JJ Maybank shoved open the door to his room at the Chateau, the humid air of the Outer Banks clinging to his skin. The familiar scent of salt and summer filled the space, but he paused when he spotted her curled up at his makeshift desk, completely absorbed in whatever she was scribbling. The glow from a lamp bathed her in warm light, and a cup of tea—cold by now—balanced dangerously close to the edge.

“Didn’t know this place doubled as your personal office,” JJ drawled, kicking the door shut behind him and tossing his hat onto the nearest chair. She didn’t flinch, but her lips quirked into a small, knowing smile before she even looked up.

“Your chair’s comfier than mine,” she murmured, eyes flicking to him briefly. “And you’ve got that crooked lamp that somehow makes this whole room feel cozier.”

JJ chuckled, stepping closer. She was working on one of her sketches again, the lines of the drawing sharp but somehow soft at the same time. He couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be a landscape or one of those abstract things she loved, but it didn’t matter. He liked watching her work, the way her focus drowned out the world around her.

“Didn’t think you’d still be here,” he said, leaning a hip against the desk. His voice was quieter now, less teasing.

“Didn’t mean to stay this long,” she replied, sitting back and stretching her arms over her head. The oversized sweatshirt she wore—his sweatshirt—slipped off one shoulder, and JJ’s eyes followed the movement like a magnet.

“Not complaining,” he said, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. “Better company than Pope and John B arguing over what to watch on Netflix.”

She laughed softly, finally turning her full attention to him. “Rough day, Maybank?”

“Every day’s rough when you’re me,” he joked, but the look in his eyes was softer now. Vulnerable, even. “But seeing you here? Makes it suck a little less.”