But as someone capable of tenderness he doesn’t advertise.
And holy shit—that might be what undoes me the most.
This powerful, intimidating man with goats and chickens and an old horse.
“That’s… actually really awesome of you,” I say softly.
He shrugs like it’s nothing.
But it’s not nothing.
It’s tenderness.
Responsibility.
Depth.
We step back inside, the door clicking shut behind us.
The house feels quieter now.
More intimate.
The suit jacket is gone.His tie loosened.The top button of his shirt undone.
And suddenly I’m very aware that we’re alone.
In his home.
After I just agreed to marry him.
A flicker of doubt sparks.
“J.T.,” I say carefully.
He turns toward me immediately.Fully attentive.
“Yeah.”
“This is a lot.”I gesture vaguely.
The house.The night.Us.
“You’re… a lot.”
His jaw tightens slightly, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“But what I asked you for—that’s a lot too,” I admit, then because I need to tell him some of what I’m feeling, I continue.“I’m not used to this.The wealth.The scale.The power.”
I hate how small my voice sounds.
“I don’t want to be swallowed by it.Or by you.And I won’t let Evan be a casualty of whatever mess his father made.And I refuse to make a worse mess for him.”
The words hang between us.
For a second, I wonder if I’ve pushed too far.
Then he closes the distance between us in two deliberate steps.
