Page 51 of One Last Shot

“I’m not blaming you. Listen, I understand?—”

He leaned away, held up a hand. “No. Actually. What I did was wrong. I know that. I landed on the guy, got a couple good hits in, and the crowd pulled me back.” He sighed. “But it wasn’t about the beer for me, either.” He hung the towel on the oven handle. The sun had set, and Oaken walked over and opened the door. “It’s gorgeous out here.”

“And cold.”

He reached over, picked up a blanket off the sofa, and tossed it to her.

She caught it and appreciated that he didn’t do something cheesy like try to wrap it around her shoulders.

Friends. She could probably do that.

She stepped outside, wrapped in the blanket. He turned off the kitchen light and closed the door behind her.

Moose had set Adirondack chairs around a fire table on the deck. The stars glinted off the surface of the lake, adding more ambiance, and of course she sank down on one of the chairs, Oaken in the other one.

“So, what was it really about?” she asked.

He looked at her, then back at the stars.

“The fight.”

“I know what you mean. And... let’s just say that you’re not the only one who has a pastthat haunts you.”

Silence then, and maybe a friend didn’t pry. So she stared at the stars, so bright, so close she could reach out and grab one.

“I love Alaska,” he said finally. “I can see why you’d like to get lost up here.”

“I actually don’t want to belost.Just not found.”

He nodded and let her have that without prying. Although maybe she wouldn’t have minded.

Oh brother. Still, the sway of the wind and lure of the stars and the cozy blanket suggested they’d found a good place. So, “Hey. I remember you telling me that you were having a hard time writing. How’s that going?”

More quiet, and then a small hum from the man next to her. She looked over at him. “What is this—inspiration?”

“I think maybe it is.” He grinned. “Maybe you’re more than a rescuer, Boo. Maybe you’re my muse.”

“And I think maybe you’ve had too much to drink.”

“Moose is a teetotaler. That was lemonade.”

“The altitude had gone to your head.”

“We’re at sea level.”

“Then I’m going to blame the stars.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Blame the stars.”

He looked over at her, his eyes fixed on hers, and she simply couldn’t look away. And weirdly, it didn’t hurt. As if he saw her. Understood her, maybe.

No, that was just crazy.

But that moment held her, a pocket of time, of breath, a space in the universe where the past, the future, even the voices in her head stilled, dropped around her.

Just the deep sounds of the night and Oaken Fox, looking at her with those devastating blue eyes.

Her breath caught.