He finally lifted his head. Met her eyes. “I know everyone thinks we’re married, but . . .” He drew in a breath. “Some of church still lives inside me.”
She had moved her hands to his chest and now smiled. “Calm down, Bugsy. The Great Pillow Wall of Fiji still stands.”
Yeah, maybe that did calm him down, just a little.
But every part of him wanted to close that distance again. “I’m not so sure it’s impenetrable,” he said. “So I’ll sleep on the sofa.”
“The sofa.” She glanced at it—comfortable enough, but clearly not designed for a man his size. “I suppose it’s better than a wicker love seat.”
He held her gaze. “I told you I was a safe man. I meant it.”
Her expression shifted, the amusement fading into something softer. More serious. “I know you did,” she said quietly. “That’s why I’m not arguing.”
She moved toward the bedroom, then stopped at the doorway. Looked back at him.
“Dakota?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.” A pause. “For listening. For not giving up on the bag. For . . .” She trailed off, shook her head. “Just thank you.”
“Get some sleep,” he said. “Early departure tomorrow.”
She nodded and disappeared into the bedroom, closing the door most of the way—leaving it cracked, a sliver of light visible, the sound of her moving around as she got ready for bed faintly audible.
Dakota grabbed the blanket from the armchair and settled onto the sofa.
But he didn’t have a hope of sleeping. Instead, he lay there, blanket pulled up, staring through the terrace doors at the Hunter Valley stars.
They were scattered across the darkness like questions, countless and unanswerable.
Faith means trusting what you don’t know.
It sounded like a flaw. A limitation. The thing that made belief impossible for people like him—analysts, strategists, men who wanted proof before they could let go of control.
But lying here, watching the stars, he wondered if it might be something else entirely.
Not a flaw. A choice.
He thought about Jayden. About the story she’d told him—Skylar, the Bible, the faith that had died with her sister. About the vulnerability in her voice when she’d said I was just the other daughter.
And of course, Ham’s warning still circled his brain. Gender-neutral name. Stay sharp. The profile that fit her too well. The doubts he couldn’t quite silence.
He couldn’t prove she was innocent. Couldn’t verify her story. Couldn’t know for certain that she wasn’t exactly what his heart feared.
Maybe faith wasn’t about knowing. Maybe it was about choosing to trust anyway.
He didn’t pray. Not exactly. But as he looked at the stars, something in his chest loosened. Something that had been tight for years.
Help me find the truth. Whatever I’m supposed to find.
Help me be the man she needs me to be.
It wasn’t quite a prayer.
But it was close.
Dakota closed his eyes, and for the first time in longer than he could remember, he let himself believe that God was still in this. That he wasn’t fighting alone, even when the answers didn’t come. That whatever the morning brought, Someone had already been there, working good out of it.
