Page 77 of Matthew
Callie let out a soft laugh, then tipped her head to look at him. “Why don’t you come home with me for supper tonight?”
His heart thumped, but he kept his voice casual. “You sure?”
“I’m sure.” Her tone was steady. “And I’ll even feed you something better than dried trail mix.”
He smiled slowly, the tension in his shoulders finally giving way to something easier. “Then I’ll be there.”
She stood and passed the flashlight to him, and their fingers brushed. He didn’t let go right away.
“Thanks,” he said.
“For the flashlight or the invitation?”
He smiled. “Both.”
Then he tugged her close and kissed her, softly at first, a quiet thank you, a question wrapped in warmth. But the moment her hands slid up his chest, everything shifted.
She kissed him back with quiet urgency, the kind that said she’d also been holding back far too long.
He deepened the kiss, one hand cradling her jaw, and he slipped the other around her waist as he eased her back against the post.
Callie didn’t flinch. Didn’t pause.
And hell, neither did he.
The rest of the world blurred, no manifests, no threats, nothing but the pull of her mouth on his and the heat that flared in his veins.
When they finally came up for air, her breathing was shallow, her eyes still locked on his.
“Well,” she murmured, a little dazed, “that was convincing.”
He grinned, brushing his thumb across her cheekbone. “Been wanting to do that for a few days now.”
They left the lean-to side by side, and for the first time in days, Matthew felt as if they weren’t reacting anymore.
They were moving forward.
Together.
***
Later that evening, after he’d left before Nate for a turn-and-burn shower and change, Matthew pulled up to Callie’s house before sundown.
He wasn’t nervous.
He’d faced firefights, breaching ops, cartel camps. He could walk into a hurricane and keep his pulse steady.
But standing on Callie’s front porch, holding a bottle of red wine and a bakery-boxed chocolate ganache tart, Matthew Walker was…not calm.
He knocked once, shifted his weight, and tried not to think about how domestic this all felt. Like he belonged here. Like this could be more than just tonight.
The door opened before he could spiral any further.
Callie stood there barefoot, wearing a soft blue sundress that clung in ways that should’ve been illegal. Her hair was up, messy and perfect, and she smelled faintly of something floral and fresh.
Something in his chest tightened at the sight of her.
“You look beautiful,” he said, watching color flush her face.
