Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Trace hooted.
“Awww. Please tell me you let him down gently,” Robyn said.
Foster grinned. “I introduced him to a local judge, who happened to be single and looking. He and Judge Whiteplume are on a monthlong motorcycle trip in Colorado right now.”
“You hopeless romantic,” I said, before I could stop myself.
Something shifted in Foster’s expression, the easy humor replaced by something more serious. “Maybe.”
The conversation continued around us, but I found myself increasingly aware of Foster’s presence beside me. The way his fingers drummed against his thigh. The occasional brush of his arm against mine when he reached for the flask. The way the firelight caught the amber flecks in his hair.
Eventually, the other instructors began drifting away, murmuring about early mornings and evaluation reports. Soon, it was just Foster and me, the fire burning lower, the bourbon making everything feel soft and possible.
“You were kind of amazing today, you know,” I said quietly, bumping his knee with mine.
Foster ducked his head, but he didn’t pull away. “Experience.”
“Maybe.” I studied his profile in the firelight—the strong line of his jaw, the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks. “But the way you read that terrain, predicted exactly where someone in distress would go… that’s not just training. That’s instinct. And the way the students look at you—they don’t just respect you, they trust you completely.”
“It’s a good group.”
“It is. But you make them better.”
Foster was quiet for a long moment, staring into the flames. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “You’re good at this, too, you know. Better than good. These students would follow you anywhere.”
The compliment hit me squarely in the chest, warm and unexpected. No one in New York had seen me like that, but here…
Here, I felt like myself again.
Spending the summer in Montana had definitely been the right choice.
I leaned back on my hands, tilting my head to study the stars scattered across the mountain sky. The Milky Way stretched overhead like a river of light, clearer than I’d ever seen it from the city.
“I forgot how beautiful it is out here,” I said. “How quiet. How…” I searched for the word. “Clean everything feels.”
Foster followed my gaze upward. “Living out here, under this sky… it gets in your blood after a while. Makes it hard to imagine being anywhere else.”
Something in his tone made me look at him more closely. There was a wistfulness there, a longing that spoke to something deep in my chest.
“Foster,” I started, then stopped. What was I going to say? That I wished I could stay? Give up everything I’d worked for on the off chance things might work between us?
It was crazy. It was impractical. It was exactly the kind of romantic notion that my rational, achievement-oriented brain should have dismissed immediately.
But sitting there in the firelight, the taste of bourbon on my tongue and the memory of today’s perfect partnership still fresh in my mind, it didn’t feel crazy at all.
It felt real. It felt true.
“Just… thanks,” I said finally. “For today. For experiencing this with me.”
Foster’s smile was soft and genuine. “Thanks for making it interesting.”
We sat in comfortable silence after that, watching the fire burn down to embers while the night settled around us. Eventually, the cold drove us back toward the cabins, but I found myself walking slowly, reluctant to break the spell of the evening.
For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like I was running toward something or away from something else. I felt like I was currently, even if just for a short time, exactly where I was supposed to be.
And if I was honest with myself, that had everything to do with the man walking beside me, hands shoved deep in his pockets, looking like he belonged under these stars in ways I was only beginning to understand.
13
FOSTER
The past two weeks had been a blur of stolen moments and sleepless nights. Of Tommy’s hands on my skin, his mouth on mine, and him whispering my name against my throat when he thought I was asleep.
Strictly physical, I’d said.
Well, fuck knew, we had the physical part down.
The “strictly” part wasn’t going quite as well for me. Not when my stomach somersaulted every time Tommy smiled at me from across the training yard, or a mountain trail, or a classroom. Not when I found myself holding him—fine, cuddling him—long after he fell asleep, just so I could spend a few more minutes inhaling the clean, citrus scent of his shampoo. Not when I’d had to stop myself multiple times from thinking, “Next summer, Tommy and I should…” as though another summer with him was a thing I might have.
But I wasn’t the only one suffering from my distraction. Chickie’s training had suffered, too.
And that stopped today.