I meet his gaze, jaw tight.
“Yeah,” I admit.“And I don’t think it’s going away anytime soon.”
Because no matter how good the deal, how smooth the delivery, or how wide the desert sky stretches—there’s a shadow on the horizon I can’t ignore.
And it’s got my woman’s name written all over it.
Chapter 29-Bit
It’s late.The kind of late where the house feels too big and too quiet, like the walls are holding their breath.
And I miss him.
Way too much for just a couple of days.But I’m sure looking forward to when he comes back.Heck yes, I am.
Meanwhile, I’ve got my sketchbook and a beat-up spiral notebook spread across the coffee table, a mug of lukewarm tea sitting dangerously close to a handful of charcoal sticks.
There’s a smudge of graphite on my thumb, another on my cheek, and I don’t even care because my heart’s buzzing.
I just got the email.
Accepted.
I read it three times, out loud, because I needed to hear it to believe it.
Congratulations!You’ve been selected for a table at the Barren County Halloween Flea Market and Artist Alley.
I’m in.
I’m in.
For the first time in a long time, something I dreamed up actually worked out.
I’ve already started sketching out booth layouts—how to display my handmade pieces, what fabrics I want to bring, signage ideas, even a banner design.
Pillows, curtains, aprons, little fall-themed decor.
It’s all coming together in my head, and I can’t wait to tell Sawyer when he gets back.
He’ll probably grin that crooked grin, call meLil Bitin that low rumble that makes my chest flutter, and tell me how proud he is.
Because he would be.
Just thinking about it makes me smile as I scribble a note—tablecloths in plaid, orange tones.maybe stitched leaves, one with pumpkins and bats.
The clock ticks past midnight, and I’m still riding that creative high when my phone buzzes against the table.
Mom.
I stare at the name glowing on the screen for a second, my excitement flickering.
We haven’t talked in weeks—not since I told her I was coming back to New Jersey, taking some time to figure things out.
She’s still down in Atlantic City, still working the cocktail circuit, still chasing tips and trouble in equal measure.
When she texts this late, it’s never good news.
Mom
