Page 64 of Found in Wild Sage

It’s this vision of the future, but like I’m living it now. Maybe it’s thanks to the dreamlike quality shimmering at the edges of every minute since I’ve married Evie.

“Where do you want to go?” She’s bouncing her knee and her hands are tucked tight around her.

“If it’s alright with you, I thought we’d go to Farm Comfort. It’s only open weekends for lunch so I thought maybe you haven’t had a chance to go.”

She’s beaming. “I haven’t been! That’s perfect.” She slumps back in her seat. “I’m sorry if I seemed unenthusiastic about dinner. I’m still so tired and I could really use some time to veg out and relax before we dive into the week.”

“Of course. Please take Monday off if you need to, or more. I want you rested and fully healthy before you work any more.”

She’s silent for a beat, so I glance over at her to see her focus on her hands in her lap. She’s working up to something, and though I can’t guess what it is, I brace for it.

“I appreciate you saying that, but I need to work. I need the paycheck.”

“You’re a salaried employee, aren’t you?” I could swear everyone at the clinic is.

She huffs. “Yes. But that’s not the point. I can’t just sit around and not work. I’m not lazy.”

The tone, even the words, sound like they’ve come from someone else. I bet I can guess who. I don’t point it out. Instead, I grit my teeth and vow to do everything in my power to erase those kinds of thoughts from her head and treat her with so much respect and care, she’ll demand it from anyone in the future.

Even if her being with anyone else makes me vaguely ill with just the thought.

I wait until I pull into the parking lot at Farm Comfort, then shut off the engine and turn to her.

“I have never once thought you were lazy, and I certainly wouldn’t think that of you if you needed a few days off after being sick for nearly a week.”

Her eyes flicker up to mine, then back down to her hands. “Thank you. A low-key Saturday night and Sunday should be fine.”

There’s more to say here, but I can see well enough that she’s not exactly up for me pushing. I’m nowhere near as pushy as almost anyone else in my family, but as I exit the car and jog around to open her door, I give in to my natural instincts.

She stands, but instead of moving out of her way, I stay planted between the car door and the body of the vehicle, effectively caging her in. She’s got space from me, but she can’t get past without pushing.

“I need you to understand something.” My voice comes out low, almost rough.

Her lovely blue eyes are steady on mine. “Okay.”

“I have quite a bit of money, and as my wife, it’s our money. You can⁠—”

“Absolutely not. I’m not taking your money.”

I shake my head. “It’s not about taking. My point is, you have a big safety net. I’m not going to allow anything to happen to you or Charlie. I promise you.”

I can’t allow anything bad to happen to them. I won’t. I’ll fight with every last shred of money and connection I have to make sure she and her son are not only provided for, but have everything they’ve ever wanted. It’s what’s right, what they deserve, and nothing less than the very beginning of what I want to do for them.

She exhales, then lifts her hand and presses it over my heart. In response, my heart rate doubles, then triples when she gives me a soft smile.

“Thank you, Declan. But you can’t promise that.”

I cover her hand with mine. “Maybe I can’t promise it, but what I can do is tell you I’ll do whatever I can to make sure you’re both cared for. I understand this is messy, and uncomfortable, and so I propose that right now, we shove all that aside and go enjoy lunch.”

Her smile grows. “That sounds perfect.”

I release her and step out of the way, shutting the door once she’s cleared it. Then, without thinking, I take her hand and knit our fingers together.

It’s new for us, but it feels right.

“Good thinking. I didn’t realize Gerald Wakefield and Artie McClain were watching us.” She waves at the two men who happen to be two of the biggest gossips in town.

“Right.” I say this as though I took her hand in a strategic move and not because I wanted to. The familiar combination of longing and disappointment hits me. I’m glad to be here with her, holding her hand. Part of me hates that the privilege of clasping her hand in mine is something she sees as an obligation or a ruse. It’s one more element I signed up for—I knew this would happen, didn’t I? I opted in for it.