Page 74 of One Last Chance

London had stayed in town, bunking at a local Airbnb she frequented.

“But for the record, you’re a better kisser than Sully.”

Great. Now he was back to thinking about Flynn, and the taste of her, the way she fit into his arms, the beautiful intensity of how she’d kissed him. She was . . . well, maybe a whirlwind, or an avalanche, or a force of nature.

Or maybe just a hand in the storm, something he could hang on to. But he’d never felt so much like someone had given him back pieces of himself.

He might even be falling in love with her.

Might be?

His stomach growled.

Fine.He got up, opened the door and, dressed in just a pair of pajama bottoms, headed downstairs.

Paused on the bottom steps at the sight of Flynn sitting on the sofa watching television, the volume on subtitles, remote in her hand.

Oh no.

He saw himself onscreen pretending to be a rescue dummy, Oaken Fox dangling from a fake helicopter in the Shed, their training facility—one of the early episodes ofThe Sizeup,the rescue reality show.

Even as he watched, he came alive on the rock, startling Oaken. Poor guy nearly fell, but Axel caught him. Pulled him in.

“Yeah, that was a stupid move.” He walked into the room, and she looked up, paused the show. She wore a pair of leggings that she’d picked up in town on the way home. Leggings and T-shirts and underclothes and a thermal shirt and even socks.

She’d forgotten a sweatshirt, however, and he’d given her one of his old Copper Mountain sweatshirts. Which hung on her, of course.

Now she wore a blanket over her shoulders and stood up. “Sorry. I just . . . I can’t sleep. It’s too light out. And . . . your dad mentioned that he’s taped all the shows so far. I thought I’d get caught up.” She waggled her eyebrows. “You’re quite the dish, Axel.”

“Well, keep watching. You’ll see how dishy I am.” He took the remote. “Or—” He tossed it onto the sofa and reached for her, pulling her close.

Lowering his face.

She spun away, leaving him holding the blanket. Backing up.

He eyed her. “What’s . . . happening . . . uh . . .” Because her eyes had widened, and suddenly she turned?—

And walked out the door.

What. The?—

He took off after her—probably not his smartest move, but something . . .

Something wasn’t right, because she’d taken the deck steps down to the yard and was limping out to the river, gesturing into the air as if talking to herself.

Ho-kay.

He didn’t even realize he still held the blanket until halfway across the yard. Then he slung it over his shoulder and kept going.

“Are you serious? Just . . . c’mon, Flynn!”

He came up behind her as she stalked the shoreline, and she glanced over at him. “Sorry. I’m having a little shout-out with Kennedy.”

He cocked his head. “What?”

“Just . . . stand back and let us duke this out, okay?”

He looked around, back to her. “What?”

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