Page 144 of Seale the Deal

What you think is not meaningless, I say. I take everything you say into consideration.

The smile she gives me is soft and familiar.

Then, without another word, we both lean across the table. Neither of us seems particularly concerned about the tiny cakes scattered between us or the fact that icing is almost certainly ending up on our shirts as we pull each other into a hug. I’m too busy being grateful for this woman, who makes sure I never feel alone.

When we pull apart, Remi looks at her watch. Oh shit. I’ve got a meeting. We barely tried any cake.

The passion fruit one made me cry.

She laughs. We can go with that.

But what if we don’t need a cake?

Remi doesn’t even hesitate. Oh, whether there’s a wedding or you move, I’m going to need cake.

I laugh as we stand.

Soup! Remi calls.

The baker appears from the back and looks at us. Yep.

We need a box. Remi gestures to the collection of half-eaten cake samples. And we’re going to go with the passion fruit cake.

There’s a brief pause, then, Yep.

He grabs a flat pink box and assembles it with practiced efficiency, then carefully transfers the remaining cake samples inside. Then he pulls out a small notepad and listens while Remi rattles off cake sizes, pickup dates, and any other detail that seems important to the cake. Soup writes everything down, occasionally nodding and offering his signature yep to the conversation.

Outside, Remi and I hug one more time before heading in opposite directions.

I still have no idea what my future looks like. I don’t know if I’m staying in Alaska or moving to Los Angeles. I don’t know what I’m going to say to Ruger or whether I’ll feel any more certain tomorrow than I do today. But as I look over my shoulder and see Remi climbing into her truck, I realize there is one thing I know for sure.

No matter what happens next, I’ll still have her.

Chapter 30

Ruger

DAYS LEFT ON VISA: 35-34

I pull up to the house after a long day at the CO office. It was a day that was mostly permit renewals and wildlife reports, which is more exhausting than when we actually have to go out and take care of something. I hate paperwork.

But now I’m home with Wrenley. Thank God.

After our date in the woods yesterday, she seemed happier. When I held her in my arms last night, she tucked right against me, and it felt like she was back. I hope that means whatever has been bothering her has finally started to work itself out.

I turn off the truck and climb out, heading for the front door.

When I walk in the house, not a single light is on. When I pulled up, I noticed it was dark, but I’d assumed maybe Wrenley was in the kitchen and I just couldn’t see it from the outside. But the house is completely still.

My stomach tightens.

Wrenley?

Nothing.

Then I hear something rustle toward the back of the house.

I move down the hallway, reach into the kitchen, and flip on the light.