Page 79 of The Sniper

Josie arched a brow. “I mean, if that’s true, he could probably buy Grace House a whole new building. On the beach this time. With a yoga studio and an espresso bar.”

I bristled, setting the tray down harder than I meant to. “It’s not like that.”

Josie held up her hands, teasing fading to something gentler. “Hey, I’m not judging. I think it’s kind of incredible. You? A teacher from Mount Pleasant? Falling into something that big?”

I stared down at the sandwich in my hands. “I didn’t fall into anything. And Noah’s not just some rich guy with a tragic family and deep pockets.”

“No,” she said quietly, “he’s also the guy who sent a team to check on our doors and made sure the volunteers felt safe coming back. That means something.”

I exhaled slowly. “He’s complicated.”

“I’m sure. But this?” She gestured between us. “This is going to change things for you, Hallie Mae. Whether you want it to or not.”

I didn’t respond right away.

Because she was right.

Dating Noah Dane—being with Noah Dane—meant more than stolen nights and whispered I love yous. It meant power. It meant danger. It meant waking up next to someone who could kill a man from a mile away with a scoped rifle and still kiss you like you were something holy.

It meant money. Access. A whole other world.

Josie nudged my elbow. “You gonna keep teaching?”

The question hit me harder than I expected.

“I don’t know,” I said finally. “I love my students. I love the work. But part of me wonders if I’m still meant for that version of my life.”

“The quiet one?” she asked gently.

I nodded.

She was quiet for a moment, then said, “You don’thave to choose one or the other, you know. You can teach and love someone who walks through fire. You can be both. Brave and soft. Grounded and in love with a man who lives in shadows.”

I looked at her, blinking back the sudden sting in my eyes.

“I just don’t want to lose myself,” I whispered.

Josie leaned over and bumped her shoulder into mine. “You won’t. I wouldn’t let you.”

We kept working, silence stretching comfortably between us. Outside the kitchen, I heard laughter from the playroom, a door creaking open.

A little boy’s laugh rang out—high, belly-deep, the kind that knocked something loose in your chest if you weren’t careful. It wrapped around me like a thread pulled tight, yanking me back to the now. Back to why I came.

I peeled off my gloves and stepped out of the kitchen.

The playroom was warm, noisy with movement. Blocks scattered across the floor. Crayons clutched in small, determined fists. And in the corner—Delilah, all of six, her curls wild and her stuffed bunny tucked beneath her arm, was reading aloud to a group of littles who couldn’t sit still for anything except her voice.

It hit me all at once.

How much I needed this place, even more than it needed me.

“Miss Hallie Mae!” a boy called, barreling toward me like a heat-seeking missile. It was Zeke—his grin too big for his face, his arms already flung wide before he reached me.

I bent down and caught him mid-run, scooping him into a hug that felt like it stitched some part of me backtogether. He wrapped around me like a vine, clinging hard, and for a second, I couldn’t breathe.

Not because he was heavy.

But because this—this tiny body trusting me to hold him steady—was everything I’d forgotten I was still capable of.

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