“I’m not laughing at you,” I say, still giggling. “I’m laughing with you.”
“Sure,” he mutters.
I reach up and tap his chest. “You’re doing great.”
He lifts a brow. “Liar.”
“I’m a clipboard warrior,” I remind him. “I don’t lie.”
Ozzy’s mouth twitches. “That’s… not a rule.”
“It is now,” I declare.
We try again. This time, he makes it halfway down the strip without grabbing me like I’m a life raft. It’s progress. Barely. We skate, wobble, laugh, and “take breaks” that are suspiciously just excuses for Ozzy to lean on the fence and stare at me like he’s trying to memorize my face for later.
I pretend not to notice. I can’t pretend not to feel it, though—the restless hum under my skin. It’s there. It’s subtle. I swear it makes my chest warm with hope. With desire. I like the way he stares at me.
I push off, skating in a slow circle, breathing in the cool air, letting the movement steady my thoughts. Then I roll back toward Ozzy, stopping in front of him carefully. “Ozzy,” I say.
He straightens immediately, attention snapping to me. “Yeah?”
“Can we go somewhere?” I ask, voice softer than I mean. “Just… not here. I’m getting a little restless.”
Ozzy’s eyes search my face like he’s checking for panic signals, trauma triggers, danger.
I shake my head quickly. “I’m okay. I just… I want to see people. Normal people. A street. A shop. Something that isn’t… hiding.”
Ozzy exhales slowly. Then he nods. “Okay.”
Just like that. No argument. No lecture.
“Where?” he asks.
I shrug. “Anywhere. Is there a town nearby?”
Ozzy glances toward the tree line. “Magnolia Ridge is about twenty-five minutes out.”
The name makes something flutter in my stomach—like I’ve heard it in passing, like it’s a place that exists in the universe of normalcy.
“What’s it like?” I ask.
Ozzy’s mouth curves. “Small. Cute. Main street vibes. Shops. Coffee. Bookstore.”
My eyes widen. “Bookstore?”
Ozzy’s grin deepens. “Yeah.”
My excitement hits too fast, too bright. It almost scares me. But I nod anyway, trying not to look like a kid offered candy. “I want to go,” I say.
Ozzy’s gaze softens. “Then we’ll go.”
We change out of skates, trade pavement for sneakers, and pack light like we’re going on a mission—because we kind of are. Ozzy checks the perimeter cameras, verifies there’s no chatter on the secure channel, and reminds me that we need to not draw attention to ourselves.
Like I’ve ever done that in my life before. I’m good at being invisible. Just ask my mother.
Still, my heart thumps as we pull out of Rainmaker’s driveway. We’re leaving the bubble. We’re stepping into a world where someone could recognize me.
Where someone could be looking.