28

The Palm Beach International Airport has always been my favorite. It’s small, clean, cozy, and low-key. Today I discovered that it’s also perfect for picking up arrivals.

The night before, I’d stayed up making a sign. On it, I’d printed the names of both my guests. Underneath, I’d written Remote Assistant Training—THE USUAL SUSPECTS.

I planned to wait at the bottom of the escalator in my new yellow sundress—impossible to miss.

Only I didn’t get to use the sign. Their connecting flight from Charlotte had landed early, and they were already waiting outside when I arrived. They stood side-by-side on the curb at Ground Pickup, the family resemblance obvious even from a distance.

I honked as I pulled up, popping the trunk and sliding out of the driver’s seat just in time to be tackled by six feet of flying elbows, skinny knees, and wild hair.

“I can’t believe you’re letting me do this and that my school is letting me count it as an internship and that Mom let me come all the way down here and that Uncle Levi came along and this is an amazing opportunity and I’m never going to be able to pay you back and—”

I laughed, took Reed’s face in my hands, and patted his cheeks. That shushed him.

“Your uncle convinced me that it would be wise to train my next assistant in person.” Levi and Booth—and what had felt like the entire police force of the East Coast—all said that if I ever hired another stranger, I deserved what I got.

“I mean, you have to consider the evidence,” Levi had said one night over the phone as we’d made arrangements for this trip. I’d decided to forgive him for that. But only after he’d apologized and promised never again to quote my show straight at me.

Reed bounced on his toes. “Are we going to the beach today? Will we see alligators? Or manatees? Or famous people?” He slapped his phone against his palm. “I need to charge my phone so I can take pics. Carmen’s going to be so jealous.”

Levi followed at a more leisurely pace, pulling both suitcases. He appeared to have completely recovered from being bashed in the head with a tombstone. His face looked good. Better than good. He’d shaved the mustache, revealing a full upper lip with a deep dip in the center.

I tried not to stare.

We didn’t hug or even shake hands. Still, the balmy February air felt supercharged.

Levi lifted the bags into the trunk, and I stepped up beside him. He placed his hand on the popped hood but didn’t slam it.

“I can’t believe it’s February,” he said. He leaned against the hood and tilted his head back.

We stood there together, momentarily shielded from Reed. The sea breeze picked up, flapping the hem of my sundress around my calves.

Levi smiled at me, the mismatched eyes very close.

“Ready?” he asked.

I nodded, lifted a hand, and placed it over his large, warm one.

Then I pushed down, slamming the trunk.