The dreams hadn’t always made sense. Sometimes, it was the crash—the screech of tires, the way the world had tilted and vanished beneath us. Sometimes, it was the plantation house, its rotting grandeur closing around me like a tomb. And sometimes, it was nothing but silence—a kind of absence that had felt worse than any scream.
But then I opened my eyes and remembered where I was. Dominion Hall.
Safe.
Alive.
And not alone.
The room was flooded with late morning light, the heavy curtains pushed halfway open. A breeze fluttered through the window, stirring the edge of the linen sheets. Charlie’s side of the bed was empty, already cool to the touch, but his presence lingered, his scent in the pillows.
I stretched, bones popping, body still aching in the ways trauma liked to linger. But there was a softness, too, a quiet I hadn’t known in years. Not silence—peace.
When I made my way downstairs, barefoot and wearing one of Charlie’s flannels that swallowed me whole, the smell of bacon, biscuits, and something citrusy pulled me in. Delphine was at the stove, moving with the efficiency of someone who didn’t need help.
“Well, well,” she said without turning. “Sleeping Beauty emerged.”
I grinned, rubbing my eyes. “I thought we agreed to call it beauty recovery rest.”
She snorted. “Girl, you earned three weeks of that and then some.”
Charlie was already at the table, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a tablet and a stack of papers in front of him. But he set them aside the second he saw me.
“Hey,” he said softly, standing to press a kiss to my temple. “How’d you sleep?”
I shrugged, curling into the chair beside him. “Better than yesterday. Worse than tomorrow.”
He nodded like he got it. He did.
Delphine set down a towering stack of pancakes, followed by eggs, sausage, and a bowl of fresh-cut fruit that smelled like mango and mint. She poured us coffee without asking, then disappeared with a muttered, “Don’t need to hear your love story play-by-play.”
Charlie smirked. “She likes you.”
I laughed under my breath. “I’m adorable. What’s not to like?”
We dug in, and for a while, it was just quiet chewing and the occasional stolen glance.
My appetite had returned, mostly. My nightmares were fading, slowly. And Charlie? He was solid. Constant. The immediate danger had passed, but he was still the kind of man who checked the locks, just in case.
I was head over heels for him.
It wasn’t just the way he’d thrown himself into the fire for me, though I’d never forget it. It was the way he watched over everyone in this house like they were pieces of his own soul. It was the steadiness, the grit, the kind of love that didn’t make a scene but stood its ground.
I couldn’t imagine my life without him. I didn’t want to.
Which was wild, considering I’d once dismissed him at the Charleston airport like he was just some guy fixing a plane.
I’d thought I had him pegged—gruff, broody, probably inflexible. And sure, he was all those things. But he was also warm in ways I hadn’t expected, fierce when it counted, and somehow mine.
I hadn’t known what I needed that day. But I did now. I needed him.
After a few minutes, he leaned back, coffee mug in hand. “I was thinking …”
“Oh, no,” I teased, “that’s never good.”
He grinned. “About what’s next.”
I paused, setting my fork down. “Yeah. Me, too.”
