The tension she had been holding was still in her posture. Her shoulders remained tight. Her hands opened and closed at her sides.
She stepped forward suddenly and hugged me.
The impact of it was sudden and firm enough that I rocked back half a step before regaining my balance. She pressed herself fully against my chest, gripping the back of my shirt as though she had no intention of letting go any time soon.
I simply stood there, then after a beat, my arms came up around her.
A shaky breath left her. Her shoulders moved with the exhale. The sound that followed was quiet, but unmistakable.
She was crying.
The realization tightened something in my chest immediately.
My hand moved instinctively to the back of her head. I slid my fingers gently into her hair and held her there, one arm wrapped firmly around her shoulders.
“It’s okay,” I murmured.
Her grip tightened slightly. “I know,” she said, but the words were muffled against my shirt. Another small breath followed. This one shook more than the last.
I kept my hand steady in her hair, smoothing it slowly away from her face. The movement seemed to ground her a little. Her shoulders lowered gradually as the adrenaline drained out of her.
“You found her,” she murmured. “I was trying very hard not to imagine worst-case scenarios.”
“I know.”
The relief in her posture was obvious now. The rigid control she had held through the search was finally giving way to exhaustion and gratitude in equal measure.
“She’s safe,” I said. “Everything is okay.”
Zoey stayed where she was. For once, she didn’t rush to step away. She remained pressed against my chest, her breathing slowly settling into an easier rhythm.
I stroked her hair and leaned down just enough to press a soft kiss on the top of her head.
The contact was simple, meant to comfort.
She let out one last quiet breath that sounded almost like a laugh. “Today has been a lot,” she said.
“I’m sure.”
She finally pulled back just enough to look up at me.
Her eyes were still damp, but the tension in them had eased. Relief had replaced the fear.
“Will you walk back with me?” she asked. Her voice carried a quiet vulnerability now that had not been there earlier. The edge around her had softened in the aftermath of the search and the relief of finding Bobbi. The tears hadn’t completely dried on her face yet, and there was something about the way she looked at me that made the request feel heavier than the words themselves.
“To my apartment.”
Two days ago, she had asked me not to contact her.
Two days ago, I had walked away from her building convinced that whatever fragile connection had been growing between us, might be permanently damaged.
And now she was asking me to come back with her.
Not out of obligation or because she needed help with something practical, but because she wanted me there.
That alone was enough to leave me speechless.
But there was something else as well.
