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The sun was dipping low, casting long shadows across the streets of downtown Beacon Hills. The glow made the storefront windows glimmer like gold, but Peter wasn’t admiring the scenery. His hand was locked tightly around his wife Isabelle’s, fingers laced, as they sprinted across the wide intersection.
"Come on," he urged, voice low and sharp in that way that made her heart race for more reasons than just the running. “We’ll make it if we hurry.”
"I’m hurrying!" she protested breathlessly— “You said jog, not sprint like a serial killer!”
Peter huffed a laugh, but didn’t slow.
The flashing red hand of the crosswalk sign was counting down: 3... 2...
They were just a few feet from the curb when a silver Lexus turned too sharply into the intersection, tires squealing against the pavement. It missed them by inches.
Isabelle shrieked and stumbled, tugged safely to the sidewalk only by Peter’s unrelenting grip. Her free hand flew up instinctively in a panicked wave toward the car.
“I’M SO SORRY!!” she blurted, eyes wide as the car sped off with a short, angry honk.
But Peter had already spun toward the retreating vehicle, his eyes blazing.
“FUCK YOU, DIPSHIT!” he roared, his voice echoing between the buildings like a thunderclap.
Several pedestrians froze. One woman gasped. A man holding a smoothie dropped it.
Peter’s shoulders heaved once, twice, before he turned back toward Isabelle, his scowl still burning hot. “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice instantly softer. It was a dangerous shift—rage to concern in the blink of an eye—but Isabelle was used to the duality by now.
She nodded, still catching her breath, her pulse thrumming from more than the near-death experience. “I think I said sorry to the car.”
“You did,” Peter deadpanned. “Would you like to apologize to the streetlight next? Maybe offer the curb a mint?”
She smacked his arm lightly, cheeks flushed. “Shut up. I was panicking!”
He grinned, pulled her closer, and kissed the top of her head. “You panic beautifully.”
She wrinkled her nose at him, still a little shaken but reassured by his arms around her. “Next time we wait for the next walk sign.”
“Agreed,” Peter said without remorse. “Though if anyone else tries to hit you, I will flip the car.”
Isabelle sighed into his shoulder. “I know.”