The sun dipped below the rugged horizon, painting the vast Utah sky in hues of bruised violet and burning orange. Theo drove them deep into a secluded alcove he'd spotted on his topographical maps earlier, a hidden pocket of silent wilderness nestled amongst towering red rock formations. He cut the RV's powerful engine, and the sudden silence was profound, broken only by the whisper of the wind through the sagebrush and the distant chirp of crickets. It was a place of stark, ancient beauty, and for the first time since Cincinnati, Theo felt a genuine, if fleeting, sense of security.
He got out, stretching, his ribs still aching but his mind no longer frantic. The Valenti men from the pie shop were neutralized. For now, the immediate, pressing danger had receded, leaving only the vast, heavy quiet of the desert night.
Remy slid out of the passenger seat, moving with a fluid grace he now knew was deceptive. She looked out at the infinite expanse, then up at the stars beginning to prick through the twilight. There was a quietness to her, a pensiveness that was different from her usual cheerful chaos. She still casually dusted at her jeans, as if ridding herself of imaginary pie crumbs, but her blue eyes were wide, reflective.
Theo watched her, his "I'm going to marry this woman someday" thought now a constant, insistent hum beneath his skin. Every movement she made, every subtle shift in her expression, was magnified, re-contextualized by the knowledge of her hidden strength and her stark past. The contrast between the seemingly fragile, whimsical woman and the lethal fighter was a paradox he couldn't stop analyzing. He found himself mesmerized, caught in the undertow of his own burgeoning feelings.
The air in the RV, despite its opulent spaciousness, felt heavy with unspoken things. Remy started setting up for dinner, moving around the polished kitchen with her usual efficient energy. Theo leaned against the counter, ostensibly watching, but his gaze kept snagging on the curve of her arm as she reached for a pan, the way her blonde hair fell over her shoulder as she chopped vegetables. He felt an intense, almost physical pull towards her.
He reached for a bottle of water on the counter, his hand brushing hers. It was a fleeting contact, barely a second, but a jolt of electricity shot up his arm. Remy's fingers, surprisingly calloused, lingered for a fraction of a moment against his before pulling away. Her head tilted subtly, and her eyes, as they met his across the counter, were suddenly dark, filled with a raw, undeniable awareness that mirrored his own. The silence stretched, thick and potent, charged with unspoken desires.
Remy cleared her throat, a faint flush coloring her cheeks. "Uh, pasta tonight?" she asked, her voice a little breathy, a rare note of genuine nervousness in it. "Unless you're still craving pie, Theo. I can probably rig something up with a few emergency rations and some optimistic thinking."
He let out a low, rough chuckle. "Pasta is fine, Remy." He pushed off the counter, needing to create some distance, needing to gather his thoughts before he did something stupid, like confessing he'd just seen his future in her eyes.
Later, as the stars blazed impossibly bright in the black velvet sky, they sat outside the RV. Remy had somehow set up a small, portable campfire, its flames dancing, casting flickering shadows against their faces. Theo, uncharacteristically, found himself beside her on a plush outdoor rug, a glass of bourbon in his hand.
Remy was talking, quietly, about the constellations. "See that one? The Big Dipper? My first foster mom, Mrs. Gable, she used to tell me it was a giant ladle scooping up stardust. Said if you wished on a falling star, it was just the stardust spilling out." She paused, a wistful note in her voice. "I wished on a lot of them, back then. Mostly for a permanent address. Now… now I just wish for a really good slice of boysenberry pie." She chuckled, a soft, self-deprecating sound.
Theo listened, truly listened, the bourbon warm in his stomach. He saw the subtle melancholy that sometimes shadowed her eyes, the quiet yearning beneath her humor. He still didn't understand the full depth of her "list" or her fascination with last meals. He just saw a woman who seized life, who collected experiences and beauty with a fierce, almost desperate hunger. He admired it. He desired it.
He shifted, his knee brushing hers under the blanket they shared. This time, neither of them moved away. The subtle contact was a silent confirmation of the unspoken desire thrumming between them. Theo found himself wanting to reach out, to trace the line of her jaw, to pull her closer and feel the warmth of her against him. His internal thoughts were a fierce battle between his ingrained discipline and a raw, overwhelming need. I'm going to marry this woman someday. The words echoed in his mind, no longer a shock, but a profound, aching promise he felt in every fiber of his being.
He knew she was unaware of his true, dangerous world, unaware of the complexities of his life. But tonight, under the silent, ancient sky, none of that mattered. There was only the heat of the campfire, the vast, comforting silence, and the undeniable pull between them.
The night was pregnant with possibility, and for the first time in a long time, Theo felt something akin to hope, dangerously intertwined with a powerful, desperate longing.