Finding Our Course (Finding our Way 3)

“Caveman, I put that thing you wanted in Devon’s top dresser drawer,” Quinn tells him and rolls her eyes. “You’re welcome.”

Bryce gives her a dirty look but comes over and leads me back to my room.

“You’re not going to try to make me change, are you?”

“If I said yes, would you listen to me?”

“Not on your life.”

“Then there’s no point.” He sighs and reaches in my drawer, removing a box. “It’s not that you don’t look exquisite; it’s that you’re going to attract attention tonight. I’ll need to be alert.”

“You’re absurd.”

“Maybe, but I’m also possessive and completely obsessed. Maybe this will help ease my nerves.” He pops open the box to reveal a silver choker with an anchor in the middle.

I momentarily lose my breath. “It’s stunning,” I finally whisper.

“No, you’re stunning.” He goes behind me and clasps it around my neck.

“What is the occasion?” I run my fingers along the smooth metal.

“No occasion. One of the things I thought about on the ship is your anchor tattoo. In my mind, it’s my mark, but its placement is for my eyes only. So I wanted another anchor on your body. It’s a reminder whenever you wear it that you’re my anchor.”

“I love it.”

“I love you.” He kisses a trail from my ear down to my collarbone. “Now, about changing your dress.”

I lean into him, shuttering at the warmth of his breath. He continues to nibble on the sensitive skin below my ear, and I know he thinks he’s won. It takes all the self-control I can find to step away and out of my lust induced fog.

“Not a chance. Come on. We don’t want to be late.”

He sighs and hangs his head in defeat. I stop in my doorway and hold out my hand, which he finally takes and follows me back to the kitchen.

The Fine Arts Building where the exhibit is located has been transformed into an elegant gallery with every wall surface covered with matted frames. I get chills as soon as we walk through the door and see everyone’s hard work on display. On one wall, there’s a flat screen television playing footage of all our video coverage.

I look around and gasp when my eyes land on the wall leading to the main room. Quinn’s piece shines under the large spotlights. Instinctively, I link my arm through hers and walk us over. Our crew follows closely, Dean holding her free hand.

No one speaks as we read it in its entirety. Whoever put this together did a superb job with the captions and the picture placement. Quinn’s whole team has a contribution, but it’s her paper that’s front and center.

“Well, little Quinnie Jackson, how’s it feel to be famous?” Nate breaks the silence.

“Nate,” Quinn’s voice cracks. “You promised never to call me that.”

“It slipped. Standing here, looking at this, I’m so damn proud. It seemed appropriate.” His own voice is thick with emotion, which breaks Quinn.

She turns and hugs him, her body shaking. He hugs her back then transfers her to Dean’s arms. He supports her easily, rubbing his hands up and down her back and whispering his own praises.

She steps away from Dean and looks at all

of us but focuses on Jamie. “Jamie, that’s your one and only. I’m not usually a crier. I’m more of a ball-buster.”

Bryce nods his agreement, and we all laugh.

“Okay, time to move on.” Quinn looks around, her eyes landing on the far wall. She grabs my hands and drags me across the room to stand in front of the blue team’s large display.

Once again, we’re quiet as we read all the captions. Bryce slips his arm around my waist and shifts me in front of him.

“Devon.” Nate steps up to us and squeezes my shoulder. “This is beyond incredible. I’m so fucking happy for you.”