Across the table, Morgan was chalking her cue with the particular focus she brought to everything. Her hair was longer now, brushing past her shoulders, and she’d stopped hiding the faded scars on her forearms months ago. She wore a green sweater that made her eyes look more gold than hazel, and when she glanced up and caught him watching, her mouth curved.
“Stop staring at me and start playing better. You’re embarrassing yourself.”
“I’m not staring. I’m observing.”
“You’re staring. And you missed an easy bank shot.” She rounded the table, assessing angles with the same precision she’d once used to memorize federal evidence codes. “Theo, you ready to lose again?”
Theo groaned from his spot against the wall. “That’s the fourth time tonight. How is this fair? She remembers every shot she’s ever seen.”
“Life isn’t fair,” Morgan said. “Eight ball, corner pocket.”
The shot was clean. Perfect. The eight ball dropped with a satisfying thunk, and Theo pulled out his wallet while Bear laughed loud enough to turn heads at the bar.
“That’s eighty dollars you owe her this month,” Derek observed.
“I’m aware of the total, thank you.”
“Just making sure. She’s probably got it memorized to the penny.”
“To the cent,” Morgan corrected. “Eighty-three dollars and twenty-seven cents, if you count the coffee yousaid you’d pay for last Tuesday and then conveniently forgot.”
“I didn’t forget. I was testing you.”
Morgan raised an eyebrow. “You were broke.”
“Also that.”
Lincoln watched her laugh at Theo’s wounded expression, watched Bear clap Theo on the shoulder in mock sympathy, watched Derek try to steal a sip of Becky’s drink and get his hand slapped away. The Eagle’s Nest hummed around them—jukebox playing, conversations layering over conversations, the comfortable chaos of a Saturday night in a small town where everyone knew everyone.
A year ago, Morgan had sat in this same bar, rigid with anxiety, convinced that any moment someone would notice she didn’t belong. Now she moved through the space like she owned it. Trading barbs with Theo. Letting Joy press snacks on her. Accepting Bear’s one-armed hugs without flinching.
She belonged here.
The thought still caught him off guard sometimes—that the woman who’d sent him coordinates in broken poetry, who’d survived things that would have shattered most people, had chosen to stay. With him. In this life.
He stepped back from the pool table, letting Derek take his spot. Everyone was too busy teasing each other to care about his departure. His game was off tonight anyway, and standing still only made the ring box in his pocket feel heavier.
His parents had been in Oak Creek for their usual summer visit, but when Lincoln asked if they could stay a few extra days, his mother's eyes had sharpened in that way that meant she'd already figured out why. They'd claimed the corner booth an hour ago, nursing drinks and watchingthe Saturday night chaos unfold around them, talking to old friends.
Lincoln slid into the seat across from them, and his mother looked up with knowing eyes.
“You keep checking your pocket,” Quinn said. Her silver-streaked hair was pulled back, and she carried that particular warmth she reserved for moments when she thought her son wasn’t paying attention.
“I’m aware.”
“The ring is still there. I promise.” She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “She’s going to say yes.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know that woman looks at you like you hung the moon.” Baby leaned back in his seat with the easy posture of a man who’d figured out everything that mattered decades ago. “Same way your mother looks at me.”
“That’s not how expressions work.”
“No, but it’s how love works.” His dad shrugged. “You’ll figure it out.”
Lincoln opened his mouth to argue—to point out that love was not a quantifiable metric, that expressions were subjective, that his father’s romanticism was charming but imprecise—and then stopped.
His parents had been married for over thirty-five years. His father had hidden his dyslexia throughout his childhood and into his adult years, convinced he was broken in ways that couldn’t be fixed. His mother had seen through all of it and loved him anyway.
