It wasn’t a question, but I nodded anyway. “I really am.”
“Well. Keep it up. Keep telling the truth. And maybe keep your shirt on for the YouTube uploads—I’m getting complaints from people trying to listen at work.”
“You love the thirst views.”
“I do. But I love ad revenue more.”
We hung up, and I closed the laptop, letting the quiet of the house settle around me. A candle flickered on the windowsill—one of Jude’s vanilla-sage specials, hand-poured with intention and probably enchanted by Zephyr for all I knew.
A year ago, I was in this town hunting for a fraud.
Now I lived here.
With him.
I opened the window and leaned out into the golden warmth of late afternoon. “Hey,” I called down to the garden. “It’s time!”
Jude looked up from where he was snipping rosemary, sunlight catching in his hair. He smiled, lifted his hand in a lazy wave. “Be right up!”
I closed the window and let out a slow breath, nerves fizzing just beneath my skin. The mic was already set up, the outline scribbled in my notebook—like I didn’t already know exactly what I was going to say. But still. This was different.
Jude had never agreed to be interviewed before. Even after everything, he’d always said no. “It’s not about me,” he’d insist. “The work speaks louder without my voice in it.”
But last week over breakfast, he surprised me. Between a sip of coffee and a bite of toast, he said, “I think I’m ready to be on your podcast.”
I nearly choked on my steel-cut oats.
The door creaked open downstairs. Footsteps padded up. Then Jude stepped into the room—barefoot, cheeks a little flushed from the sun, eyes warm as they landed on me.
“You sure about this?” I asked.
He shrugged, grinning. “I’m sure about you.”
My throat tightened. I reached out and pulled him in for a quick kiss, the kind that still made my pulse skip. Then we took our seats at the mic, shoulder to shoulder.
I hit the record button.
“Welcome back to Unholy Orders,” I said. “I’m your host, Julian Reed—and today’s episode is one I never thought I’d get to make. Because sitting across from me is someone you’ve all heard about. Healer. Mystery man. Plant whisperer. And—most importantly—the man I love. Jude Brooks.”
Jude laughed softly. “You practiced that intro, didn’t you?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I barely wrote it down.”
“You mean you scrawled it on a Post-it in pencil.”
“Details,” I said, smirking.
The moment settled between us. It felt surreal—bringing our private life into this very public space—but it also felt right. Honest. Like a full circle closing with a quiet click.
“So,” I said, voice softening, “how does it feel being on the mic?”
“Like I’m walking into a cathedral made of your voice,” he said. “A little intimidating. And very beautiful.”
And just like that, I forgot every single question I’d prepared.
We talked about Riverbend, and how we’d carved out a life here—between candlelit rituals and late-night takeout, between old ghosts and new beginnings. I shared how Claudia and I had spoken earlier today, raving about the podcast’s rebrand and our tripled listener count. “Spiritual healing is trending,” she said, “but you made it human. Keep going.”
And we would.
