Page 99 of The SEAL and the Sheriff

“Your timing,” he said, stealing a corner of the torte, “is why I ordered a decoy dessert.”

They finished their desserts and soon her coffee cup was empty.

The bar had grown quieter around them. Someone had dimmed the overheads behind the bar. A couple near the fire paid their check and left, and the room seemed to contract around their table.

Snow still fell beyond the glass, thicker now, the flakes fat and lazy. The town had disappeared beneath it.

She looked across the table at Hudson, his face half in candlelight and half in shadow. The evening was ending.

She wasn’t ready. For years she’d wanted one more conversation with him. Tonight she’d reached the end of one and discovered she wanted another.

And another after that.

“Can I get you anything else?”

Hudson looked at Sarah before he answered the waitress. She recognized the question in his eyes because she’d been asking herself the same thing for the last twenty minutes. Neither of them wanted the evening to end.

“Just the check,” he said.

Low light caught the strong lines of his face, his sleeves pushed back over his forearms, the scar she’d traced an hour ago pale against his skin.

She wrenched her gaze away.

The wanting had been there all evening. Quiet and persistent, running beneath the laughter, the shared dessert, and every accidental brush of their hands. It frightened her. Not because she doubted him, but because she knew exactly what losing him had felt like once already.

She’d survived Hudson Kane leaving once.

She wasn’t sure she had another one in her.

The words rose in her. “I spent years imagining what I’d say if you ever came back.”

Hudson stilled as he tucked his wallet inside his jacket.

She gave a small shrug. “I don’t seem to have any of those speeches anymore.”

“And?”

She’d spent too many nights talking to imagined versions of Hudson Kane. Not one of them had been as good as the man sitting across from her.

“I think I missed this more than I knew,” she said. “With you.”

He didn’t answer, just turned his hand over on the table, palm up.

She placed her hand in his. His fingers closed around hers, warm and sure, and neither of them said another word. His thumb brushed slowly across her knuckles. For the first time in longer than she cared to count, she let herself believe there could be a next.

The bartender appeared beside their table with a gentle clearing of his throat. “I’m sorry, we’re closing up.”

Sarah looked around. The chairs were stacked on the far tables. The fire was ashes. She hadn’t noticed any of it.

“Of course,” Hudson said, already on his feet. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

He helped her into her coat. His fingers skimmed the nape of her neck as he lifted her hair free of the collar, careful not to catch a single strand. The touch was brief, but it traveled the full length of her spine.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” he said.

After hours of firelight, the night air had bite, the snow falling thick and muffling everything beyond the reach of the hotel’s porch light. Every hard edge was softened, every sound muted.

He offered his arm, and she took it as they walked slowly across the parking lot without speaking. Their boots compacted the fresh snow. His arm was solid and warm against hers. She didn’t want the quiet miracle of this evening to end.