You don’t have to be invisible to be safe.
“Ready?” I ask.
Sadie beams. “Ready!”
We troop down the hallway together, Sadie leading the way like a tiny herald.
“Ta da!” she announces as we step into the living room. “Look at Miss Delaney!”
Three heads turn.
I suddenly become very aware of my legs.
Caleb is on the couch with a blanket over his lap and a mug of tea in his hands, hair still damp from his afternoon shower. His eyes land on me and go wide, pupils dark. The mug lowers slowly.
“Wow,” he says. “You, uh… clean up okay.”
Warmth shoots straight through me.
“Thanks,” I say lightly, trying to calm my hands. “You look very… non-feverish.”
“High praise,” he murmurs.
Silas is leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, flipping a coaster between his fingers. His grin when he sees me is immediate and bright.
“Holy hell, honeybee,” he drawls. “You trying to give this town a collective heart attack?”
His gaze travels from my boots up the length of my legs, lingering for a beat at the hem of the dress, then higher. I feel every inch of it like a physical touch. He raises his brows, clearly impressed.
“Don’t objectify her,” Caleb mutters.
“I am appreciating, not objectifying,” Silas says. “It’s a celebration.”
“Use your inside eyes,” Caleb replies.
“I don’t have those.”
I laugh, nerves loosening a little.
“Wow, you’re all very subtle,” I say as I roll my eyes.
Boone is standing by the kitchen counter with a dish towel in his hand, mid-dry. The towel is forgotten, hanging limp. His gaze is locked on me.
Boone doesn’t do visible shock often. His control is ironclad, most days. But now, watching his eyes travel from my boots to the dress to my face, I see it. The silent,oh.
He swallows, throat working.
“You look…” He stops, shakes his head slightly like he’s trying to dislodge the right word. “Nice.”
Nice.
It should feel anticlimactic.
It doesn’t.
Not with the way he says it, a little rough, like the word isn’t big enough for what he’s trying to convey.
“Thanks.”
