“You’re doing great.”

Cody shot her a look that clearly said, Bullshit.

“I’m serious,” she said. “And I appreciate what you said. But I have a question.”

“Sounds serious.”

“Very serious,” she said. “Want to get naked?”

“Well,” Cody sighed theatrically, “if you insist . . .”

“I do.”

Cody got to his feet. Ellie remained seated.

“You know,” he said, “this usually works better when two or more people are involved.”

“Take off your shirt.”

Cody looked around the gloom to see if anyone was watching.

“We’re fine,” Ellie said, and picked up her glass.

Cody took off his T-shirt. He had the singular most perfect chest she had ever seen on a man—powerful, square-shaped pectorals like stone slabs, the stomach and waist ridged with muscle, everything on him perfectly proportioned, none of that freaky bodybuilder shit so many guys tried to get in the gym. He took a lot of pride in his body, but he wasn’t prideful.

“Come closer,” she said. “I want to get a good look at you.”

He stepped up in front of her, dressed in his flip-flops and shorts. Ellie crossed her legs and took a sip of her drink. Cicadas sang all around her, and she could hear Cody breathing.

“Anything else I can do for you?” he asked after a moment.

“Take everything off. Then stand right where you are. I want to sit here and admire you while I finish my drink. No,” she said when Cody opened his mouth. “No talking. Just do what you’re told.”

* * *

Ellie woke up to bright sunlight and the tendrils of a dream in which she had survived the shoot-out, just like in real life. Cody was there, at the house, and when she went to kiss him, he recoiled and looked down at her stomach. Then she did, too, and she saw that she was bleeding from gunshot wounds covering her stomach and chest. When she looked up, Cody was gone.

She blinked away, heard running water; Cody was in the shower. The door was cracked open, the bathroom full of steam.

“Hey,” she called out from the bed, the dream starting to fade but not the cold, empty feeling it had left in its wake. “You want to grab breakfast?”

“Yeah, but not at the diner down the road.”

“I love that place.”

“I don’t like the way they cook the bacon. Too soggy.”

“Don’t shut the water off. I’ll jump in after you’re done.”

“Why not come in now? I’ll wash your front and you can wash my back.”

“Be right there.”

As Ellie got out of bed, it amazed her that a guy who was so incredibly organized when it came to his life could be such a slob, never making the bed and always leaving his clothes on the floor—something he knew bothered her. How hard was it to fold a pair of shorts and a T-shirt? She picked up his shorts and in the front pocket caught sight of what looked like a black felt jeweler’s box.