I’m about to do the single most stupid, ridiculous, perfectlyusthing I have ever done.
I check my pocket. Still there.
I almost laugh, because of course this is what I’m using. A ring box would be too easy, too expected. But a compass? That’s my Rorie.
Letting out a breath, I roll my shoulders back.
Game time, Rhodes.
I step through the front door of our house, the coastal air crispagainst my skin before it seals shut behind me. Smoothing my hands down the front of my sweater, I exhale.
Our cute coastal house smells like cloves and apples, and the faint sweetness of the cookies she just pulled from the oven. The fire crackles in the stone hearth. The tree glows in the corner, ornaments glinting in the soft light.
There she is, standing by the kitchen island, barefoot, in leggings and an oversized sweater, humming to herself. Just like how her mom used to, so she’s told me
She’s completely unaware that her entire life is about to change.
Hopefully.
I cross the room with my hands shoved in my pockets. “Hey, Adams.”
Her head pops up, her face breaking into a smile, like she’s just happy I’m here.
God, I’m a goner.
“What are you doing home?” Brushing a stray hair from her face, the wooden anchor dangles from the bracelet I gave her. “I thought you had that meeting with your Mac and Cheese company.”
“I did. It’s over.”
“How’d it go?”
“Fine.”
Her eyes narrow suspiciously. “You’re acting weird.”
“Am I?”
She nods. “Yeah, babe. What’s going on?”
Before she can interrogate me further, I slide the gift box onto the counter, setting it right beside the old compass her father gave her.
“I thought…” I start, but the words jam up in my throat. Clearing it, I shift awkwardly. “I thought you needed a new one.”
Her brows pull together, confused. “A new what?”
She’s flushed from the heat of the fire. Barefoot and beautiful and stronger than anyone I've ever known. And somehow, still looking at me likeI’mthe miracle.
She blinks, glancing down at the box, then back at me. “It’s not another galaxy is it?”
My heart actuallystopsbeating for a second.
Nodding toward it, I tap the lid lightly with one finger. “Open it.”
She hesitates, and for a second, panic grips my spine. But her fingers untie the ribbon and lift the black lid, and it hits her.
Her shoulders curl inward like she does when she’s trying to hold herself together.
“Something to follow… something to hold onto.”
