“That matters,” she said simply.
The warmth in her voice made my throat tighten.
I swallowed and rushed on, needing to regain my footing. “Anyway. I’ll keep you posted on Montana. Tell Daddy I’ll call him soon.”
“All right, sweetheart,” she said. “I’m glad you’re not doing everything alone.”
I ended the call with my chest feeling oddly light—and a little exposed—like I’d just opened a door I hadn’t realized I’d been guarding so closely.
“Be safe.”
“I will.”
When I hung up, I let out a quiet breath and shook my head at myself. I hadn’t meant to bring him up. Or maybe I had, and just hadn’t admitted it yet.
By the time I made it back to the hotel, the day had caught up with me all at once. That deep, satisfying exhaustion that came from momentum instead of panic.
Micah was in the room, sleeves rolled up, phone in hand, the window cracked open to let in the evening air.
He looked up when he heard me. “How’d it go?”
“Productive,” I said. Then, “Complicated, but manageable.”
He studied my face like he was reading between lines I hadn’t spoken aloud.
He crossed the room and pulled me into his arms without another word, holding me in that steady way that didn’t ask for explanations or solutions. Just presence.
I rested my head against his chest, listening to the familiar rhythm of his breathing, and let my thoughts drift.
Back to Montana.
To land that remembered men.
To weddings being planned in quiet corners and careful conversations.
And to the unsettling, growing sense that Micah was threaded through all of it in ways I couldn’t yet explain—connections forming just beyond the edge of understanding.
But that was a truth for later.
For now, I let him hold me.
21
MICAH
Ireached for Joy as she moved toward the bathroom, my hand catching her hip, pulling her back against me.
"Stay," I murmured against her neck. "Just a little longer."
She laughed softly, turning in my arms to face me. "I can't. There's a lot of work left to do."
"Work can wait."
"No," she said, not unkindly. Her hands pressed against my chest—not pushing away, just grounding. "It really can't. But later."
Later.
The word should've been enough. A promise. A bridge to cross when the time came.
