I laugh. “Deal.”
“Good,” she says through a smile. “You’re welcome.”
More questions blare in my mind, but they all go quiet when I look down to find our hands still entwined.
Her voice is soft when she asks, “You said you leave in two weeks?”
I stroke my thumb over hers, unable to let go. “I have to get back to North Carolina.”
“Oh.” Her confused tone has me lifting my gaze. “Did you change posts?”
“No,” I start, then clear my throat. “I had to take an early discharge a few months ago.” My jaw clenches as I try to suppress another round of emotions. “My mom was in a car accident and I had to move home to take care of her.”
She sucks in a breath. “Oh my gosh, is she okay?”
“Yeah,” I rush out. The dip of her chin to meet my eyes is a warm blanket around my heart. She tightens her grip on my hand. “It’s been a lot of surgeries and physical therapy and she still has a long way to go, but she’s getting better.”
“She’s lucky to have you.”
A stretch of silence pulls the air between us until something shifts. Something tangible. This push and pull that I—we—have felt since the night we met doesn’t fade under the harsh lights of grief or bad timing or sound logic. What I feel when I’m with her goes beyond attraction, beyond lust, beyond curiosity. Because, in some bizarre way I can’t explain, thisthingfeels bigger than either of us. Like some guardian angel found her first and gifted her to me at the exact right time. And even though by every other definition it’s always been thewrongtime, having her here now, hand in mine, on my team—it’s the mostrightthing I’ve ever felt.
I know she feels it too by the way her gaze tethers to mine so effortlessly. How she holds my hand like it’s the easiest thing in the world. And in the permanent tender tilt of her smile when she looks at me the way she is now.
If I kissed her, she’d kiss me back. I’m certain of it. But I don’t want it on the heels of a sad conversation about my grandfather or my mom. Because when I kiss her, there will be no misunderstanding my intentions. It won’t be athank-youkiss or apitykiss or even adamn the consequenceskiss.
There’s only one way I’ve ever planned to kiss Hannah James and that’s withforeverin mind.
When the time is right, it’ll happen. For now, I’m content to sit inthe quiet with her. Ask questions and trade memories, find comfort in one another.
“Can I ask why?”
She cocks her head. “Why what?”
“Why’d you go back?”
Her lips twist into an embarrassed wince as she blinks up at the ceiling, then turns back to me. The tiny smile she’s sporting is a little bashful and a lot adorable.
“Do you remember what you said to me when we got to the lake house?”
Of course. I remember everything about that night. “I warned you about Pops.”
“Yeah, but do you remember my response?”
A wry grin breaks across my face in slow motion until I completely lose it. I laugh so loud she slaps me on the shoulder.
“Shut up, it’s not funny,” she pleads as if she’s not laughing as hard as I am.
“Sore loser much?”
“Hey,” she declares, leveling her face in a pitiful attempt at looking serious. “In my defense, I told you this might happen.”
She did tell me, I remember. I just wasn’t aware she actually meant it.
But I’m really,reallyglad she did.
21
cochrane gambit