Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
I cover her hand with mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Good. Because I’m here. Whatever happens, we handle it together, yeah?”
A flicker of tenderness warms her expression, and she nods. “Together.”
After finishing our coffee—thankfully not as catastrophic as the pancakes—I push back my chair, glancing toward the window. The morning light outside looks too inviting to ignore, the pines swaying in a gentle breeze that promises a crisp, clear day. We’ve spent too many hours cooped up in this safe house, consumed by the chase for leads. Maybe a bit of fresh air is exactly what we need to keep ourselves grounded.
“How about a walk?” I ask, gesturing to the window. “We could use a break from all the stress. Clear our heads.”
She brightens at the suggestion. “That sounds perfect.”
Within minutes, we throw on light jackets and step onto the porch. The safe house is tucked in a quiet, forested area—a strategic location for anonymity, but also surprisingly peaceful. A cool breeze greets us, carrying the scent of pine and earth.
We set off down a dirt path that loops around the property, fallen leaves crunching underfoot. The sun has climbed higher, filtering through the trees in dappled patches of gold. Neither of us speaks for a while. Instead, we just walk side by side, letting the natural rhythm of our steps ease the lingering tension.
Eventually, Isabel glances my way. “You know,” she says, “if someone told me a week ago I’d be in a safe house with you, practicing how to be a married couple, I’d have laughed in their face.”
I chuckle, hands tucked in my pockets. “I know. It’s crazy, right? But… I’m kind of grateful for the time we’ve had to figure each other out.”
She looks thoughtful. “Yeah. I mean, we’ve worked together for ages, but we never really… talked. Not about the personal stuff.”
“No, we didn’t,” I agree. “I guess that’s on me. I’ve always kept people at arm’s length. Easier to stay focused.”
Her mouth quirks in a smile. “You are pretty intense. Must be all that discipline hammered into you by the military.”
I grin. “Partly. And partly just… me. I’ve always been serious, even as a kid.” I kick a small stone off the path, hearing it skitter over dirt. “What about you? You’ve always seemed, I don’t know, feisty. Like you’re ready to take on the world.”
She laughs, tilting her head back to gaze at the canopy of leaves. “Yeah, that sounds about right. Growing up with Dean, I had to prove I could be just as tough and resourceful as he was. It pushed me.”
We walk a bit further, the path curving around a dense cluster of pines. A squirrel darts across our route, pausing to eye us before vanishing up a trunk. Isabel points after it with a grin, then slides her hands into her jacket pockets. “You know, this is really nice,” she murmurs. “Everything’s been so tense… it’s good to feel normal for a second.”
“I get that,” I say quietly. “It reminds me of the hikes I used to take at dawn when I was stationed on bases with forest land nearby. Clears my head better than anything else.”
She gives me a curious look. “You never talk much about your time in the military.”
I shrug, kicking another stray pebble. “Some of it was classified, some of it was… tough. I saw things I’d rather not think about. But it taught me discipline, gave me a sense of purpose. And it put me on this path—security work.”
Her voice softens. “Well, I’m glad it did. I mean, selfishly speaking, I’m relieved you’re here.”
A wave of warmth spreads through my chest. “Me too,” I say, watching a patch of sunlight drift over her features. Even in a simple jacket and messy hair, she looks radiant. For a moment, I let the world narrow down to her—her eyes, her expression, the shape of her smile.
We amble on, weaving through the woods, letting conversation flow more easily. She tells me about a time she accidentally scrambled her dad’s TV antenna trying to hack local channels, and I share a story about sneaking off base to buy real coffee because I couldn’t stand the instant stuff they supplied. Our laughter feels genuine, unforced—like we’re no longer performing or strategizing. We’re just Lincoln and Isabel, two people enjoying each other’s company.
Eventually, the path loops back toward the safe house, and we slow our steps, reluctant to end the peaceful moment. Isabel glances at the sky, noticing how the sun is inching higher, the day pressing on. “We should probably get back,” she says. “We still have that mountain of final prep before tomorrow.”
I nod, though a part of me longs to stay out here all day. “Yeah. Gotta make sure we’re ready.”
As we near the porch, the safe house comes back into view, an ordinary building concealing all the high-stakes reality we’re facing. Isabel steps up onto the wooden boards, turning to me with a soft smile. “Thanks for breakfast, by the way,” she says, a teasing sparkle in her eyes. “Horrible as it was.”