Maybe space was wise.
Maybe distance was safer.
CHAPTER 22
The driveback unfolded in mostly quiet, the soft hum of the heater a fragile barrier between Amayah’s thoughts and the fear she refused to voice.
By the time she turned onto her street, the mall lights felt impossibly far away—and so did the fleeting warmth of the kiss she and Luke weren’t speaking about.
Snow crunched beneath her tires as she parked near her house.
They stepped out together, boots sinking softly into the snow.
As she did, she glanced over her shoulder. Luke did too.
Nothing was there.
No one.
Not the watcher.
Only winter shadows and the echo of fear she couldn’t shake.
How long would this man continue watching her? How would it escalate?
She had no idea.
She was trusting God with her future, her safety. But when did faith become a crutch instead of a still small voice she followed?
She wasn’t sure—and she didn’t like that uncertainty.
Luke paused as Amayah’s house came into view.
The Crump kids were in her yard.
Again.
This definitely seemed like a pattern.
Full-scale chaos exploded. Snowballs flew. Laughter echoed. And beneath their boots, a deflated strand of garland lay tangled across the walkway, its tiny lights crushed under careless heels.
One of the wooden reindeer leaned sideways, its red nose snapped clean off.
Luke stared at Amayah’s yard, waiting for her reaction.
She merely shook her head, something that looked an awful lot like amusement in her gaze.
“You’re not . . . upset about this?”
Amayah glanced at the damage, then back to the kids. Her expression softened instead of sharpened. “It’s just stuff. Kids matter more.”
He watched as she stepped out of the car and greeted them like a returning aunt instead of a property owner whose decorations had just been trampled.
“Hey, troublemakers,” she called warmly. “You’re giving my poor reindeer an identity crisis.”
“Sorry, Ms. Door Lady!” Eli shouted. “He tripped!”
Luke huffed a reluctant laugh.
