“Hold up, Rosebud.” He pushed away his now-empty plate. “If he’d finished the project with your team, it would have been one thing. But he didn’t. He worked behind the scenes to use the team’s work to get a better situation—for himself, not the team. He left—taking the team’s work and data with him. Is that about right?”
She nodded.
“That’s deceitful and dishonorable. I’d say that’s enough to make anyone upset.” If this James Voigt character ever tried to talk to him, Everett would be hard-pressed to stay civil.
“Enough about all that. What’s new with the paintball situation?” She was genuinely concerned.
“I’m not sure. After Willow Creek, there’s been nothing. And nothing new posted on their account, either—except what they did at Willow Creek. It’d be nice to think it’s over, but it’s too soon to make that assumption.”
“You do deserve a break.” She pushed her salad away.
“You done?” He eyed the mostly untouched salad. “You feeling okay?”
She nodded and drained her glass of wine.
“Worrying about tomorrow?” He frowned, itching to put James Voigt in his place. “Don’t let that bastard get in your head, Rosebud. Knowing you, you’ll give a better and more thorough account of your project. He’s the one who should be nervous.”
She was smiling when those green eyes found his. “I didn’t mean to get you so worked up over this. But I appreciate the support. A lot.”
“You’ll always have it, Rosebud. In case you didn’t know that.” His heart, too. Though, for now, he’d keep that to himself.
When the bill was settled, they headed out of the restaurant.
“Want to take a walk?” he asked, in no hurry to end this.
“A walk will do me some good. I probably shouldn’t have had that second glass of wine.” She smiled up at him. “Thank you for dinner.”
“Thank you for keeping me company while I ate.” He nudged her. “Since you didn’t eat.”
“I ate some.” She nudged him back.
They walked side by side, close enough that their hands brushed. It was the most natural thing in the world for him to take her hand in his. The little sigh she made when their fingers twined together made him hope she was feeling the same.
Outside the hotel, the city was loud and crowded. If he hadn’t done an online search before their meal, he’d have steered them back inside and out of the noise and chaos. Instead, he forged ahead, leading her down a couple of blocks, past an old church, and another block over—to a pretty green park.
“I could never live in the city.” Rosebud sank onto one of the wooden benches along the path. “As nice as this is, I can still hear the cars. There’s no peace.”
“I don’t think I could be truly happy outside of Honey.” Unless she wanted him to go with her. If that was the case, he’d have some serious thinking to do. He sat beside her, draping his arm along the back of the bench. “Is that what you want, Rosebud? Peace?”
“Isn’t that what everyone wants?” The second she looked up at him, the change in the air was palpable. Electrified. Taut. The current between them alive and magnetic.
His brain stalled out, leaving him adrift in those green eyes of hers. If he leaned forward, he’d be close enough to kiss her. And damn, but he wanted to kiss her.
She leaned into him but didn’t say a word—instead she hiccupped. Once, then again.
“Rosebud.” He chuckled. “You okay?”
She pressed a hand to her head. “I’m feeling a little woozy.” She glanced up at him. “I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” He pulled her against his side. “Rest a bit. Until your head clears.” He liked the way her head felt against his chest. He loved the way she sighed as she slid her arm around his waist and tucked against him.
They stayed that way long enough for the shadows to grow long and the color of the sky to go dark blue. He’d have been content to stay here all night but knew that wasn’t an option.
“We should probably head back,” he murmured against her temple.
She burrowed closer.
He smiled, his arm tightening around her. This was good. No, better than good. This was...right. “We’re not in Honey. I don’t know how safe Austin is after dark.” He wasn’t willing to put her at risk, no matter how small that risk was.
