“They do if you make a sizable donation.”
I have to collect myself for a moment before staring at him. “Jonah. How much did you donate?”
“Let me spoil you,” he chuckles, like he’s gotten away with some harmless crime, and tugs me along.
After a few minutes, we stop to admire wisteria hanging from an archway, and he clears his throat. “So, I’ve been thinking about the future.”
Uh-oh.The memory bursts through my mind of Delta asking if Jonah and I could get married, and my body temperature plummets.
“The future?” I try to sound normal.
“Yeah.” He kicks at a pebble. “I really want to do something with the animals. I enjoy rescuing them. Rehabilitation, maybe. Just... something that actually helps.”
Warmth spreads in my chest, and I can breathe again. “You know, I was thinking about this last night,” I say. “Lo hadn’t spoken for over two years, and I know without a doubt it was because of trauma surrounding her father. But we saw how she bloomed around you and the animals. You offered this safe space to her, to all of us. She was so comfortable around the dogs—and we saw firsthand how they helped her do that. What if you opened an animal therapy farm?”
“Like a vet’s office?”
“No. People use animal therapy, or animal-assisted therapy, for medical, social, and emotional issues. You know how special therapy dogs will go into hospitals to comfort patients? It’s like that but more goal-oriented, and patients would come to your farm.
“You’d partner with a veterinarian—hello Dane”—I waggle my eyebrows—“and a therapist or a team of them.”
“My sister Angie is a children’s therapist,” he says, wheels turning.
“Even better. And if this isn’t in her repertoire, she can probably help find you someone who would be a good fit. This could be perfect for you.”
His broad shoulders drop like he’s been carrying thathope quietly for too long. “You think?”
I squeeze his hand. “I know.”
His expression softens in a way I’ve never seen. “Renée, that’s... that’s everything. We could do that. We couldmakesomething like that.”
My heart stumbles.We.He saidwe.
I swallow. “You want me to do it with you?”
“Of course.”
“Jonah, I don’t know. I think it’s a great idea, but I can’t leave my job.”
“I mean...” He shrugs. “I have more than enough to take care of you.”
“I know, but I need my job as a safety net. You know I trust you, but I need the ability to support myself if need be.”
He holds my hands—a flicker of doubt, perhaps, appearing then vanishing—before thumbing circles on them. He speaks with a gentle, pleading expression. “Renée, I’m planning my future around you. I need you to know that.”
My chin trembles and I nod, deciding now—nowis the time to bite the bullet. “I don’t want to be married ever again.” The words spill out fast, tangled with fear and honesty. “I can’t. After everything with Greg, after what he—” I stop and recenter. “I will not rely on anyone like that again.”
Jonah steps closer, anchoring me. There’s a fierceness in his eyes, and his voice is quiet. “If that’s not what you want, then I don’t want that either. All I want is to love you and the girls for the rest of my life. That’s it. Whatever it looks like, in whatever way you’ll have me.”
There’s suddenly a lump in my throat like a boulder, making it difficult to swallow. Each breath I take constricts me, as if a vise is slowly tightening around my neck. The sting behind my eyelids intensifies, and I blink rapidly, trying to force back the tears that threaten to spill over. My vision blurs slightly, and the world around me seems to soften at the edges.
“And you know as well as I do I’m nothing like him,” he says, so self-assured and intense, but he’s right.
Compared to the older man I married when I was twenty-two, this ridiculous, soft-hearted rugby player, with a barn full of emotional-support livestock, is more mature, more responsible, and more loving. He may be young at heart, and fourteen years my junior, but Jonah Johanssen is more than the safety and security I’ve longed for.
He’s gentle.
And gentle is what I need.
