Sloane nods, her fingers tracing the edge of her blanket. “And which are you doing now?” The question hangs between us, loaded with unspoken implications. I consider my words carefully before responding. “I’m . . . assessing the situation.” She laughs softly, the sound melting into the night air. “Always the businessman.” “Not always,” I murmur, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. My fingers linger, tracing the curve of her jaw. “Sometimes I’m just a man who knows what he wants.”
