Page 33 of The Sniper

That shut me up.

The waitress arrived with our plates just in time to save me from answering—shrimp and grits for me, blackened snapper for him, both of us too quiet as she set the food down and walked away.

I picked up my fork with hands that still trembled, heart thudding against my ribs like I’d invited the devil to dinner and forgot to pray first.

Noah just watched me over the rim of his glass, his voice low and rough as he said, “I don’t go to church, Hallie Mae. I don’t pray before meals. But right now? I’m thanking God you said yes.”

And Lord help me, I didn’t have a single good reason to regret it.

Dinner was easy—easier than it should’ve been. We laughed more than I expected, talked about everything and nothing. He told me just enough about his time overseas to make me go quiet, and I told him about my classroom and my favorite book to read at story time and how the kids always mispronounced Jonah and the whale as “Donut and the whale.”

“I’d read that story,” he said with a smirk.

We lingered long after our plates were cleared, sipping our drinks, the warm Lowcountry air wrapping around us like a slow tide. Every now and then, our knees would brush beneath the table—and neither of us moved away.

It wasn’t just dinner.

Not anymore.

And we both knew it.

When the check came, he waved the waitress off before I even reached for my purse.

“I said I’d spoil you,” he said. “And I’m a man of my word.”

“You’re something, all right.”

He leaned in, eyes steady on mine. “If I kiss you again tonight, Hallie Mae, I’m not gonna pretend it’s just because the food was good.”

My breath caught.

I didn’t say no.

I didn’t say anything at all.

After dinner, we walked along the dock behind the restaurant, the boards creaking beneath our steps as we moved toward the edge where the Adirondack chairs faced the water. The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting everything in dusky gold and softening the world around us until it felt like a dream.

Boats bobbed gently in their slips, strings of lights twinkling overhead like low-hanging stars. The scent of salt and grilled seafood lingered in the air, mixing with the hush of the water lapping at the pilings and the quiet buzz of night settling in.

I wasn’t ready to go home.

Apparently, neither was he.

“This where you take all your girls?” I asked, pretending to sound casual even though my heart was doing somersaults.

He chuckled. “You think I’ve got a rotation?”

“I think you’ve got a way about you.”

He stopped walking and turned toward me, thecorner of his mouth lifting. “Maybe. But I’ve never brought anyone here.”

I didn’t believe that for a second—but the way he was looking at me made it hard to care. I opened my mouth to deflect with something clever, but before I could say a word, he took my hand.

Not in a rush. Just like he wanted to know what it felt like.

I let him.

We walked the rest of the way in silence, hand in hand, until we reached a pair of chairs at the end of the dock. He sat first, then tugged gently on my hand.

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