He let out a laugh that was more relief than amusement, and tucked his head against my arm. I rested my hand on his thigh, just above the tattoo, and let myself imagine it: the walls, the books, the couch we’d fight over who got to nap on.
The sound of boots scraping on the porch signaled the return of civilization. Bo popped his head in, saw us, and made a show of averting his eyes. “You two good?” he asked, but the worry still hung around the edges.
Levi nodded, shy but proud. “Better than good.”
Bo nodded, then ducked out without another word.
We didn’t move right away. The crew finished their lunch, the smell of fried chicken and sugar cookies wafting in every time someone opened the door. I watched the light change on Levi’s face as the afternoon rolled on, each angle catching a different shade of blue in his eyes.
He reached over, lacing his fingers with mine, and tapped the leather bracelet. “You ever think about how wild this is?” he asked. “A year ago, I was living in someone’s spare room and you were just the scary dude who never smiled.”
“I smiled,” I protested, even though we both knew it was a lie.
He grinned. “Not like you do now.”
I brushed a thumb across his cheek, rough enough to make him squint. “You gave me something to smile about,” I said, then looked away, embarrassed at the honesty of it.
We sat together, watching the creek and the slow drift of clouds overhead. The inside of the house was cool and dark, but every sound and scent belonged to us now. It was a place nobody else could touch, not even the ghosts of his past.
Eventually, he dozed off, head slumped against my shoulder, breath even and soft. I held still, memorizing the weight of him, the way he fit against me. Outside, someone fired up the air compressor and the whole frame vibrated, but Levi didn’t wake.
I let myself hope, for once, that it would be enough. That the paperwork and the porch swing and the pie in the kitchen would be enough to keep him here. That maybe the scars we brought into this place could be welded together, stronger at the seam.
I pressed a kiss to his hair, and whispered, “You’re not going anywhere, Sunshine. Not without me.”
He stirred, eyelids flickering, and smiled without opening his eyes.
Tomorrow, we’d start the rest of it. But for today, we just sat in the heart of the house, two people with nothing to hide and everything to build. And if the world wanted to take another shot at us, it’d have to go through both of us.
Chapter Nine
~ Quiad ~
I woke up before the sun, same as always. Old habits never die—they just dig in and call themselves virtue. The room was cold, not from the weather but from the way the shadows hung heavy along the seams of the walls. In the far corner, the little electric heater grumbled, spitting out just enough warmth to keep the frost off the inside of the windows.
I lay still, taking stock: the soreness in my left shoulder, the throb behind my right knee, the familiar click in my jaw when I flexed it.
Inventory complete.
Beside me, Levi slept in the tangle of sheets, a fist curled near his chin and the other arm thrown across my waist like a claim. His breath made little plumes in the air every time he exhaled, rising and falling in a rhythm that was steadier than it had any right to be after the week we’d had.
I watched the way his lashes cut shadows on his cheek, the way his mouth went slack with every deep inhale, the freckles across his nose catching the spill of dim light from the parking lot outside.
I could smell him—soap, the citrus tang of whatever Ma stocked in the upstairs bath, and beneath it all, something sharp and alive that I’d come to crave.
He looked peaceful now, but even asleep, the old terror rode shotgun on his face. I could see the tension in his jaw, the ghost of a frown in the space between his brows.
I wondered if he was dreaming about her, about the woman who’d tried to claim him by accident of birth and nearly ruined the best thing that ever happened to either of us. Or maybe he just dreamed about running—he always twitched in his sleep, a dog in pursuit of something faster.
The nightstand next to the bed looked like an evidence locker. On top sat my battered Timex, a half-used tube of cortisone for his tattoo, and the manila envelope I’d retrieved from the courthouse after the world went quiet again last night.
The papers inside were crisp, the marriage license already filled out in my blunt block letters, ready for the final signatures. I’d left it where he could see it first thing when he woke up. Not a hint, not a test, just a fact. This was real, and it was happening, and I’d fight anybody who tried to strip that away.
The rest of the room was a wreck. Clothes draped over the ancient steamer trunk that doubled as a dresser, boots kicked off by the door, two empty mugs on the counter from the midnight coffee I’d brewed when he couldn’t settle down.
The only thing that looked untouched was the bed Levi slept in now, the sheets holding the ghost of both our bodies, the space between us closed so tight I could barely tell where I ended and he began.
I lay on my back, eyes open to the gray ceiling, and listened. The building below creaked as it settled; the water pipes clanged in the walls as the farm started to wake up.
