She turns fully into me, her smile soft and certain. “I love you too.”
Her fingers curl into the front of my shirt, tugging me closer.
And for the first time in a while, the world feels far away. We’re exactly where we’re meant to be.
Chapter 28
Mason
The mini vacation was exactly what we needed.
Room service in bed. A heated pool. No alarms. No schedules. Just Megan, a TV we barely watched, and the kind of quiet that only shows up when you step away from real life for a minute.
We got home yesterday afternoon, still lazy, still lingering in that vacation bubble. Sunday crept in quick though.
I wake up before her this morning. She’s still out cold when I slip from the bed, hair fanned across the pillow, breathing deep and even. I pause longer than necessary, just watching her, then quietly pull on shorts and head downstairs.
I started the coffee, went for a quick run down the main drive and back. Silly goal, but I wanted to beat the coffee maker. I did. So I feel accomplished, and it’s not even seven a.m.
Megan comes downstairs a few minutes later, hair messy, eyes soft with sleep. I’ve got waffles stacked on plates and sausage thirty seconds away from being done.
“This is why Sundays are my favorite,” she says, smiling.
“Yeah? Well, I hope the smell woke you up and not me dropping the entire bag of chocolate chips on the floor.”
She snickers. “Can I say it was both?”
I sigh, laughing under it. “Sorry.”
We sit down together, plates full. She steals the crispiest sausage and drowns her waffles in syrup.
We eat in silence; not the weird or awkward kind, just the easy, comfortable kind.
When we’re done, we move around the kitchen together, clearing plates and wiping counters, bumping into each other once or twice.
Afterward, I head upstairs to shower, leaving the door cracked like always, knowing Megan usually wanders in halfway through to do her hair and makeup.
But when I step out, the bathroom’s empty. I grab my towel, dry off, and wrap it around my waist before glancing in the bedroom. Empty. Maybe she’s using the bathroom downstairs.
I get dressed in jeans, a button-up, nice boots, because we need to leave in about thirty minutes. I head downstairs to see where she is.
Not on the couch. Not in the kitchen. Then I see her.
She’s on the back porch, blanket over her legs, coffee in one hand, phone in the other. Just…scrolling.
I slide the door open. “Hey.”
“Hi.” She doesn’t look at me.
“Church is in an hour, babe.”
“I know.”
She says it calmly. Too calmly. The kind of calm she gets right before she shuts down completely.
I step past the threshold, completely outside now, my boots thudding against the wood deck. Fifteen minutes ago she was smiling, now her face is blank. No emotion. No spark. Like if I told a joke, she wouldn’t even blink.
“What’s wrong?”
