“Worked a little too well,” Bás rumbled, his voice dry. “We nearly lost you to the stage manager.”
The laughter came harder this time, Clara nearly choking on her cider.
“Right,” Lotus said, grinning despite herself. “We’re not talking about Damon nearly fainting at the sight of blood in Paris?”
Damon held up a finger. “That was one time. And it was a lot of blood, and you, wife, are meant to be on my side.”
Lotus poked her tongue out at him, and he lunged forward, kissing her hard and quick.
“Your own nosebleed,” Titan pointed out.
“Still counts!”
Even Watchdog chuckled again, the sound low, surprised, like it had slipped past his defences. Clara’s chest tightened at the sound, her pulse skittering. There was so much open love between these people, not just the couples, but everyone.
Gideon leaned back in his chair, his arm draped over Duchess’s. “I still say Bishop’s the winner. Locked in that wine cellar in Milan for six hours because he was too proud to call for help.”
Charlie laughed until tears slid down her cheeks. “I only found him because he texted me a picture of the corkscrew he was planning to use as a weapon.”
“I wasn’t planning,” Bishop began.
“You were absolutely planning,” Charlie interrupted, leaning over to kiss his cheek.
The whole table erupted again, warmth and noise spilling into every corner of the pub.
Clara sat in the middle of it, cider in hand, cheeks aching from smiling. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed like this, not the careful, brittle laughter of her parents’ dinners, but something unguarded, something that left her ribs aching.
She looked around the table at Valentina feeding Bás a forkful of stew, at Titan rolling his eyes at Maya but letting her steal chips from his plate, at Duchess letting Gideon rest his head against her shoulder without a flicker of embarrassment, and felt something stir deep inside her.
Belonging.
For the first time in years, maybe ever, she felt what it might be like to belong somewhere.
And every time Watchdog’s arm brushed hers, every time his low chuckle rumbled close, she wondered how much longer she could keep pretending she didn’t feel it.
Chapter 19
The driveback was quieter than he liked. The laughter from the pub still clung to him like smoke, but in the silence of the van, it began to feel too loud, echoing in his skull. He’d caught himself smiling more than once tonight, really smiling, and Clara had noticed. He’d seen it in the way her gaze had lingered on him, in the tilt of her mouth as though she wanted to tease but didn’t quite dare.
It felt good to laugh again, but also foreign, like it didn’t quite belong. His experience in Africa had changed him. More than anyone knew, including Peyton. There were just some things, some shameful indignities, that he couldn’t acknowledge out loud. Could barely acknowledge it behind closed doors. Yet tonight, the hold they’d had on him had shifted, eased its grip.
Now, with the others peeling off to their homes in the valley, it was only the two of them returning to the bunker. The thought sat heavy in his chest. How strange it was to be at once desperately attracted to someone and terrified of that feeling.
The van rumbled to a stop. Cold air rushed in as the doors opened. She walked close to him down the corridor,her shoulder brushing his arm once, whether by accident or intention, he couldn’t tell. Each brush set his nerves alight.
At her door, they both hesitated.
“Thank you,” she said softly. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes bright. A little cider, a lot of warmth. “For tonight. For…all of it.”
His throat worked. “It was nothing.”
“It wasn’t,” she countered. Her voice had a playful lilt now, looser, freer. “You even laughed, Watchdog. I thought that was impossible.”
Heat crawled up his neck. “I laugh.”
“Rarely.” Her smile tilted slyly. “But it’s good on you.”
The air shifted. Thicker. Charged. He could feel it pulling taut between them.
