I shake my head, fingering the hem of my dress. “I don’t want to make any decisions today. But I would like to talk again. Not about the past. Not about the things that can’t be changed. I want to explore how we can work together to overturn the conservatorship.”
Dad’s eyes narrow; Mom’s mouth thins to a line.
Ultimately, none of this would have happened if they hadn’t signed away their parental rights. But we’re past the point of blame and controversy. Now, I need an army to fight Edwin Crowe, even if that requires swallowing my pride.
After the meeting, I unpack half of my overnight bag, filling the empty dresser in the bedroom. The carpet is rose-pink shag, luxurious beneath my bare feet.
I find the flannel from the cabin neatly folded. My hands slide over it, remembering. When I shrug into the impossibly soft fabric, I instantly relax. It smells of pine and strength—Maverick.
Then, I go back to the bag, locating yarn and a crochet hook. My eyes snag on something else, too—lavender blueberry tea. Maverick must’ve added it to the bag along with his shirt.
I sigh, eyeing my phone, wishing things could be different. But I can’t risk causing him more trouble. The awkward meeting with Grayson this morning said it all. He knew more than he let on.
Instead, I head for the kitchen to boil water. Then, I sit at the table, singing and crocheting.
For the first time, the silence doesn’t feel like punishment. It feels like room to breathe.
Chapter
Twenty-One
MIA
Soft golden threads of light bleed through the curtains. I snuggle deeper into the covers, finding warmth and the ache of loneliness.
My fingers go to my lips, still remembering—dark eyes, muscular arms, a steady, quiet presence.
I reach for a braid, fingers grazing over the orderly plaits. Not a dream.
I wonder what my bodyguard’s doing today. Up before dawn. Coffee and cowboy breakfast. My stomach rumbles at the thought.
In the bathroom mirror, I expect to see a fragmented girl. One who still believes Crowe’s lies.
Instead, I find a woman who survived the night. No shame. No regret.
I unbraid my hair slowly in the shower, running my hands through the yellow waves. I can almost feel Maverick’s fingers in my hair, his hot breath on my cheek.
Afterward, I dress in comfortable clothes that feel like a hug. My favorite pair of jeans. A soft pink sweatshirt. Hair in a ponytail, face free of makeup. I hesitate by the door.
I could remain secluded. Take breakfast alone in my room. But it’s not what I want. As long as I can decide for myself, I’m going to.
I half expect stares or whispers when I enter the common space lined with tables and filled with savory and sweet smells. Instead, the other women remain present but distant. Soft smiles and nods of the head. A group invites me to sit with them.
No side-eyeing, no gossip. Normalcy without pressure.
The clink of forks against plates. A gentle hush of laughter. Pastries proudly made by Sweet Sage Bakery, a local establishment.
Quiet. Normal. I soak it in.
This is what safety looks like when no one’s watching for cracks.
As breakfast concludes and servers come around to collect plates, I spy Mrs. Everley heading in my direction. Her stride is crisp, all business. I stand, and she meets me halfway.
“Good morning, Ms. Lowell. Was breakfast to your liking?”
Not a cowboy breakfast.
“Fine, thank you.” I smile thinly.
