Then Gio stepped out into the light.
He looked the same. Tall with dark, perfectly styled hair. Clean-cut without a shadow of scruff. Expensive jacket.
He was the kind of man who fit perfectly in a boardroom or an upscale Manhattan restaurant.
He looked completely out of place here.
Naomi stepped across the porch, her arms wrapped around herself against the cold.
Micah followed, staying close, his presence solid and protective behind her.
Gio’s eyes went to Micah first—taking in the uniform, the badge, the weapon. Then they shifted to Naomi.
His expression softened. “Hey, Naomi. It’s good to see you.”
Naomi stared at him. “What are you doing here, Gio?”
“I told you. We need to talk.”
“You drove six hours to talk? After I told you I didn’t know if I was ready.”
“I wanted to see you. To make sure you’re okay.” His gaze flicked to Micah again, then back to her. “Can we—can we have a moment? Alone?”
Micah shifted behind her.
She didn’t step away. “Anything you need to say, you can say here. In front of Micah.”
Gio exhaled slowly, his hands sliding into his pockets. “Fine. I came because I’m worried about you. You left New York so suddenly. You stopped responding to my texts. I rightfully became concerned.”
“I stopped responding because we broke up. There’s no need for you to worry about me.”
“But there is. I still care about you, Naomi. And I don’t believe you’re thinking clearly.”
Naomi’s hands curled into fists. “Excuse me?”
“You went through something traumatic in New York. Instead of dealing with it, you ran. You came here.” He gestured vaguely toward the house. “Now you’re living a life you were never meant to live.”
“That’s for me to decide.” Outrage shot through her. “You don’t know anything about my life here.”
“Then tell me.” His voice softened. “Help me understand. Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re running from your problems instead of facing them. You’re attaching yourself to someone else’s life because your own has fallen apart.”
Naomi opened her mouth to respond, but the words stuck in her throat.
Because part of her—a small, traitorous part—wondered if he was right.
Micah had seen a lot of men walk onto other people’s property like they owned it.
This Gio guy was one of them.
The man had stepped out of his luxury sedan and taken in the porch, the house, the mountains beyond with the kind of expression that made clear he found all of it lacking.
Then his gaze had landed on Naomi, and something shifted. It almost looked as if his eyes had softened. Micah suspected he was actually recalculating.
Micah already didn’t like the guy.
He’d made that assessment in approximately four seconds, and nothing in the last few minutes had changed his mind.
He stood back, arms crossed, letting Naomi lead. This was her conversation. Her past. Her choice.
