Page 67 of Ghost of Talon Mountain
"You made coffee."
"I'm domesticated now. You're welcome." He sits on the edge of the bed. "Barrett called. The FBI interview got moved to next week. We have a few days off."
"What should we do with a few days off?"
He grins. "I have some ideas."
We spend the morning in bed, taking our time, learning each other without the pressure of danger or deadline. Around noon, Bryn shows up with groceries and a homemade pie, teasingChris about being domestic and making us promise to come to dinner again next week.
She stays for lunch, filling the cabin with laughter and stories about Chris as a kid. The way she looks at him—relieved, happy, still a little disbelieving—tells me she's still processing that he's really home.
When she leaves, Chris and I clean up together. Washing dishes side by side, bumping hips, stealing kisses. It's mundane and perfect.
Two days later, Chris and I stand on the ridge overlooking Talon Mountain. The same place where he hid for eleven months, watching the world from the shadows.
"I spent a year thinking this mountain was my grave," he says, his arm around my waist. "Turns out, I just needed a reason to stop hiding."
I lean into him, looking out at the wilderness stretched before us. "What's next?"
"Next, I start living again."
His radio crackles. Barrett's voice comes through: "Calder, you there? Got something that needs your expertise. Possible trafficking route opening up in the eastern sector. Could use Sierra's analysis too."
Chris looks at me, eyebrow raised.
I grin. "Think we can handle it?"
"With you? Yeah." He keys the radio. "We're on our way, Barrett."
We head back toward the cabin, his hand finding mine. There's work to do, cases to solve, a network that's still out there.
But for the first time in a year, he's not doing it alone.
And neither am I.
