“I know what you don’t need,” he interrupted. “I also know what you didn’t ask for.”
His gaze flicked briefly to Britney, then back to me. “Are you safe right now?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He nodded once. “Then I’ll handle the rest.”
A strange mix of relief and resistance tangled in my chest.
“You don’t get to take over my life,” I said, even as some part of me leaned toward him.
His eyes held mine.
“I don’t want your life,” he said. “I want you protected in it.”
The distinction landed harder than I expected.
I opened my mouth, then closed it again.
Because I wasn’t sure which part of that scared me more—the protection, or the wanting.
He didn’t stay long after that. Just long enough to reassure Britney with a nod and me with a look that saidI see everything you’re not saying.
When he left, the shop felt different.
Not quieter.
Guarded.
And as I went back to work—finishing arrangements, checking deliveries, tying ribbons with steady hands—I couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d saidno one gets to say that to you.
Not like a threat.
Like a promise.
17
MICAH
Ididn't go to Dominion Hall.
Not right away.
After leaving Joy's apartment that morning, I'd headed back to the Palmetto Rose with every intention of showering, changing, and responding to Silas's message like a professional.
Instead, I found myself sitting in a diner three blocks from McKinley Flowers, nursing a cup of coffee that had gone cold.
The place was nothing special. Cracked vinyl booths. Laminate tables. The kind of greasy spoon that survived on locals who didn't care about ambiance, only whether the eggs were hot and the coffee was strong.
I'd ordered coffee. Then another. Then switched to water when the waitress gave me a look that saidbuy something or leave.
I wasn't hungry.
I was waiting.
For what, I couldn't say.
Just ... waiting.
