Page 7

Axel

I warned them.

Hell, I practically begged them.

“She’s unpredictable. Don’t engage. Keep it surface-level.”

So naturally, ten minutes into dinner, Lark Bennett had the guys choking on water from laughter, Cooper grinning like a moron, and Turner Rush asking if she wanted to come on the next training op.

I sat across from her, arms crossed, jaw tight, trying not to scowl like an old man.

“She told me she once chased a tornado on a unicycle,” Rush wheezed.

Lark shrugged, popped a green bean in her mouth, and said, “Technically, it was a borrowed unicycle, and technically the tornado turned. But the spirit of the story holds.”

Turner leaned in, fascinated. “And you name all your drones after breakfast foods?”

“Of course. Eggs, Waffle, Hashbrown.” She smiled sweetly. “May they rest in pieces.”

Even Fraiser—quiet, brooding Fraiser—looked like he was suppressing a laugh.

I could feel my blood pressure rising.

“Are you always like this?” I asked, the words slipping out.

She turned to me, eyes sparkling. “Like what?”

“Disruptive. Distracting.”

“I like to think of myself as memorable.”

“You’re something,” I muttered into my drink.

We all ended up out by the fire pit. Mountain nights had a way of pulling people together. Lark leaned back in one of the chairs, legs curled under her, eyes tilted toward the stars. Her laughter had softened into something quieter. Something… peaceful.

I stood a few feet away, arms crossed again. Watching her.

“You’re not what I expected,” I said lowly.

She turned her head toward me, one brow arched. “You expected someone more… what? Timid? Obedient? Dimwitted.”

“Predictable.”

She smiled at that. Not wide. But real.

“I’m not here to make your life easier, Axel. I’m here because the storms keep chasing me now. And for some reason… this one led me to you.”

I didn’t have a response for that.

I just looked at her—really looked—and something shifted inside my chest.

Something dangerous.

She was halfway up her trailer steps when I stopped her.

“Lark.”

She turned. The way she looked at me made everything inside me hum like a live wire.

I crossed to her in two long strides. Reached up. Let my hand curl gently around the side of her neck. I felt the heat of her skin, the way she stilled under my touch.

She didn’t move.

“Are you going to kiss me, mountain man?” she whispered, her breath catching.

“No,” I said, voice rough. “Not yet.”

And I stepped back.

Because if I kissed her now, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to stop.

And something told me neither of us would survive the storm that came after.