CHAPTER 19
Naomi’s thoughtscontinued to race as she looked at Micah across the table. “So . . . what did you need to tell me?”
Micah didn’t look away from her, but something shifted behind his eyes. “If it’s okay, let’s order our food first. It’s not an emergency, and I’d rather give all our attention to the conversation.”
Her stomach tightened anyway. “Micah . . .”
“I know. But you haven’t eaten, and neither have I. What I have to say will land better if you’re not running on coffee and nerves.”
She wanted to argue. Impatience pressed at the edges of her need to know, to prepare, to brace for whatever was coming.
But Micah was right. She hadn’t eaten since that morning, and the knot in her stomach had been there long enough that she’d stopped noticing it.
She picked up the menu. “Fine. But you’re paying.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Deal.”
Eating with Micah might be a really nice distraction, Naomi decided. A little too nice.
Micah ordered chili, while Naomi got the grilled chicken sandwich.
As they waited, the two of them talked about easy things. The property. Grace. How Ruby had taken over the rocking chair like it was her throne now.
Naomi’s shoulders came down a fraction as she talked about the way Grace had grabbed her finger that morning, the way the baby slept better when someone was close, the particular sound she made when she was working up to cry but hadn’t committed yet.
Micah listened. For a few minutes, he let himself just be here. Across from her. Listening to her talk about something that mattered to her, something that brought light back into her eyes after the shadows he’d seen in the street.
This—sitting across from someone and feeling like the ground was steady beneath him—was rare. He wasn’t about to rush past it.
But even as he listened, part of his mind kept circling back to what she’d told him.
An attack in New York. A concussion. Twenty-four hours she couldn’t remember.
The words sat heavy in his chest.
Someone had hurt her. Badly enough to put her in a hospital. Badly enough to leave gaps in her memory that still hadn’t filled in. And she’d been alone when it happened—walking home from work, unprotected, an easy target.
His jaw tightened.
He didn’t like it. Didn’t like the image forming in his mind of Naomi walking down some dark New York street whilesomeone watched, waited, and chose their moment. He didn’t like that whoever had done it was still out there, unidentified and unpunished.
And he especially didn’t like the way her hands shook when he’d pulled her off the street ten minutes ago. The way the fragments still haunted her. The way she’d frozen in the middle of the road because her own mind had ambushed her.
Something protective surged in his chest—sharp and unwelcome and impossible to ignore.
He forced his hands to stay still on the table. Forced his expression to stay neutral.
This wasn’t his problem to fix. Naomi wasn’t his to protect, not in the way that feeling suggested.
She’d made her own choices, built her own life, and she didn’t need him stepping in like some kind of hero.
But the feeling didn’t fade.
She’d been hurt once and left vulnerable in a city she’d once called home.
He wasn’t going to let that happen again. Not here. Not on his watch.
“Micah?”
He blinked and realized she’d stopped talking. She stared at him now with a slight crease between her brows.
“Sorry,” he said. “I was just thinking.”
“About?”
He couldn’t tell her the truth. Not yet. Not when he was still trying to figure out what the truth even was.
