Sawyer walks over slow, his eyes moving over the quilt, his hands brushing across the seams like he can feel the hours I put into it.
“Jesus, Bit,” he murmurs, voice gone rough.“You did this?”
“Mm-hmm.”I nod, suddenly shy.“You said this house never felt like a home before, and I just, I wanted to change that.”
He stares at it for a long moment, then at me.“It worked.”
The words are low and certain, and something in them makes my throat tighten.
I take a breath, stepping closer.
“I’m not just staying here, Sawyer.I’m putting down roots.I hope that’s okay.”
He exhales hard, like the admission hits him deep.
Then he reaches out, curling a finger under my chin until I meet his eyes.
“More than okay, Lil Bit.Feels like the first right thing that’s happened for me in a long time.”
There’s something he’s holding back—I can see it in the way his jaw tightens, the way his thumb strokes over my chin like he’s memorizing the feel of me.
“I got a question to ask you,” he says finally, his voice low, serious, and laced with something that makes my heart trip.
“It’s a big one.And I know everyone’s gonna say it’s too fast, but I don’t give a fuck what the world thinks.Only you.Okay?”
My eyes burn instantly, and I nod, my voice catching.
“Okay.”
“But I’m not gonna ask you until I get back,” he adds, brushing his knuckles down my cheek.“So you make sure you sit tight and wait for me.Promise?”
“Promise,” I whisper, swallowing hard.
His gaze dips to my purse on the table.
“And you have the gun?”
“In my purse,” I assure him, pulling the strap higher onto my shoulder.
“Loaded and ready, like you showed me.”
He exhales, the tension easing from his shoulders, and then he cups my face and kisses me slow—steady and sure, the kind of kiss that says this isn’t goodbye, it’s just until I get back.
When he pulls away, his forehead rests against mine.
“Good girl.Keep the doors locked, stick close to Angie, and don’t open up for anyone you don’t know.”
“I’ll be fine,” I whisper, though my heart’s racing a mile a minute.
“I know,” he says softly.“But I still needed to hear you say it.”
And when he leaves an hour later—truck lights cutting through the dusk, the roar of the engine fading down the gravel road—I stand on the porch, wrapped in that quilt, breathing in the scent of him still clinging to the fabric.
Rooted.
Cherished.
Protected.
