Page 282 of Ruin Me Gently

Whatever came next—whatever we were about to do—he had this. It was locked down, and we were going to be fine.

“So what’s the plan?” I asked, still staring at the yacht.

“I don’t know.”

I turned to him so fast it’s a miracle I didn’t snap my neck. “You don’t know?”

“No,” he sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I got too caught up. Didn’t think that far ahead.”

Blood roaring in my ears as I stared. There was no way I’d just heard that right.

“All this time,” I said slowly. “All this fucking time,and you didn’t evenknowwhat you were going to do?”

“I’m figuring it out.”

Oh.Oh.That was it. That was the moment my soul left my body.

I laughed. Not a normal laugh. A deranged, borderline hysterical laugh, because of course. Of course we were here, about to storm a yacht in the dead of night with zero plan. “You cannot be for real right now.”

“I’m figuring it out.” He repeated, sharper this time before reaching into the back seat, rummaging for something. I frowned as he pulled back, something bunched in his fists.

And then, he was moving.

Oh, God.

His scarf.

His fuckingscarf.

My pulse slammed against my ribs as he wrapped it around the lower half of his face, tugged his hood up, and drowned himself in shadow. The familiar sight sent a ripple of something strange through me—something sharp, unexpected.

He turned to me, eyes burning. In his hands, another scarf.

I stared at it, then back at him. “Are you serious?”

He nodded.

Careful fingers brushed my skin as he wrapped the fabric around my face, securing it like it was second nature, like it belonged there.

My breath caught in my throat.

It was stupid, really. Just a scarf. A thin piece of material. But as he pulled my hood up, shielding me—something deep and raw twisted in my chest.

The first time I’d seen the stupid asshole, he’d yanked me into him in the middle of the sidewalk, wearing that damn scarf. To save me from being hit by ane-bike.It felt strange, weighing heavy like a ghost of something that triggered the start ofthis.

Pressure built behind my eyes, hot and tight, making my vision turn glassy.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

I shook my head. “Nothing. I’m just… allergic to the material or something.”

He didn’t push. Didn’t need to. He just leaned in and pressed his forehead to mine, the fabric of both scarves brushing together as he exhaled. “Come on.”

I nodded, swallowing past the lump in my throat, and slipped out of the car as quietly as I could.

The night air was sharp against my skin, the scent of salt and damp wood thick in my lungs as he reached for me, fingers wrapping around mine. I squeezed back, grounding myself in his touch as we moved, keeping low, keeping quiet.

The dock stretched out, empty save for a few rusted-out lamps casting weak, sickly pools of light onto the decking. We stuck to the shadows, weaving between stacks of crates and old equipment.

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