Page 53 of Naughty List Delivery
She silences me with a kiss that tastes like coffee and promises and the kind of future I never thought I’d be brave enough to want.
“It’s perfect,” she whispers against my lips. “You’re perfect.”
“I’m really not,” I tell her honestly. “I’m a reformed pirate with trust issues and a tendency toward violence when people threaten what’s mine.”
“And I’m a former thief with abandonment issues and a history of running when things get complicated,” she counters. “We’re perfect for each other.”
We spend the rest of the morning making plans—practical things like logistics and timelines and how to coordinate our new lives. But underneath the practical planning, there’s something deeper happening. We’re not just deciding what to do next; we’re choosing each other, deliberately and completely, with full knowledge of what we’re gaining and what we’re leaving behind.
By afternoon, the transfer papers are signed and the Shadowhawk officially belongs to Kex. The crew throws an impromptu celebration that involves entirely too much smuggled Altarian whiskey and a series of increasingly ridiculous toasts to their former captain’s “fall into respectability.”
“To Captain Kraine,” Jenna calls out, raising her glass, “who taught us that the best revenge is living well enough that your enemies think you’ve gone soft, right up until you prove them wrong.”
“To the captain and his lady,” adds Torven, “who proved that even pirates can have happy endings if they’re stubborn enough.”
“To new beginnings,” Kex says simply, and that toast is the one that matters most.
Later, as the celebration winds down and the crew begins the process of adjusting to their new reality, Noomi and I find ourselves on the observation deck, looking out at the stars. Tomorrow, we’ll transfer to Mother’s ship for transport to Junction One. Tomorrow, we’ll begin building the life we’ve chosen together.
Tonight, we’re still here, still wrapped in the aftermath of the best Christmas either of us has ever had.
“Any regrets?” Noomi asks, curled against my side in the comfortable darkness.
“Only one,” I tell her honestly.
She tilts her head to look at me. “What?”
“I wish I’d been brave enough to fight for you three years ago instead of letting you walk away.”
“If you had,” she says thoughtfully, “we might not have been ready for this. I needed those three years to figure out who I wanted to be. And you needed them to become the kind of man who could make this choice.”
She’s right, of course. Three years ago, we were two damaged people who loved each other but didn’t know how to build something healthy together. Now we’re two people who’ve done the work, separately and together, to become worthy of the future we’re choosing.
“Besides,” she adds with a smile I can hear in her voice, “this way we get to have the best parts of both worlds. The respectability and the adventure. The stability and the excitement.”
“You think OOPs is going to provide enough excitement?” I ask.
“Ober,” she says, turning to face me fully, “we’re going to be flying into hostile territory to deliver essential supplies to people who desperately need them, while staying one step ahead of pirates, mercenaries, and whoever else wants to stop us. It’s going to be exactly as exciting as we make it.”
“And if it’s not exciting enough?”
Her smile turns wicked. “Then we’ll just have to find creative ways to entertain ourselves during the long flights between deliveries.”
The promise in her voice sends heat spiraling through me, and I’m reminded that some things about our partnership will never change—including the way she can make me want her with nothing more than a look and a carefully chosen word.
“Careful,” I warn, echoing her words from this morning. “If you start that, we’ll miss our transport tomorrow.”
“Would that be such a terrible thing?” she asks, her hand trailing down my chest with deliberate intent.
I catch her wrist, but I don’t stop her movement. Instead, I guide her touch exactly where I want it, because she’s right—we have the rest of our lives to be responsible and professional.
Tonight, we’re still pirates celebrating the greatest heist of our careers: stealing a future neither of us thought we deserved.
“Maybe,” I say, pulling her closer, “missing one transport wouldn’t be the end of the world.”
Her laugh is pure joy. “I love you, Ober Kraine.”
“I love you too, Noomi Jaxson,” I tell her, and then I stop talking altogether in favor of showing her exactly how much.
