“I know.” He laced our fingers together. Not tightly. Just enough. Like he wanted to be sure I’d still be there when the night gave way to morning.
I looked out the window. The wind was tugging at the trees. The world felt like it was holding its breath. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before,” I whispered.
He didn’t ask whatthiswas. He just nodded. “Me neither.”
CHAPTER 55
We pulled up to the house as the last of the sun had finally given up. The porch light was on, glowing gold against wood siding. Ansel shifted into park but didn’t move right away, just looked up at the old A-frame like he was seeing it through me.
His voice was soft. “She left the light on.”
My cheek pressed against the seatbelt strap, eyes drooping despite the caffeine and sugar I'd inhaled hours ago at the diner. I blinked at the house blearily. “So sweet of her to accommodate your dramatic movie-star entrance.”
He huffed a laugh. “Yeah, we’re really rolling out the red carpet at 9 PM in a Hyundai with chip crumbs in the console.”
“My luggage is a canvas tote and emotional trauma.”
“Don’t forget your collection of weirdly specific books.”
“Ineedall of them,” I said seriously. “They’re curated.”
He turned toward me fully, that tired smile of his coming slow and quiet. His eyes softened. “You okay?”
I nodded too fast. “Yup.”
“You sure?”
“Definitely,” I said, then leaned forward like I had a secret. “...But also maybe I forgot how to stand up.”
He let out a low laugh and got out first, circling the car to open my door. I stayed curled in the seat, limbs boneless and my brain a little fuzzy around the edges.
“Juniper.”
“Mmm?”
“Come on.”
“Ilivehere now,” I said, sinking deeper. “The seat and I are one.”
But then his hand was there — warm and real and gentle against my arm. And I looked up.
He didn’t say anything. Didn’t tug. Just waited.
I couldn’t help but compare Ansel’s soft and unending patience with the demeaning man I had lived with for years. I never thought it could be like this for me.
I took his hand.
Getting out of the car felt like surfacing from the ocean. The air was cooler up here, crickets loud, the smell of pine and dry bark and… something soft I couldn’t quite place. It smelled likehim.
We climbed the porch steps quietly. My shoes scuffed the wood. I could see the silhouette of a woman behind the curtain, moving in the kitchen. Something warm clutched my ribs.
I paused before the door. “This is real, right?”
Ansel’s hand grazed my back. Just for a second. “Yeah, baby. It’s real.”
The door swung open before he could even knock.
“Jesus, Ma,” he muttered, laughing. “You just sit at the peephole now?”
