Page 45 of One Night Flame

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t run. He’d cooked, folded laundry, made Liam laugh. He made space for me to breathe. And now he was offering more.

Part of me wanted to believe in that—to believe he meant it, that this wasn’t just kindness or guilt or temporary. But belief didn’t come easy. Not when I knew exactly how fast people could change their minds. How quickly promises could turn into silence.

Still… maybe I didn’t have to believe everything right away. Maybe wanting to was enough. For now.

I nodded. Just a little. Just enough. “I’d like that,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended.

Cord smiled—one of those soft, sure smiles that felt like sunlight. He kissed my forehead one more time and stepped outside. “Take it easy. I’ll be in touch, okay?”

“Yeah.” I quirked a wry smile. “I promise to answer this time.”

He huffed a laugh and stepped outside. The door clicked shut behind him. But something in me stayed open. A crack of hope I hadn’t dared feel in a long, long time.

SEVENTEEN

CORD

I pulled up to Lucy’s house a few minutes early and killed the engine. The air was crisp—mid-October doing its best impression of fall, though half the trees hadn’t gotten the memo yet. I leaned back in the seat and told myself to chill.

This was a date. A real one. No kid. No stomach flu. No grandma hovering in the wings. Just Lucy.

She stepped out the front door right on time, tugging her cardigan around her like she wasn’t sure what to expect. Jeans. Boots. Hair down. Soft pink lips that curled into a hesitant smile when she spotted me.

She looked good. Like herself again.

But there was something in the way she moved that wasn’t quite the same. Like she was holding herself a little tighter. Not guarded, exactly. Just… cautious. I couldn’t blame her. I’d been inside her house while she was basically dying in pajamas that might’ve predated the previous presidential administration. I’d seen the laundry pile. The half-collapsed blanket fort. The way she’d clung to consciousness and a thread of dignity at the same time.

And somehow, I wanted her more now than I had before.

I slid out of the driver’s seat as she reached the truck and circled around to open her door. I wasn’t trying to be fancy—just gave me something to do with my hands.

“You ready for this?” I asked.

She looked up at me, eyes clear, the corners crinkling just slightly. “Depends. What exactly am I being lured into?”

“Picnic,” I said. “I brought the good sandwiches. And I found a spot with a view and zero other humans.”

“Sold,” she said, climbing in.

As I shut her door and rounded the hood, I caught my own reflection in the glass—expression tight, hands flexing.

I’d never wanted a second date like this. Not with anyone. Not after seeing what their sick-day laundry looked like. Not that I’d ever gotten to that point before. But here I was, hoping like hell I didn’t screw it up.

And hoping even harder that she didn’t see how much I already gave a damn.

The picnic spot was just off an old logging road that backed up to a ridge. Nothing formal, just a sloping patch of grass with a killer view of the valley. I laid out the blanket while Lucy unwrapped the sandwiches, her nose wrinkling in amusement when she spotted the ridiculous spread I’d packed.

“Turkey, ham, roast beef… is that a vegetarian option, too?”

“I didn’t know what you were in the mood for,” I said, dropping down beside her. “So I covered my bases.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You say that like you didn’t bring half the deli counter.”

I bit back a grin. “You say that like you didn’t survive my grocery overkill last week.”

She laughed and leaned back on her hands, her hair falling across her shoulder. “Yeah, that soup run was… intense.”

“Hey, you said soup and crackers. You didn’t specify how many.”

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