Page 12 of The Captain's Curfew

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The image softens something in me.

I eat dinner alone, rinse my plate, and leave hers in the dishwasher for her.

She gets back late.I hear the door, the rustle of her bag, the soft thud of her shoes hitting the floor.

I should stay in bed.

Instead, I pad into the kitchen in sweatpants and a T-shirt, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

She jumps when she sees me."You scared the crap out of me."

I cross my arms."It’s midnight."

"I brought donuts."

She lifts a paper bag in an offering, like it’s a peace treaty.

I raise an eyebrow."You think donuts fix everything?"

"Pretty much."

We sit at the island, splitting a cinnamon twist in comfortable silence.She’s glowing, eyes sparkling from whatever work high she’s still riding.

“They’re responding to the new content,” she says between bites.“I’ve got a whole series planned—mic’d up moments, practice bloopers, maybe a few one-on-one interviews.”

“With who?”

She smirks.“You, obviously.”

I give her a look.

“Relax, Captain.I’ll get your good side.”

“I don’t have a good side.”

“You’re wrong,” she says softly.

Something in her voice makes me look at her.Reallylook.

She’s closer than I realized.Her hand inches from mine.Her eyes not teasing now, but warm.Honest.

The air shifts.

She licks cinnamon sugar from her thumb, and my gaze follows the motion like I’m not the one who made the no-distractions rule.

I clear my throat."You should get some sleep."

“Yeah.”Her voice is hushed.“You too.”

She slides off the stool, brushing past me.

I don’t move.

Because if I do, I might grab her hand.

Might pull her in.

Might forget every rule I’ve ever made.

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