Page 222 of What We Bury

She unties it and heads out back. She’s gone for a few minutes, but when she returns she’s changed out of her uniform into a short summer dress and my brain goes pleasantly blank for a second.

It’s yellow. Soft, thin fabric with little white flowers on it, cut high on her thighs and low enough at the chest to make me think violent, unhelpful things in a public diner. Her hair is still tied back, but looser now, wisps around her face.

Jamie makes a low whistle. “Rude. If I looked like that, I’d ruin lives for sport.”

“Jamie,” she warns, hooking her bag over her shoulder and coming around the counter. Jamie catches her arm as she passes and says something quiet that I can’t hear. Whatever it is makes her squeeze his hand and smile.

She reaches me and loops her arm through mine. “Ready?”

“Ready. You look stunning, Fury.”

She grins. “Thanks.”

“Have fun, kids!” Jamie calls after us as we push through the door. “Use protection!”

The bells jangle behind us and the evening air hits, warm, salt-tinged, golden. Sage is grinning.

“He’s a good friend to you?” I ask after a block.

“He really is.”

“What does he know? About us.”

“Not much. He knows I’m seeing people. Plural. He doesn’t know names or details. He’s running on his own assumptions.Thinks I’m playing the field.” She smirks. “Sowing my wild oats, as he says.”

“And he’s not judging?”

“Oh, god no. He says he’s living vicariously through me.”

I nod. A friend with no details is fine. She needs someone outside of this. Someone who sees her as Sage the waitress with a busy love life, not the woman five killers are in love with.

We walk in silence for a minute. The evening air is warm and salt-heavy, the light going golden the way it does on the coast this time of year. I check my watch. The others should be getting ready to head out to Pinecrest about now. They’d be gathered at Unholy Desires, going over the plan in the backroom before driving out to the country club and waiting for Hudson to finish his workout around nine. There are still hours until the rope drops, but every op starts well in advance, the team’s movements timed to perfection. My brain runs through every step, every contingency on autopilot. But I push it all down. Not tonight. Tonight I’m here. Tonight, I get Fury all to myself.

“Hungry?” I ask.

She looks up, surprised. “Starving, actually. We were so busy I skipped lunch.”

“I made reservations.”

“Reservations? I thought we were just grabbing something on the boardwalk.” She stops walking. Tugs my arm so I stop too. “Knox. Are you taking me on an actual date?”

I look at her. “Yes.”

Her face lights up with surprise then folds into delight before softening when she ducks her head. Like she doesn’t want me to see how touched she is. She fails at hiding it. I see all.

“Okay,” she says, and her voice is a little unsteady. “I wish I’d dressed up a little more. But a dinner date it is.”

“You look perfect. Don’t sweat it.”

The boardwalk is quiet for a Wednesday evening. Most of the tourist crowd has thinned out, leaving the locals—couples walking dogs, kids on skateboards, a guy playing guitar outside the ice cream shop. The restaurants along the water are half-full, string lights swaying in the breeze, the sound of waves underneath everything like a pulse.

I take her to a seafood place at the far end. It’s small with checkered tablecloths and candles in wine bottles and a menu that never changes.

The hostess seats us by the window overlooking the water. Sage slides into the booth and looks out at the ocean, and the candlelight catches her face, and I have to look away for a second because the feeling in my chest is too big.

“This is nice,” she says. “Fancy.”

“Yeah.”