Chapter 2: The One Who Stayed

The first thing I noticed about her wasn’t the way she looked—though that was something I definitely took note of.

It was the way she carried herself, like she didn’t belong to anyone. Like she had untied herself from the world and

set herself adrift, hoping the waves would take her somewhere new.

I knew that feeling.

That was why I agreed to meet her in the first place. Dating apps weren’t my thing, but I’d been restless,

killing time before I shipped out to Quantico, trying to ignore the voice in my head telling me to just keep moving,

keep my head down, focus.

But then she messaged me.

“If you had to disappear, where would you go?”

That question hit harder than it should have.

“Already did.”

She told me she lived on a houseboat, and I was hooked. That wasn’t the answer of someone who was just playing around.

That was the answer of someone who understood.

So I met her. And she wasn’t what I expected.

She was more.

---

She was leaning against the railing when I got to the docks, arms crossed, watching me like she wasn’t sure what to

make of me yet. The setting sun turned her hair gold, and for half a second, I let myself take her in.

Then she smiled.

Not a smirk, not the kind of grin meant to be flirtatious or calculated. It was the kind of smile that felt like

standing in the middle of a field of sunflowers, warm and bright, like it belonged to something bigger than just

this moment.

And somehow, that was more dangerous than anything else about her.

“Secret Agent Ginge,” she said, smirking slightly.

I hadn’t even told her my full name yet, and she’d already given me a nickname. I should have hated it. Instead,

it made me want to smile—something I didn’t do often.

“Not a secret agent,” I said, stepping onto her boat.

I ran my fingers over the railing, testing its stability. Not bad. She took care of the place, but it wasn’t some

luxury yacht. It was lived in. Real. My kind of place.

“This is different,” I said, glancing at the small cabin, the stack of books by the bed, and the half-empty bottle

of whiskey sitting next to a glass.

“That’s kind of the point.”

Yeah. I got that.

---

She talked more than I did. I liked that about her.

I didn’t like silence, not really, but I also didn’t like talking just to fill space. She talked in a way that felt

natural. Unfiltered. Like she didn’t give a damn whether I liked her or not.

But I did.

I liked the way she walked, steady, grounded, like she’d figured out how to plant her feet even on unsteady ground.

We walked the docks for hours, the water lapping against the boats, the hum of conversation from nearby bars fading

as the night stretched on.

At one point, she stopped and turned to me, her eyes flickering with curiosity. “So, what is it you actually do,

Secret Agent Ginge?”

I huffed a laugh. “Told you, I work for the government.”

She narrowed her eyes. “That’s an intentionally vague answer.”

“That’s an intentionally vague question.”

She grinned. “So, what—you’re a tax auditor? A contract killer?”

I smirked. “Nothing that exciting.”

But she kept looking at me, waiting for more, like she could tell there was something I wasn’t saying.

She was right.

I wasn’t about to tell her I was about to leave for Quantico, that I’d been working toward this for years.

That I wasn’t the kind of guy who stayed.

Because that would have made this real.

And I couldn’t afford for this to be real.

---

I should have left when the night started winding down. Should have thanked her for the drink, for the conversation,

and walked away before things got complicated.

But then she looked at me like that—like she was daring me to do something about the way I’d been watching her all

night.

So I did.

I stepped in close, close enough to feel the heat coming off her skin, close enough that I could hear her sharp inhale.

I slid my hands to her waist, pulling her in slowly, giving her the chance to stop me. She didn’t.

Her fingers curled into the front of my shirt, her body soft against mine, and for the first time in a long time,

I wasn’t thinking about work. Or duty. Or how people always leave.

I was thinking about her.

My lips brushed against her ear as I whispered, “I want to take you inside.”

She shivered. I felt it.

And then, before she could say anything, I moved.

---

I kissed her hard, pressing her back against the cabin wall, my hands gripping her hips, pulling her closer until there

was no space left between us. Her breath hitched as my mouth moved down her neck, my teeth grazing the sensitive skin

just below her ear.

Her fingers tangled in my hair, tugging just enough to make me groan. “You’re trouble,” I muttered against her throat.

She laughed, breathless. “So are you.”

I lifted her easily, her legs wrapping around my waist as I carried her to the bed. The second I laid her down, she

pulled me with her, her hands sliding under my shirt, nails raking lightly across my stomach, up my chest.

I sucked in a breath. She was undoing me.

I let go. Let myself fall into her, let myself feel everything I’d been trying to ignore—the warmth of her skin, the way

her body arched into mine, the way she whispered my name like she wanted to keep it.

And I wanted her to.

---

Afterward, the cabin was quiet.

Then, out of nowhere, I spoke.

“My mom went on one of those court TV shows once.”

She blinked, turning her head slightly to look at me. “What?”

“A very loud goat,” I confirmed, deadpan.

She bit her lip, trying not to laugh. “And she won?”

“Oh, hell no,” I said. “Judge completely ripped her apart. Said something about ‘goats having rights too’ and dismissed

the whole case. My mom was pissed.”

That did it—she lost it, laughing so hard she had to press her face into the pillow.

Then, the moment shifted.

I exhaled softly and rolled away, reaching for my shirt.

She had awakened something in me, a part I thought I had locked away. A part of me that believed in something more.

And that was too much to deal with.

She followed me to the door.

I expected her to ask me to stay.

I wanted her to.

But instead, she just stood there, watching me like she wasn’t sure how to let me go.

So I made the decision for her.

I cupped her face, my thumb ghosting over her cheek, and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to her forehead.

It wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t just something to do.

She was too precious for a normal kiss.

In that moment, I wasn’t just a man saying goodbye to a woman. I was her protector. And without even realizing it,

I knew—my life would never be the same.

And then—just like that—I was gone.