Okay, she had two options: admit her crazy or keep it to herself. But maybe to prove that this wouldn’t—couldn’t—last, she gave him the truth. “I need to write something in my journal.”

“Sure,” he said without blinking an eye, and turned toward the stairs to get to the parking lot.

She stared after him, dumbfounded. Just the fact that he’d go get it made it possible to stop him. “Actually, it’s okay. It can wait.” Then she stepped into him and pressed her face in the crook of his neck to just breathe him in for a moment, willing herself to remember.

Live in the moment.

After all, there was no sense in thinking about the future, because as she knew all too well, not everyone got one. So why ruin the here and now by running ahead of herself? Besides, she thought with a happy sigh as Cam’s arms came around her, the here and now was pretty damn amazing. “Thank you,” she whispered against his skin, and then, unable to resist, she kissed his throat.

He took a deep breath, and his arms tightened a little. She thought he’d kiss her, but he didn’t, maybe because Brodie was suddenly there, taking their helmets, grinning, asking them how their ride was.

“Great,” she said, stepping back from Cam. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. It was your man here. He dragged me in on my day off. Said I owed him.” His smile was lopsided and very genuine as he looked to Cam. “And I do. I owe him my life. Several times over.” And with another quick salute, this one not sarcastic, he turned and vanished into his shack.

She looked at Cam, but he didn’t say anything, just took her hand and walked with her back to the truck.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” he asked when they were on the highway.

“Yes, in case you couldn’t tell by the grin on my face.” She squeezed his hand. “Thank you, for reminding me to take time to fly.”

He brought her hand up to his mouth and brushed a kiss against her palm, which hit her heart. And also decidedly south of her heart. “What did Brodie mean, he owes you his life?”

His eyes were on the road now, but she sensed a rare hesitation.

“You can’t say,” she guessed.

“There’s a lot of my military past that I can’t talk about.”

There was something in his tone now. Wariness? “I understand,” she said.

He glanced at her. “You do?”

“Of course. Your missions are probably mostly classified.”

“This one wasn’t. It’s just hard to talk about. He was on a training mission that went horribly wrong. His parachute didn’t open correctly. He got separated from his unit, landed in unfriendly waters, and then it became a rescue situation.”

“And you were the one who rescued him,” she guessed.