IT WAS DIFFICULT NOT TO clutch at the dream. Because despite how hard she intended to fight to make it work, the risk that it would all fall apart remained perilously high. It was a bad risk all around—no woman with a killer instinct and business-black blood would ever pour more resources into the campaign.

Unfortunately for her future self, Ísa was a romantic who was probably destined to produce her own personal Shakespearean tragedy, complete with a bloodied and broken heart and shattered dreams. Though she drew the line at wearing a flower crown and running through the streets in a diaphanous gown while rambling madly.

“A woman has to have certain standards,” she murmured.

Sailor paused in the act of eating another spring roll. “I think they’re pretty good,” he defended. “Crunchy on the outside, delicious on the inside.”

“What? Oh.” Ísa’s shoulders trembled, her smile cutting into her cheeks. “No, I just had an idea for a poem.” She raised her hand to her mouth after the words escaped. “Forget you heard that.”

Demon-blue eyes gleamed. “Not a chance, spitfire.” Spring roll demolished, he tugged her fingers away from her mouth. “You write poetry?”

Blowing out a breath, Ísa nodded. “Finding just the right combination of words to get across a thought or an idea within the tiny, perfect form of poetry, it makes me happy.” It was that simple. “I’m not hoping to be the next poet laureate or anything. It’s a… passionate hobby.”

“If you did become a famous poet,” Sailor said to a laugh from Ísa, “would you give up the teaching?”

“No. I love teaching.” It felt like a calling.

“Can I hear one of your poems?”

“I’ll think about it.” Ísa felt oddly shy about sharing her work with him, showing him those quirky little pieces of her soul. “You must be tired,” she said to give herself time to think. “You’ve achieved an incredible amount in a short a time.”

“I’ve got probably half an hour of workable light left.” He finished up the last of his food. “You done for the day?”

Ísa made a face. “No, I’m handling something for Jacqueline that’s sucking up my time.”

“Is it to do with that megastore idea that was in the business news the other day? Not your mother’s usual style—revealing her plans before she’s got everything in place.”

Ísa should’ve known he’d figure out that something was off; Sailor Bishop was too smart for his own good. Going with her gut, she told him what was going on.

His eyes cooled when she began to talk about her investigation into anyone who’d been in Jacqueline’s office during the applicable period. “You think I did it?”

“Don’t you start,” she snapped, shoving her used chopsticks into their makeshift trash bag with unnecessary force. “I already spent far too long convincing my mother that it couldn’t be you. You’re not that dumb.”

He let out a loud laugh, throwing back his head, a beautiful creature kissed by the late-evening light. Ísa’s heart, it hurt.

“Who do you think it is?” he said afterward, his eyes sparkling.

“I’ve got nothing right now.” She wanted to pull out her hair from the frustration of it. “But if someone does want to hurt Crafty Corners, they might try something here. A lot of people are watching to see if Fast Organic will fail or succeed.”

“I’ll keep an eye out.” Sailor stared at the garden he’d laid out. “I didn’t get a loan from the bank today,” he said abruptly. “Or more specifically, I got half of what I need.”

Ísa stomach clenched; she understood instinctively that the setback was a bad one. She also understood what it meant for her fiercely ambitious and determined lover to trust her with this.

Closing her hand over his, she said, “Impact?”

“If I don’t do anything to mitigate the loss, things will change too much for me to realize what I’ve been planning for the past two years, ever since I identified a gap in the market.”

He would’ve been twenty-one at the time. Already dreaming huge dreams and with the drive and willpower to make those dreams happen. Was it any wonder she was so hopelessly in love with him?

Oh God.

Why the hell had she done that, admitted the truth? How could she hide from it now?

“It sounds like you have a plan,” she said through the lump in her throat.

Weaving his fingers through hers, Sailor held on fast. “I’ll have to double my workload,” he said, as if he wasn’t talking about an insane time investment.

As if he wasn’t breaking Ísa’s heart.

She braced herself to hear that he’d have no time for a relationship. No time for her.

“I’ll probably be a zombie,” he said, lifting their clasped hands to press a kiss to her knuckles. “But if you’ll let me, I’ll be your zombie.”

Ísa’s lungs hurt, she was finding it so hard to breathe. “Oh?”

“We could make it work,” he said, that same determined flame in the blue of his eyes that she’d seen when he talked about his business dreams. “Breakfast together at the crack of dawn”—a playful grin that asked her to smile with him—“then sophisticated dinner dates like this.” He waved a hand. “Followed by mutual nakedness at night.”

His passion was a wildfire that licked over her and asked her to believe even though she’d seen firsthand that no relationship could survive this kind of relentless stress. And no one as ambitious as Sailor would be satisfied with a single triumph.

There would always be more mountains to climb, more glories to achieve.

More important things than Ísa.

And still she wanted to believe. She loved him too much not to grasp at even the thinnest straw of hope. “What about the weekends?” Except for those magical five years with her grandmother, Ísa had spent countless hours alone as a child; the idea of repeating that existence was her personal nightmare.

Especially when it was Sailor she’d be missing.

“You could come with me,” Sailor said, his hand still locked possessively around her own. “After your work with Jacqueline is finished, you could grade papers and write your poetry while I landscaped.”

When Ísa parted her lips—to say what, she wasn’t sure—he shook his head. “Try, Ísa. Please.”

It was the wrenching emotion in that last word that got to her.

Shaken by the raw power of it, she went against her every instinct and nodded. “When do you start your work schedule from hell?”

Hauling her into his lap, he thrust his hand into her hair, sent it tumbling around her shoulders. “I won’t let you down, spitfire.” A kiss that stole her will, threatened to steal all her own dreams, threatened to splinter her to pieces.

“I’ve already begun,” he told her afterward as she lay curled in his lap. “But I’ll have a break early in the new year—I made a promise to my dad months ago that I’d go on a family camping trip. Come with me?”

Shoving down her fear of being left behind in favor of bigger dreams, Ísa nodded. Because when Ísa Rain agreed to try something, she did so with her whole heart and soul. No regrets. No hesitation. “Yes,” she said on a wave of determination as potent as Sailor’s after stuffing her pain into a box and locking it shut. “I’ll come.”

Sailor kissed her knuckles again. And in his eyes, she saw a shadow that made her heart twist. He was hiding something else. “Sailor?” She scowled at him. “Talk to me.” It was a demand.

“Not tonight, Ísa.” Almost a plea. “Tonight let’s just be us.”

Not dropping her scowl, Ísa nonetheless ran her fingers through his hair. “You’re on notice, Sailor Bishop. If you want me to be yours, then you be mine.” She pressed her nose to his. “You talk to me.”

A softening of his lips, a slight curve. “I’ll talk at camp, boss lady,” he said. “I promise.”

Ísa would hold him to that promise. And she’d fight her hardest to hold on to every sexy, sweet, funny, powerful thing between them. Giving up was not in her vocabulary. Even when it might be good for her.

Just as well she didn’t own a diaphanous white gown.