Lincoln’s front pressed against my back, and he rested his head against the side of mine. “If he does, it will be thanks to you.”
“You helped,” I said, closing my fingers around his warm skin. “A lot more than you might realize. I started freaking out for a minute there.”
His stubble pricked against my temple, but then it was replaced by the soft press of his lips. “You got it together when it mattered. It’s okay to freak out. The important part is getting your shit together, which you managed flawlessly.”
“Well, I’m not sure it was flawless.” Over and over again in my mind, I replayed everything I had learned. It had come back to me so easily after that initial panic had passed, but now I worried that I’d skipped something.
At the same time, I felt this weird sense of calm and rightness that reassured me from inside out that I’d done everything I could. Lincoln’s lips brushed against my temple when he spoke again, like he wanted to talk but also didn’t want to let me go. I knew because I felt the same way.
“Bullshit. It might not have felt flawless to you, but it sure as fuck looked it. I’m impressed, baby. You kicked ass tonight.”
Before I could reply, a man approached us through the retreating crowd. He held a camera in one hand and a notepad in the other. A pair of round-framed glasses were perched on his nose and his cheeks were flushed with excitement.
“I’m Douglas Green with the Chronicle. I witnessed what you two did here tonight. Do you mind if I get a picture? I’d love to write an article on the couple that saved the fourth of July.”
Lincoln tapped my side, silently letting me know it was up to me. I didn’t like the idea of being in the paper, but the guy looked at us with such hope in his eyes that I couldn’t say no.
“Sure. How do you want us for the picture?” I reluctantly started to move away from Lincoln, but Douglas waved his hand at me.
“No. Please stay just like that. It’s perfect.” He beamed a smile at us before lifting his camera to his eye. “You’re a gorgeous couple. This is going to be a great shot.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks, but before I could correct him, Lincoln spoke up. “Thanks. We still want to catch the fireworks, so can we make this quick?”
“Of course.” Douglas immediately started working on a few shots, asked us some basic questions, and then said his goodbyes.
Once he was gone, Lincoln gave me another hug before taking his hand in mine. “How about we go for a walk while we watch the show? The main display will be starting soon.”
“Sounds good to me.” His fingers slid between mine, thick but somehow also slotting perfectly between them.
“How are you feeling now?” he asked as he led me away from the remaining throngs of people gawking at us. “Coming down from an adrenaline rush like that gets to a lot of people.”
“I’m fine,” I said, lifting our hands to sling his arm around my shoulder. I liked feeling the weight of it there. “If anything, I feel like tonight opened my eyes a bit.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, his tone even and measured.
“I’ve been putting off graduating early because there was nothing driving me to do it. Now, I feel like I’ve remembered why I even started studying medicine in the first place. It’s my calling.”
“It looks that way to me too,” he rumbled, but he seemed preoccupied.
We walked down the beach without letting go of one another. I didn’t know where his head was, but I wanted to know.
Bangs sounded in the air, followed by colorful lights bursting into the inky night. Fiery blooms exploded among the stars to the oohing of the appreciative crowd. Walking along the shore as we were, we had an unobstructed view as more fireworks cut through the black sky.
Some shot straight up into the air before showering their sparkles high above our heads. In between those, others soared or twirled before they extinguished to black. A whiff of gunpowder filled the air, and I felt Lincoln’s chest expand as he drew in a deep breath.
“I love that smell,” he murmured, and my ears perked up. “It reminds me of being on the gun range, of training, and of going on missions.”
Thousands of questions popped into my head, but this was the first time he was opening up without being prompted by me. The need to listen eventually trumped the desire to have him answer my questions.
“I was born to be a SEAL,” he was saying, his fingers tightening around mine and his gaze on the vast black ocean beside him. “It’s weird, considering that I admittedly have a problem with authority. But the job itself? Getting to do that makes it worth having to deal with the military hierarchy.”
“It’s not that weird.” I kept my voice low as we watched the water lighting up with shapes dancing across the sky. “I mean fine, joining the military when one has a problem with authority seems counterproductive, but I don’t really believe it is.”
“Maybe not, but even my mom thought I wouldn’t last very long.” A hint of amusement sneaked into his tone, and my heart began fluttering in my chest. He hadn’t really told me much about his mom or his career. Now he was delving into both?
“Yeah?” I asked. “Why is that?”
He chuckled, hugging me closer to his side. “Because she knew I’d be labeled as a troublemaker. A lot of people think I’m a misfit until they see me in action. Personality-wise, I’ve never been a good fit for the military.”
“But you’re good at
