My hands slide down his chest as Jack draws away from me. As I realize how that must sound. Like I want to go back there to be with the person he was before. “That night . . . it was amazing,” I rush to add, struggling to put into words how that night made me feel. How he made me feel. “And that kiss—”

A log shifts on the fire, tossing up sparks. Jack prods it back into place with a stick. He shakes his head, not angry, I realize. Just . . . thinking. “If we went back to the cabin now, it wouldn’t be the same. I can’t . . .” The fire reflects in his eyes. They shimmer with regrets when he finally looks at me. “The nights would be cold. I can’t keep you warm just by holding your hand. I can’t freeze the pond and take you skating or make it snow or—”

I take the stick from him. When he turns to me, I press a finger to his lips. “I don’t need you to take me skating, Jack.” I trace the edge of his upper lip, then the lower, marveling at their softness and shape as his mouth parts.

“What do you need?” he asks.

“Just this. Just us,” I say in a hushed voice. “You and me.”

He smiles, his breath warm against my finger. “Is that all?”

I cock an eyebrow. “That, and maybe s’mores.”

Jack’s laugh is husky as he leads me to the blanket, pulling me down beside him. Lying sideways against his shoulder, I tear into a slice of pizza and offer him a bite as he loads marshmallows onto a skewer. He roasts the marshmallows slowly, careful not to burn them, his thoughts lost somewhere in the flames as he nurses his beer.

I set my slice of pizza back in the box and close the lid.

Moving behind him, I wrap my arms around his waist, my head resting in the warm dip between his shoulders. His hand closes around mine, secure and strong. He’s wrong if he thinks he can’t keep me safe and warm just by holding me. I press a kiss to one of his scars, my mouth slowly moving down to the next as he leans into me. Something scrapes my knee where it brushes the back of his jeans. I reach down, mouth falling open in surprise at the two small booklets protruding from his back pocket.

Passports. Two of them. I slip them from his pocket and find two travel vouchers tucked inside their covers, the destinations and dates left empty, one made out in each of our names for a generous amount. My breath catches.

Run away with me . . .

Jack wasn’t kidding. His invitation wasn’t a symbolic gesture. It was real.

Where would you go if you could go anywhere, Fleur?

He was serious about taking me off the grid, regardless of Lyon’s wishes.