“It’s good,” Shepherd says, moaning as he takes his next bite. “Really good. Thank you for cooking.”
“You’re welcome. I’m glad you like it.”
He’s quiet for a moment, chewing thoughtfully before he sets his fork down. His eyes find mine across the small space between us.
“Can I ask you something?”
My stomach tightens automatically. “Sure.”
“How are you feeling? About everything that happened yesterday? About what you told me?”
I consider deflecting, giving him some easy answer thatwon’t make either of us uncomfortable, but I owe him more than that. I owe myself more.
“Exposed,” I admit, setting down my own fork. “Vulnerable. Like I’ve handed you a manual on exactly how to hurt me if you ever wanted to.”
His expression softens. “Sutton?—”
“But also relieved,” I add quickly. “Like I’ve been carrying this massive weight for so long, and now someone else is helping me hold it.” I take a deep breath. “I’ve never told anyone all of that before. Not even my closest friend know everything.”
Shepherd reaches across the island, his hand palm-up in invitation rather than demand. I place my hand in his, feeling the warmth of his skin against mine.
“Thank you for trusting me with it,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “It means everything to me that you shared that part of yourself with me.”
My throat tightens with emotion I’m still not used to expressing. “It’s strange,” I whisper, “feeling safe enough to be honest like this.”
He squeezes my hand gently. “Is that what you feel with me? Safe?”
The question hangs between us, weighted with significance. I think about all the ways Shepherd has shown me what safety actually means. Never pushing, always asking, giving me space when I need it and closeness when I crave it.
“Yes,” I admit, the word barely audible. “For the first time in a very long time, I feel safe when I’m with you.”
“Good. Then can I ask you something completely different?”
“Uh, yeah. Sure.”
“What were your goals? You know, before…Micah. Before you lived through all that pain. What were your dreams?”
I stare at Shepherd for a long moment, caught off guard by his question.
Dreams?
Goals?
The words feel like artifacts from another life.
“I…” My voice falters. “No one’s ever asked me that before.”
“Well, I’m asking you now.” He waits patiently, his thumb brushing over my knuckles in that gentle way that makes my heart squeeze.
“Honestly what I wanted to do then and what I’d love to do now are two completely separate things. Life changed me. Opened my eyes to what people like me need in this world.”
“And what is that?”
“I want to be able to give back to the community.”
He leans back slightly, dabbing the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “That’s why you volunteer at the food pantry? And the homeless shelter?” he asks. “Because you lived that life and know how it feels to be in their shoes?”
I nod. “Mhmm. But they need so much more.”
