Chapter 25-Micah
An hour later we're sitting in the manager's office at The Watering Hole.
The place looks almost untouched.
My cleanup crew earned every penny.
Sloane has been on the phone for the better part of forty minutes, calling every part-time employee she can think of.
By the time she hangs up the last call, she's rubbing her temples.
“Are you sure about this?”
She must've asked me that half a dozen times already.
“I'm sure.”
She studies me.
“You can't be here alone.”
I hold her gaze.
“Not ever, Princess.”
The word lands heavier than I intended.
But I don't take it back.
I won't compromise on this.
Not after last night.
Not after seeing those men put their hands on her.
“But I don't have the capital to pay for doubling my staff every shift.” She throws both hands in the air. “Micah, payroll alone—”
“You do.”
She narrows her eyes.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I'm investing in your business.”
Her mouth falls open.
“What?”
“I already wired money into the business account.”
Her eyes flash.
“Micah—”
“Before you argue...”
I hold up one hand.
“Call it a loan.”
“A loan?”
“With paperwork.”
“You already...”
“I had my attorney draw it up.”
She stares.
“You had an attorney...”
“I like things in writing.”
For a second I think she's going to yell.
Actually yell.
Those beautiful brown eyes spark with irritation as she glares holes straight through me.
I let her. She deserves that much.
Then I watch something change.
The anger fades.
Not completely.
Just enough for fear to slip through.
She remembers.
The broken bottles.
The men.
Patrick.
Everything that almost happened.
Her shoulders sag. She nods once.
Slowly.
“Sloane.”
I wait.
She finally looks at me.
Really looks at me.
I reach for her hand, threading my fingers through hers.
“I’m not trying to bulldoze you. I just, I can't have anything happen to you.”
The confession sits heavy in my chest.
“It would break me.”
The words come easier than I expected. Maybe because they're the truest thing I've ever said.
She searches my face for a long moment. Then she squeezes my hand.
Not hard. Just enough to let me know she heard every word.
And somehow...
That tiny squeeze feels like a promise neither of us is quite ready to say out loud.
I brace myself for an argument.
For crossed arms.
For Sloane telling me I'm overstepping.
She doesn't.
Not this time.
She studies me for another long moment, those warm brown eyes searching my face like she's trying to decide whether I'm serious.
The thing is I don't think she realizes there's nothing casual about me.
Not when it comes to her.
When I decide something matters, I commit.
Completely.
And Sloane?
She matters more than anything I've ever put my hands on.
Eventually, she lets out a slow breath. The tiniest smile tugs at one corner of her mouth.
“You really are stubborn.”
“I've heard that before.”
“I bet you have. A few times at least, right?”
“Maybe more than a few.”
She laughs softly, shaking her head.
“I don't know whether to hug you or argue with you.”
“I'd vote for the hug. But I’m here if you want to argue.”
Another smile.
God.
I'm getting addicted to those.
After another few minutes of phone calls, crossed-out names, and scribbled notes, the schedule is finally finished.
She leans back in the office chair, rubbing tiredly at the back of her neck.
“Okay, next week is shaping up, but I have to stay until close tonight.”
I reach for the clipboard and study the schedule myself.
She's managed to fill every shift.
Barely.
It'll work.
For now.
Long term?
She needs a floor manager. Someone she trusts to run this place when she can't be here.
The thought files itself away in the back of my mind.
One problem at a time.
“Okay.”
I hand the clipboard back.
“I'll stay with you the nights you have to close.”
She blinks.
“Micah, you can't do that.”
“Sure I can.”
“No, you have work.”
“It's the weekend.”
She folds her arms.
“Tell me you don’t still work on weekends.”
Fuck.
I’m not lying to her.
“I do work on weekends. But I can work remotely.”
“For the ranch?”
“For my other clients and yes, for the ranch’s network. So I'm staying.”
She sighs toward the ceiling.
“You are impossible.”
“I've accepted that.”
She points a finger at me.
“I don't need a bodyguard.”
“I know.”
“I've handled this place by myself for years.”
“I know.”
“I'm capable.”
“I know.”
Her eyebrows lift.
“Then why are we having this conversation?”
I lean forward, resting my forearms on my knees.
“Because last night changed things.”
Her expression softens.
“Those men got too close, Princess. If I was even a second later...”
I don't finish the sentence.
I don't have to.
She remembers.
I remember.
Neither of us ever will forget.
“Please, let me stay. I won't take no for an answer, Sloane.”
My voice stays even.
Quiet.
Certain.
“I can’t just leave. Not today.”
She watches me for several seconds.
Then, to my surprise...
She nods.
“Okay.”
Okay.
No fight.
No negotiation.
She simply reaches over and threads her fingers through mine.
“I can live with today.”
That's enough.
More than enough.
She tolerates my protective streak far longer than I expect.
Saturday becomes Sunday.
Sunday rolls into Monday.
By Tuesday afternoon, I'm sitting at my usual corner table in The Watering Hole with my laptop open, pretending to work while actually keeping one eye on the room.
Joan is behind the bar.
Freddy is running food.
The cook is in the back, and he is psyched with his new title and raise—Sloane doesn’t know about the money yet, but she will.
Honestly? The place looks amazing. It’s more packed than usual.
Without Patrick’s negative influence, Sloane is turning it into something more like a bistro than a bar.
The extra staff makes a noticeable difference, too. Sloane actually has time to breathe between customers.
My phone buzzes.
Benji.
I answer immediately.
“What?”
“The cryo unit's acting up again.”
I close my eyes.
“You serious?”
“It keeps throwing the same pressure fault.”
“Damn it.”
“I need you, bro.”
Of course he does.
I glance toward the bar.
Sloane catches my eye instantly. She can always tell when something's wrong.
I walk over.
“The ranch?” She asks quietly.
I nod.
“Cryo system is acting up. Benji called. They need me.”
“Then go.”
“I don't like leaving.”
She smiles.
“I know.”
“I'm serious.”
“So am I.”
She reaches over and smooths a wrinkle from the front of my shirt. The casual little touch almost undoes me.
“I’m not alone. I’ve got Joan here.”
She points toward the older bartender polishing glasses.
“And Freddy.”
He waves from the kitchen pass-through.
“Milly's supposed to relieve Joan in a few hours.”
I make a face.
“She’s unreliable as fuck.”
She cups my jaw before I can argue.
“It’ll be fine, Babe. Go to work.”
Babe.
Fuck, I love it when she calls me that.
“Micah, I mean it I'm fine. And I'll continue to be fine until close.”
“I don't want—”
“I know.”
Her smile turns impossibly gentle.
“But you also told me Jersey Iron depends on those cryo tanks.”
She's been listening.
Of course she has.
“You can't be in two places at once.”
I wish she hadn't figured that out.
I sigh.
“I don't want to leave but I don’t want to smother you either.”
“You’re not leaving me forever, silly man,” she says and kisses me on the mouth quickly.
Too quickly. But I let her get away with it for now.
“Promise you’ll be careful? No going into the alley or leaving the main room for anything?”
“I promise.”
I lean down and I kiss her this time. And no, it’s still not nearly as long as I'd like. Not nearly as deeply as I want.
But it’s enough to remind both of us that I'll be back.
When I pull away, I rest my forehead against hers for the briefest second.
“Okay. I’m going. But keep your phone on and in your pocket.”
“I will.”
“And call me if you need anything.”
“I will. But don't forget...”
A mischievous grin spreads across her face.
“...the interior cameras you installed.”
She lowers her voice.
“You know you can check on me anytime.”
I blink.
Well.
She caught that, did she?
Little troublemaker.
I shake my head, unable to stop myself from smiling.
“Princess, you keep saying things like that...”
“What?”
“I might never leave.”
She laughs.
The sound settles something deep inside me. I steal one more quick kiss before stepping back.
As I turn toward the door, my eyes drift to a pair of guys lingering over beers in the corner booth.
They're looking in Sloane's direction. They notice me noticing them. But I don't say a word.
I don't have to.
One hard look is enough.
Both men suddenly become very interested in their drinks.
Good.
Fear isn't always a bad teacher.
Sloane walks me to the front door a minute later, her fingers brushing against mine before slipping into my hand.
It's a tiny thing.
Barely a touch.
But my whole body notices.
I lace our fingers together anyway.
She doesn't pull away.
Outside, the afternoon sun has settled into that golden hour that makes everything look softer than it really is.
Neither of us says anything for a minute.
We just stand there.
Her hand in mine.
Mine wrapped around hers.
Neither one of us seeming all that interested in letting go.
She looks up at me with those big brown eyes, and I swear every damn time she does that, my chest gets tighter.
Like my heart is trying to grow bigger just to make room for her.
“You'll text me?” I ask.
She smiles.
“I will.”
“And if anybody gives you trouble—”
“I'll call you.”
“If you even think somebody's acting off—”
“I'll call you.”
“If—”
She laughs, that bright, happy laugh that always seems to sneak past my defenses.
“I get it, Cowboy.”
“You sure?”
She steps closer until there's barely an inch between us.
“So protective.”
“So stubborn,” I counter.
“So...”
She reaches up and smooths the collar of my shirt like it's the most natural thing in the world.
“...very you.”
I catch her wrist before she can lower her hand.
Not to stop her.
Just because I want to keep touching her a little longer.
My thumb drifts over the inside of her wrist, feeling the quick flutter of her pulse.
It isn't the only heartbeat racing.
Mine's trying to pound its way clean out of my chest.
“Hey,” I say quietly.
“Yeah?”
She searches my face.
Whatever she sees there wipes the teasing smile right off hers.
I don't think about it.
I don't weigh the pros and cons.
Hell, I don't even breathe.
“I love you.”
The words leave me before my brain has any chance to interfere.
Silence.
Her lips part.
Those beautiful brown eyes go impossibly wide.
Like the whole world just tilted beneath her feet.
Maybe mine did too.
I don't give either of us time to panic.
I cup her face between my hands and kiss her.
Slow.
Careful.
Like I'm sealing a promise instead of stealing one.
When I pull back, she's still staring at me.
Completely stunned.
Her mouth opens.
Closes.
Opens again.
No words come out.
I smile despite myself.
“Be a good girl for me, Princess.”
My forehead brushes hers for the briefest second.
I give her one last soft kiss.
Then, because if I stay another minute I'm liable to forget every responsibility waiting for me back at the ranch, I gently nudge her toward the doorway.
“Go on.”
She doesn't move.
“Micah...”
There's wonder in her voice.
Disbelief.
Hope.
Enough hope to make a man dream dangerous dreams.
“I'll be back before you know it.”
Finally, she nods.
A slow smile spreads across her face.
The kind that starts in her eyes.
The kind I'd spend the rest of my life earning if she'd let me.
She squeezes my hand once before disappearing back inside.
I stand there like an idiot for another second, watching the door after it's already closed.
Then I grin to myself all the way to my truck.
Because for the first time in a damn long time...
The future doesn't feel like something to survive. It feels like something to look forward to.