Page 27 of One Last Promise

Which made his stupid heart beat right out of his body.

She turned in his arms. Looked up at him. “What, saving my life again?” She smiled, her eyes twinkling and blue and . . .

Shoot. He couldn’t stop himself. Longing simply took over him, grabbed up his common sense, and threw it out into the night. Told him that yes, this was the right thing—that working together for a year had rekindled her feelings too, and that she felt the same way that?—

And yeah, he should have asked, but again, his common sense had lit out for the lower forty-eight by now, so he just leaned down and . . .

He kissed her.

Just like that. One hand still around her waist, the other holding the suitcase. Pressed his lips against hers, and for a second, a brief, amazing second, she stilled and her lips softened.

He wouldn’t exactly say kissing him back, but notnotkissing him back either, so?—

Aw. She was the night, mysterious, with the scent of fading summer on her skin, the taste of too many unspoken hopes, and he was way down the road into their tomorrows when he felt her hands on his chest.

Oh.

No.

She pressed back, caught her breath. “Shep . . .”

He let her go. “Yeah . . . I . . .”

“I don’t, I mean . . .” She swallowed. “I don’t think I’m ready.”

He didn’t want to mention that it had been three years since her fiancé died . . . but maybe a person never let go of their first love. “I get it. I’m sorry?—”

“Don’t be sorry.” She offered a smile, suddenly not the person who’d just led him on a clandestine looting mission, but almost tentative. Evenregretful. “I . . . you’re . . . I . . .”

“Let’s just go,” he said. “It’s okay.”

Then he picked up the shovel and left her there, not looking back, a burn in his throat.

Stupid,stupid?—

She caught up with him and said nothing as they walked to the car. He unlocked it, threw the shovel and suitcase in the back, and got in.

She was already in the passenger seat, on her phone, googling something. She didn’t look at him.

The car felt as cold as the icy tomb where they’d nearly perished, once upon a time. So much for true love.

Or . . . maybe she’d never felt that way about him.

Not now— “Could be a date.” He pulled out his keys, started up the car.

“That’s six numbers.”

“Coordinates?”

“Lat and long?”

“I’d think that needs a decimal point.”

He put the car into gear.

She was too pretty, sitting there with the glow of the light on her face. And he’d gone and dropped a bomb between them. “Time-travel parameters?”

She looked up. Smiled. “Not enough digits. Unless the month was just one digit. In that case, you need to send me to May of 2772.”

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