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Early the next morning after PT, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen as he came into the house. Breakfast filled the air, and he breathed deep. Hook. Naturally.Lunch. ETA Six hours.Is she coming or not?
Then another message. Vice.Better hurry and answer, bro. The natives are getting restless.
Then a third, Trigger, just a skull emoji and the words:You bringing her or do we breach?
Finally, Hitch.I’m starving.
Entering the kitchen, Nash smirked as he texted them. “Were you too out of it last night to remember that we’re having lunch with the guys.”
Grace paused in serving up the eggs. She tapped her temple. “Steel trap.”
He sat down at the small round table, still holding his phone. “Right. They are…a lot.”
Her entire face lit up. “Don’t worry. I used to eat special operators’ lunches.”
“These guys are different,” he said. “You’ve officially crossed into operational territory.”
She bounced over to the table with the plates and set his down, then settled into the chair across from him. “We just took down a corrupt company who tried to kill us with drones, and survived Caspari and driving off a bridge. I think I can handle them.”
Nash chuckled. “Of course you can.”
Just before they were getting ready to leave for lunch, his phone buzzed again.
He closed the door with a groan. “Hook says if we’re not there in twenty, he’s sending a drone.” Then he caught her hand in his, kissed her knuckles lazily. “Prepare yourself, babe. They’re all going to fall in love with you.”
She grinned. “That would be unfortunate for them. There’s a man I have dibs on.” Then, quieter, more serious, her fingers brushing his. “It’s an honor. Am I going to get some good stories?”
He groaned. “Try and stop them.”
* * *
Blackout Brew hadn’t changed,but itfeltdifferent this time since she and Nash had strolled here and talked about it all, including their future. The café was still nestled between the law office and the poetry-only bookstore, still strung with fairy lights that blinked soft gold over the patio. The scent of espresso and vanilla still curled out of the open doorway like an invitation only the right people would recognize. The sign was still in the window. Coffee. Classified.
But Grace noticed things she hadn’t before.
The scuff marks on the wood floors. The faint hum of an old jazz record playing on low behind the counter. The mugs, still mismatched, still chipped in places, but now they felt like they belonged there. Like Nash did.
She glanced at him as they stepped inside.
He was quiet. Not distant, exactly, but… focused. Like there was acurrentrunning under his calm, something pulling tight. Charged. It wasn’t bad. But it wasn’t nothing.
They claimed the same corner booth from last time. Nash pulled out her chair again, of course he did, and sat close enough that their legs brushed under the table.
Grace curled her fingers around her mug when the server brought their drinks. Steam rose into the space between them, softening the edges.
“You okay?” she asked gently.
Nash gave her a slow smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Yeah,” he said. “Just…thinking about Kento, the guys.”
She squeezed his hand, and that smile got a little brighter. They ordered coffee and when the steaming mugs arrived, suddenly there were loud voices and movement.
Nash looked up and snorted. “There they are. Give me a minute before they rush in like an assault team,” he said as he headed toward them. Four men taking up space, walking like they were clearing rooms instead of out for an afternoon lunch. Lord have mercy.
She wrapped her fingers around her ceramic mug, the steam curling up to kiss her cheeks as she watched him cross to the door. His gait was relaxed now. Loose. That haunting tension he used to carry like an extra layer of gear, gone.
Not forgotten.Just… no longer the heaviest thing in the room. He reached the door at the same time the rest of them did. Four men. Four shadows from the past, now flesh and breath and laughter. They crowded the entrance like they’d been fighting for space since the day they met.