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“Maybe. They’re trying to get a crew out, but not sure how long it’ll take to find someone.”
“I’ll stick around, make sure they don’t screw it up,” he said.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
I exhaled slowly and leaned back against the counter. My chest felt too tight. My skin too warm. I’d never been this aware of a man before—of the way his presence filled a room, took up space, shifted the air like he belonged there even when he didn’t.
He stepped closer, slow and measured. His voice dropped, deep and even.
“You scared of me, Hallie Mae?”
I flinched at the sound of my name on his lips. Like it was something precious. Something forbidden.
“No,” I lied.
He took another step. “You should be.”
“Why?”
His eyes darkened. “Because I don’t know how to be gentle with things I want.”
And there it was. That burn low in my stomach. That ache I wasn’t ready to name.
I straightened, chin lifting. “You can’t have me.”
He looked down, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek like he was holding something back.
Then he raised his eyes again.
“I know,” he said. “Doesn’t mean I’ll stop wanting. There’s something about you …”
He leaned a hip against the edge of the old farmhouse table, close enough for me to feel the heat radiating off his skin. His gaze slid over me like he was cataloging the details—bare feet, damp braid, modest blouse. Like he could see straight through every layer of armor I’d ever built.
I swallowed and forced my voice to steady. “Are you going to tell me your first name?”
“Noah.” His lips quirked into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Last name’s Dane. Though you probably figured that much out when they said I was under arrest.”
I nodded, more to myself than to him. “You don’t talk like a Charleston man.”
“That’s because I’m not. Born in the Lowcountry, sure. But I’ve been gone a long time.”
“Where?” I asked softly.
He looked toward the window. “Everywhere the government didn’t want to be seen. Mostly war zones. Places that eat good men alive.”
His voice didn’t crack. Didn’t tremble. But there was something in it that made the hairs on my arms rise.
“You were military?”
“I was,” he said. “Now I do it for the danger.”
My breath hitched. He didn’t say it like a boast. Just a fact.
I licked my lips and shifted my weight, trying to find my footing in a conversation that felt more like a tug-of-war.
“I’m a teacher,” I offered. “Kindergarten. Trinity Covenant Academy.”