is impeccable.”