Her Last Best Fling

“The fact that I touched you without your permission. I was taught better than that. I can write you a letter of apology if you’d like, but I thought it might mean more if I said it in person.”

She laughed. “Letters are so old-school. You could have texted me.”

He shrugged. “I kind of like the old-school ways, besides, I didn’t have your number. And there’s something else.”

“What’s that?”

“I really want to kiss you.”

She was in big, big trouble, she could confirm, because she wanted that, too.

* * *

“WOW. FOR A MARINE, you really aren’t afraid to tell it like it is.” Macy gave him a smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes. He’d made her uncomfortable, but he had to speak his mind. If she told him off, so be it, but he had to let her know how he felt.

If he’d learned anything the past six months, it was that life was short. And from his therapist, that the truth was important.

“It’s true. It’s who I am. And I understand you and I can’t— Well, that is, you have ethics. Some journalists don’t anymore, but I can see that you do. We have a connection. I’m fairly certain you’ve noticed it.”

She nodded.

Good, at least the attraction wasn’t one-sided.

“But you’re writing a story about me and that’s a conflict of interest.”

“Yes, it is.”

“So, I think I have a solution.”

She sat next to him on the tailgate and petted Harley.

“Don’t write the story.”

Immediately her back stiffened. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not? You’re the publisher of the paper, right? Your uncle left you the whole thing, so you make the decisions. Or you could have someone else write the story, though, I’m going to be honest—I wouldn’t trust anyone else.”

She sighed. “Why do you have to be so—you.”

He chuckled. “I’m not sure what that means, but do you agree with me?”

“The story is already compromised because you do strange things to me, Lieutenant Michaels.”

He lifted her chin with his fingers and waited. She nodded her approval.

“Strange things?”

“Yes,” she said softly. “I always seem to be too warm when you’re around.”

“Hmm. Maybe you have a fever.” He held the back of his hand to her forehead. Then let his fingers trail down her cheek. He leaned in to kiss her.

Harley let loose with a harsh bark.

They broke apart chuckling.

A giant head was eye level with them. Harley’s paws were up on the tailgate, and she gave them a look that said break it up.

“I think she’s hungry,” Macy suggested. “I should feed her.”

The dog grumbled.

“Do you mind if I help?”

Macy pursed her lips.

“Hands off, I promise. I won’t touch you again until you ask me.”

“This isn’t a good idea,” she said.

“What? Feeding your dog? Surely she would disagree.”