Page 197 of When Love Takes Root

Her breath caught, but she did. No hiding. No shrinking.

I cleaned her gently, watching her face more than my hands. When her lashes fluttered, I slowed. When her fingers curled in the sheet, I kissed the inside of her thigh and murmured against her skin.

“I got you, baby.”

A tear slipped toward her hairline, and she wiped at it fast.

I caught her wrist before she could hide behind movement. “Let it fall.”

Her mouth trembled. “I’m not sad.”

“I know.”

“I just feel . . .”

“I know, Red.”

I finished cleaning her, folded the cloth, and set it aside. Then I pulled one of my T-shirts from the drawer and helped her into it, guiding her arms through like tenderness had its own language, and my hands were finally fluent enough to speak it.

By the time I climbed back into bed, her eyes were heavy, but she still reached for me.

That almost took me out.

I gathered her into my chest, tucked the sheet around her, and let my hand move slowly over her back until her breathing evened out. She fit against me like a prayer I’d been whispering before I knew the words.

“Josiah?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I’m still scared.”

I kissed the top of her head. “I know.”

“But I’m here.”

My arm tightened around her. “That’s what I asked for.”

She lifted her face. “We’ll figure it out?”

“With prayer, honesty, boundaries, and no more disappearing acts, yes.” I brushed my thumb over her cheek. “We’ll figure it out.”

Her smile was small, tired, and real.

I looked toward the ceiling with my Red tucked against me, clean, covered, and close enough for my spirit to rest.

“Thank You, Lord,” I whispered.

Celeste tucked herself closer.

My house didn’t feel still anymore. It felt covered.

The Next Morning

By the time we pulled into The Blessed Table Brunch House, or BTB as my children called it because apparently every place in Self Ridge needed an acronym, my stomach had tied itself into a knot that needed prayer, peppermint tea, and possibly a licensed mediator.

Josiah had suggested brunch.

Just brunch, he’d said, as if sitting across from my children the morning after I’d spent the night in his bed, and he’d respectfully told my pretty behind off, wasn’t enough to have my nerves speaking in tongues.