Fated in New Orleans

20

By the time they made it back to the compound, both women were soaked to the bone and still laughing like idiots. Salem’s hair dripped down her shoulders, plastered against her tank top, and Rhea’s boots squelched with every step. Somehow, Rhea had ended up carrying Salem piggyback-style — mostly because Salem had dared her to — and she wasn’t about to back down.

“Rhea,” Salem warned between laughs, “if you drop me again, I swear—”

“You deserved the last one!” Rhea cut in, voice bright with laughter. “You mocked me while I was fighting for my life!”

“You tripped over your own foot!” Salem shot back. “The gator didn’t even move!”

They were still bickering when they pushed through the kitchen door, dripping water all over the tile.

Beau, River, and Miles looked up from where they were sitting — mid-conversation, mid-drink — and froze.

Rhea grinned, panting slightly. “Don’t mind us. Just your friendly neighborhood swamp monsters.”

Beau blinked slowly, taking in their soaked clothes, tangled hair, and the trail of water following them. “I’m scared to ask,” he said, setting down his glass. “But what the hell happened?”

Salem slid off Rhea’s back, feet hitting the floor with a squish. She grabbed a towel off the counter, wringing out her braid. “Rhea got scared of a gator and decided the best way to deal with it was to knock both of us into the river.”

Miles nearly choked on his drink. “You’re kidding.”

Rhea raised a hand, defensive. “In my defense, that thing was huge! It popped up right in front of us!”

“It blinked, Rhea,” Salem said dryly. “Pretty sure it just wanted to see who was dumb enough to run near its river at midnight.”

River’s mouth twitched, eyes flicking between them. “You two look like you wrestled it.”

“Almost did,” Rhea muttered, grabbing a bottle of water from the counter. “I tripped, took her with me. That counts as teamwork, right?”

Beau leaned back in his chair, grinning wide. “Teamwork, sure. Wet, muddy, and traumatized teamwork.”

“Shut it,” Rhea said, cracking open her water and taking a long drink.

Salem threw the towel at her, hitting her square in the face. “Next time, you’re bait.”

Miles raised a brow. “You volunteering to fight gators now, Salem?”

Salem smirked. “Only if it means keeping Rhea dry for once.”

Rhea made a face and flicked water off her fingers at Salem. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” Salem replied, grabbing another towel and tossing it over her shoulder. “You’d drown without me.”

River leaned against the counter, amusement soft but obvious. “You two sure know how to turn a run into a disaster.”

“Hey,” Rhea said, pointing at him. “We bonded. That’s what matters.”

Miles snorted. “You bonded with a gator.”

Beau chuckled low, shaking his head. “I don’t know what’s funnier — that you both fell in or that you’re proud of it.”

Salem shrugged, grabbing her own bottle of water. “Both, probably.” She glanced at Rhea, then at the guys. “Next time, one of you is coming with us.”

Beau raised his hands. “Hard pass. I don’t do gator patrol.”

River smiled faintly. “We’ll make sure the area’s clear before you two head out again.”

Rhea grinned, nudging Salem. “See? Alpha twin’s got our back.”

Salem rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the grin tugging at her mouth. “Yeah, until he sees how much mud we tracked through the hall.”

Miles looked down at the floor — a muddy trail led from the door to the counter. He groaned. “You two are cleaning that.”

Rhea saluted him lazily. “On it, boss.”

Salem added, smirking, “After we dry off and find your mop.”

Beau laughed, standing. “Remind me never to leave you two unsupervised again.”

Rhea winked. “You’d be bored without us.”

Salem leaned against the counter beside her, finally relaxed, eyes soft despite her teasing. “Maybe,” she said, “but admit it — we make life interesting.”

River exchanged a look with Miles and Beau — silent agreement, half amused, half resigned.

Beau chuckled. “That’s one word for it.”

Rhea grinned. “You’re welcome.”

And just like that, the kitchen filled with laughter again — the kind that made the whole place feel lighter, even dripping wet and covered in river muck.