Page 246 of Drawn Away

Slowly, Sam huffed out a breath that looked like a quiet, trembling laugh. He didn't look back at the room, but as he took his first step toward the stairs, his rough, aged hand caught Grant’s shoulder once in a definitive, heavy movement—the passing of a ghost.

Give your heart to a bird, eventually it flies,the memory echoed. But as the old farrier stepped into the light toward the woman who had spent decades fighting to find her way home, the tired line of his shoulders finally relaxed.

“She didn’t leave him,” Izzy whispered, her fingers catching in the front of Grant’s shirt.

Grant watched Sam take his first step toward the stairs.

“No,” Grant said quietly. “She didn’t.”

Across the room, Burton lowered his eyes, his chest lifting on a long breath. Maggie squeezed his hand. Some old, tight thing in the valley air finally let go.

Later, when the crowd had thinned into smaller clusters, Grant guided Izzy through the side doors onto the small terrace overlooking the street.

Below them, downtown Sylva glowed under the courthouse lanterns, warm squares of light spilling across the pavement. Faint jazz drifted out through the brick archway behind them, blending with the low rush of wind through the pines.

Izzy leaned her back against the iron railing, looking out over Main Street. The cool night air brushed against her bare shoulders, a sharp contrast to the crowded warmth of the room inside.

“The woman who came to Sylva three months ago would’ve called me crazy for staying here.”

Grant stepped closer. He didn’t stop until he occupied her entire field of vision, his broad shoulders blocking out the gallery lights behind her.

“And what now?” he asked.

His voice was a low, rough vibration in the dark. Izzy looked up into those impossible Carolina eyes and found absolutely no distance. No flinch. No lingering shadow of old fear.

She reached up, setting her palms flat against his crisp white shirt, feeling the steady thud of his heart beneath her hands.

“She says she’s exactly where she belongs,” Izzy whispered.

Grant didn’t answer with words. His hand moved to the nape of her neck, his thumb sliding along the smooth curve of her jawline, his rough, working-man’s palm warm against her skin as he tilted her face up.

When his mouth found hers, the kiss was unhurried and sure—a deliberate, deep promise instead of a desperate question. It felt as steady as the ridgelines above town, like a man finally done fighting the horizon.

Below the courthouse clock, Main Street went on beneath the vast Blue Ridge sky.