Ahead, the pavement shimmered with the heat of the day and something else.I squinted, wishing I had my sunglasses to block out the glare.
But it wasn’t burning afternoon Texas glare.
It was something more.
A faint golden shimmer traced the length of the blacktop road—not sunlight.Not mirage.It moved wrong, like a seam catching the light when you turn fabric.
A feeling coiled tight and bright in my chest.It buzzed beneath my skin, humming there like it always belonged there.And suddenly I understood.
Magic.
Not around me.
In me.
Like it was claiming me.Like the truth had unlocked something in me that had been dormant for years.Telling me this was the way of things now.Like it had… awakened.
I inhaled a soft breath.
“You all right?”my father asked.
“Yes, I’m…” I faltered, clutching my hands in my lap.“Yes.”
I thought of my life in Hickory Hollow before leaving for college, before leaving for Manhattan.Aside from Alice, the one steady constant—the one person who loved me unconditionally—was my father, George Wakefield.He was steady.Calm.A giant among men who soothed me when Gladys made me feel small and inconsequential.
He was the one person who taught me how to be a decent human.
“Dad?”My voice was quiet in the confines of the cab.
He gave me a sideways questioning glance.“Yes?”
“Thanks.”
He blinked, his gaze firmly planted on the road ahead.“For what?”
“For raising me.”
“You’re welcome.”His voice cracked only a little as he said it.But I saw his reaction.I saw how he gripped the steering wheel tighter as though it was a defense against the emotion.
He pulled into my driveway and came to a halt.
There, parked in my driveway, was Owen’s blue pickup.
The second George stopped and put the truck in park, Owen was already climbing out, rounding the hood with long, purposeful strides.Worry etched his face until his gaze locked on me.Then his shoulders loosened.Relief softened something tight in his eyes.
George didn’t cut the engine.He sat there, hands on the wheel, studying Owen through the windshield.
“I’d ask what his intentions are with you,” George said mildly, “but I think I already know.”
Despite everything weighing on my chest, a laugh slipped free.
“I think I do, too.”
George nodded once, as if confirming something to himself.
“He waited,” he said.“Didn’t barge in.Just stayed close.”
I swallowed.
