Colson doesn’t say anything at first. He looks at me, which is somehow worse than if he’d started talking. His jaw is tight, shoulders stiff, like he’s holding something back. I can feel his anger without him naming it, the way it hums under his skin.
He steps closer, close enough that I can smell his peppermint soap, something familiar and grounding. Then he kisses my forehead.
It’s simple and soft. But needed.
“I don’t really know anything about him but I’ll tell you one thing,” he says quietly, like it’s been sitting on his tongue all night. “There’s no way he knew what he had.” He swallows, his hand flexing at his side. “The way he stole your light? Never again.”
My throat tightens. I stare at the floor because if I look at him, I might cry, and the thought of doing that in an empty Cherry Pit bar is too depressing to take.
Colson lifts my chin gently with one finger, forcing my eyes back to his. “You are incredible.”
The word lands warm in my chest. I don’t quite believe them yet.
“Sunshine girl,” he adds, like it’s a truth he’s reminding me of, not a nickname.
Something in me melts. Enough to catch my breath.
“Come on,” he says, exhaling like he’s made a decision. “Let’s get out of here.” He grabs my hand and leads me outside.
Minutes later, I’m in his passenger seat, exhaustion settling into my bones as the remaining downtown streetlights blur past the window. Colson’s hands are steady on the wheel, his presence solid beside me.
I rest my head back, eyes closing.
Sunshine girl. I can’t get over it. The way he sees me? Tonight, it’s everything.
forty-five
Colson
Iwakeupbeforethe sun, the house still and quiet. Sadie’s curled on her side beside me, hair fanned across the pillow, breathing slow and even.
I ease out of bed carefully, like the floor might betray me if I move too fast. I grab a pen from the bedside drawer and tear a corner from a page in an old notebook.
Went to the bakery. Back soon. — C
I slip it onto the bed where she’ll see it if she wakes up, right by her hand.
The drive to the bakery is short, but my mind won’t shut up. It keeps replaying last night on a loop—Nick showing up like that, uninvited and aggressive.What a dick.
The anger flares again, hot and familiar, but it’s different now. Sharper. I end up gripping the steering wheel harder than I need to. I can’t help but think about how small she looked at the end of the night. With people in her corner, she still was a shell of herself.
I keep thinking about the way Sadie froze when she saw him. The way her shoulders pulled in, like she was bracing for something. It really surprised me.
Because Sadie doesn’t dim rooms—she changes them.
I think about the little things. The way her whole face lights up when someone recognizes her out in public. How she always stops to talk,even when she’s in a hurry. The way she plays with her hair when she’s listening, really listening, like nothing else exists. The way her smile is honest and grounding.
She makespeoplefeel important.
By the time I get back to the house, my hands are full—two lattes balanced carefully along with a bag warm with pastries. I push the door open with my shoulder.
Sadie’s up, sitting at the counter, hair messy and wearing one of my T-shirts like it belongs to her. Fuck, she’s gorgeous.
She looks up and hits me with that smile I was thinking about in the car. It hits me square in the chest. Like something gears into place, another click I didn’t know I was waiting for.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she muses, standing, already reaching for the bag.
“I wanted to,” I insist, and realize how true it is. How I want to do everything for her.
