“I was calling your name. Didn’t you hear me?” Ranger had caught up to her.

“Sorry.” She folded the fiver, put it in her pocket. In the stands, the crowd cheered as the divers hit the tarmac. Around them, the smells of the air show—fried foods and gas from the planes—mixed with the heat and soured the air. “I just need a drink.”

“Are you sure that’s all?” he said and stepped into a line. “You’ve been . . . quiet. For the last day or so, and . . . is there anything wrong?”

Everything. Nothing. Oh— She tightened her jaw as she stood by him, this amazing man who had saved her life, twice, who had broken her heart so many years ago, only to piece it back together. He wore a pair of cargo shorts, flip-flops, and a short-sleeve shirt, his sunglasses propped behind his head, a picture of a guy comfortable in his own skin.

The events of the past week—or more likely, Ham and the team—had done that for him.

Ham’s voice dug around inside her as the line moved. “And you think you’ll be your better self hanging around Sky King Ranch, making soup?”

No, no he wouldn’t. She knew it in her soul.

“But I also know who I am.”

“I guess I’m still trying to figure that out.”

No, he wasn’t. Her husband knew exactly who he was.

He just didn’t want to admit it—or rather, didn’t want to admit it to her.

And that—that was what made her angry.

“Are you sure you’re okay? Because I can practically feel the heat burning off you,” he said, glancing down at her.

She stared at him.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, fine, you want to know?”

He stilled. “Now I’m not sure.”

“Too late.” She hooked his elbow and pulled him out of line, past the concessions area, into a shadowy space between the bleachers and the food stands.

She rounded on him but kept her voice low. “You’re just like my father.”

“How?”

“In all the ways, hello.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what is worse, my father pretending to die to keep me safe or you living your worst life because you don’t want me to worry.”

He just stared at her, frowning.

“I know you’re falling on your sword, Range.”

“I— What?”

“Really?” She put her hands on her hips. “I heard Ham. I know he offered you a job.”

“Noemi—”

“Stop. I am not going to be the bad guy again.”

“You’re not the bad guy.”

“I will be if you spend the rest of your life hating it. I thought my worst nightmare was losing you again. But I think my worst nightmare is losing you.” She patted his chest. “The guy you were made to be.”

He caught her hand on his heart. “What are you saying?”