Daddy’s gaze flicked over Micah the way it had earlier—measuring, assessing, deciding what kind of man stood on his land near his daughter. Then Daddy’s eyes moved to my hand, still half-behind me, fingers touching Micah’s.
And Daddy’s mouth tightened.
Not in anger.
In realization.
“So,” Daddy said, voice even. “Micah.”
Micah’s chin dipped. “Yes, sir.”
There was something in the way he said it—controlled, respectful, but with a contained intensity that suggested “sir” wasn’t submission so much as discipline. Like he was choosing to speak carefully because he knew this mattered to me.
Daddy nodded once, like he’d filed that away.
Momma, though, had softened the second she saw Micah’s eyes on me. She didn’t look impressed by muscle or height or the kind of presence women in Charleston whispered about. She looked impressed by the way his attention stayed anchored to me—like he couldn’t help it.
Like he didn’t want to.
“You’re the one she called,” Momma said quietly.
Micah’s eyes flicked to her. “Yes, ma’am.”
Cassie’s gaze bounced between us, openly fascinated in that way teenage girls were when something romantic finally got interesting in real life. “You’re … intense.”
I shot her a look. “Cass.”
“What?” she said, unrepentant. “He is.”
Micah’s mouth twitched, barely. Not a smile—more like the idea of one.
Bo crossed his arms and leaned back against the porch post, looking Micah up and down. “You always show up like that?”
Micah didn’t react to the bait. “Only when it matters.”
Mason barked out a laugh. “Well. That’s ominous as hell.”
“Language,” Momma said automatically, though there was no heat in it.
Lily, oblivious to nuance and powered entirely by curiosity, stepped forward until she was just a few feet from Micah. Sunny followed her like a bodyguard, pressing his shoulder to her leg.
Lily tilted her head up. “Are you gonna marry Joy?”
I choked on air.
“Lily!” I hissed, mortified.
Momma’s eyes widened, then she covered her mouth, trying not to laugh. Cassie’s jaw dropped in delighted horror. Bo looked like he was about to say something inappropriate and Daddy looked like he was fighting the urge to turn to stone.
Micah’s gaze snapped to mine—not panicked, not smug. Just … searching. Like the question had hit something he hadn’t named yet.
He answered Lily carefully. “I’m … not sure what Joy wants.”
My throat tightened at that. Not because it was perfect—because it wasn’t. It was honest. And honesty, in a moment like this, felt like a kind of tenderness.
Lily frowned, unimpressed by adulthood. “Well, do you like her?”
“Lily,” I tried again, but my voice came out too small, too flustered, too not-me.
