Page 76 of Safe Place

Her smile tilts. “I’m curious.”

“About?”

“Micah Vale.”

I set my fork down, leaning back in my chair. “Take a good look, baby,” I say, puffing out my chest and giving my biceps a flex.

She rolls her eyes, but her mouth curves like she’s fighting a smile. “No, I want to know about the real you. Not the glossy version I’d read in some luxury lifestyle magazine—I already skimmed all those earlier. What’s your favorite color? How tall are you? What do you like to do for fun? All that good stuff.”

A dry laugh slips out, but there’s a weight in my chest. No one’s ever asked me that without already knowing—or expecting—a rehearsed answer. For an interview. For a profile. For an agenda.

“Alright,” I say, dragging a hand over my jaw. “You asked for it.”

She looks eager, like she’s about to watch a movie.

“My favorite color’s blue. I’m six-three. And for fun?” I let my smirk return, just to see her roll her eyes again. “I like looking at Sophie Lennox.”

She rolls those pretty brown eyes again. “I want more, Micah. Tell me about your family, why your schedule’s always slammed, and why you’re constantly driving an hour to Boston.”

After a defeated sigh, I tell her, “My dad runs The Vale Group. Global luxury real estate and development. Luke—my older brother—was supposed to take over when Dad retired—give or take in ten years. He’s perfect for it. Charming, smart, funny. Everyone loves him. He could get a yes out of anyone.”

“Thing is, Luke wants nothing to do with the morally gray side of the business. Says he doesn’t want to be in charge of a company that makes certain calls just to stay on top or bring others down. He’s more of a humanitarian. Builds houses in third-world countries, flies out whenever disaster strikes. He won’t admit it, but although he loves the luxuries that come with our name, he just doesn’t want to take part in earning them.”

Sophie tilts her head, thumb idly tracing the stem of her glass. “So that responsibility fell on you.”

“Yeah.” I huff out a humorless laugh. “And I can tell my dad’s disappointed about it. Not that he’ll say it. I’ve been following his roadmap since I was old enough to know what ‘legacy’ meant—school, grades, internships, networking. He adds things to my calendar constantly. Meetings. Events. Dinners. I don’t even question it anymore. I’ve gotten good at smiling, getting on everyone’s good side, playing the part.”

Her brows draw together. “That sounds exhausting.”

I shrug, but it feels heavier this time. “Until now, it’s all I knew—keep my head down, work out, find whatever distractions I could to take the edge off. The only thing that really kept me sane was my friendship with Grant and Wyatt.”

I pause, my gaze locking on hers. “And then you showed up, and suddenly I wanted more. I wanted to be better, work harder—not for my dad, not for the company, but for something else. For us, maybe? I want to give you everything. Protect you. Spoil you. I didn’t even realize how much of my life was on autopilot until you walked into it. I started skipping things on my calendar just to see you, to spend time with you. I actually wake up looking forward to something now—and it’s seeing you.”

Her eyes are glossy in the warm light. She reaches across the counter, her fingers brushing mine before sliding into my hand.

“Micah, you deserve to be loved,” she says quietly. “You’re the best person for that job. And your dad is going to see that. You’re my first choice. Always. And it’s honestly amazing to me that you’ve stayed this…good, this empathetic, after everything you’ve been pushed into.”

Her thumb strokes over my knuckles, steadily, like she’s grounding me there.

“You really think that?” My voice is lower than I intend.

She squeezes my hand. “Of course.”

For a long moment, all I do is look at her. The future feels like something worth chasing—because she’ll be in it. Not an endless loop of offices, meetings, and structure, but something warm and bright.

I catch myself wondering what she’ll look like walking toward me in a white dress, what our life will look like years from now. Mini Sophies running around—if that’s what she wants, of course. And God, I want all of it.

Dinner is incredible—better than I expected, though I shouldn’t be surprised, because Sophie somehow makes everything feel special. We talk and laugh, and just like that, the entire day feels lighter.

Later, we move to the sofa, both of us full and a little lazy, her curled up against my side in my sweater, her head resting on my shoulder. My arm is draped around her, fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on her arm.

“Thank you for this. All of it,” I say quietly, pressing a kiss to her hair. “You know you’ve officially spoiled me now, right? I might expect steak every time I see you.”

She laughs softly. “Don’t get used to it.”

I tilt my head to look at her, taking in how soft and comfortable she looks here with me. “Sophie?”

She hums in response, eyes half-lidded.