Chapter 49
The taillights disappeared beyond the gate, and Naomi slowly blew out her breath.
She stared at the place where Gio’s car had been.
Something moved at the edge of her mind. A flicker. Like a word on the tip of her tongue that kept slipping away before she could catch it.
At once, she could hear Gio’s voice again. She was transported back to his office. She remembered a tense conversation.
But she didn’t know what it was about. She only had a feeling in her gut.
Then after that, there was nothing. The memory dissolved before it took shape, leaving only a faint unease in its wake.
She pressed her fingers to her temple.
“Hey.” Micah’s voice was quiet. “Where’d you go?”
“I don’t know.” She dropped her hand. “Something almost . . . I don’t know. It’s probably nothing. It happens sometimes. A feeling like I’m about to remember something and then it’s just . . . gone.”
Micah was quiet before asking, “Have you ever thought about calling someone in New York? Someone who knew you before. A friend or colleague. Or maybe the detective who handled your case. Maybe they know something that could help you.”
Naomi looked at him and shook her head. “No, I just thought I should put that part of my life behind me.”
“Sometimes talking to someone who was there helps fill in the gaps,” he told her.
She considered his words. She’d been so focused on moving forward that she’d never considered deliberately reaching back. Not to relive the trauma, but to understand it.
“Maybe I should,” she said.
Micah nodded and didn’t press further.
Gio’s words came back to her. Hiding. Running. Attaching herself to someone else’s life because her own had fallen apart.
She’d flinched when he said it. Had wondered if he was right.
But standing here now, in the quiet of the mountain night, she knew he wasn’t.
She hadn’t run to Refuge Cove. She’d been led here. By instinct, by necessity, by something she still didn’t fully understand. And what she’d built in the months since wasn’t a substitute for a real life.
It was a real life.
This shelter mattered. The women who came here mattered. The work was hard and meaningful and hers.
That wasn’t running away.
That was healing.
The realization grounded her.
She was exactly where she was supposed to be.
The thought had barely finished forming when a thin cry sounded on the baby monitor.
Grace.
Naomi already moved toward the door.
Micah hadn’t meant to follow Naomi inside.
Or maybe he had. He wasn’t entirely sure anymore when it came to Naomi.
He’d told himself he just wanted to make sure the house was secure. Check the locks, say good night to Ruby and Caleb, be sure everyone was settled after Gio’s visit.
He had professional reasons. Practical reasons.
But when Naomi disappeared through the front door toward the sound of Grace crying, his feet had followed without consulting him.
Now he stood in the doorway of the small nursery while Naomi lifted Grace from the crib, murmuring softly.
“She’s hungry. Would you mind—” Naomi nodded toward the door. “I need to warm a bottle. Could you just—?”
“Of course.” Micah crossed the room.
Naomi transferred Grace carefully into his arms, making sure he had her before she let go. The baby was warm and solid and smelled like something powdery and clean.
She blinked up at Micah with dark, serious eyes, apparently deciding whether he was worth crying about.
She must have decided he wasn’t. She settled against his chest with a small, shuddering sigh.
Micah stood still.
He’d held babies before. He had a nephew and two nieces. He knew what to do.
But something about this was different. Something about holding this child made his heart twist.
He listened to Naomi’s footsteps move down the hall toward the kitchen. The soft sounds of the house settled around him as Grace’s breath evened out against his collarbone.
“You’re okay,” he whispered. “You’re safe.”
She grabbed a fistful of his shirt.
Micah looked down at her small hand, at her fingers curled around the fabric. Something slow and tectonic moved through his chest.
He was in trouble.
Not the kind he was used to. Not the kind with a clear protocol and a chain of command and a procedure to follow. The other kind. The kind that snuck up on you in quiet nurseries while you were holding someone else’s baby and listening to the woman you cared about in the next room warming a bottle.
Naomi came back a few minutes later, bottle in hand. She stopped in the doorway when she saw them and something crossed her face—an emotion too quick to name.
“She’s fine,” Micah insisted. “She didn’t fuss.”
“She likes you.” Naomi crossed the room and held out the bottle. “Do you want to—?”
“No. No . . . you should.” He carefully transferred Grace into her arms.
Then he stepped back and watched them settle into the rocking chair. Grace latched onto the bottle immediately, her eyes drifting closed. Naomi tucked the baby closer.
As he watched, as he remembered the kiss he and Naomi had shared earlier, the slow tectonic thing kept moving.
He watched Naomi with Grace and thought about what it meant that he’d followed her inside without thinking. What it meant that he knew exactly how Grace smelled and how much she weighed and that she grabbed onto whatever was closest.
What it meant that the thought of walking out of this room felt harder than it should.
He thought about his marriage. About how thoroughly he’d failed the one woman he’d promised to protect. About what it had cost him, and what it had cost Caroline, and the years he’d spent afterward telling himself that was reason enough to keep his distance from anything that mattered too much.
Grace had gone still in Naomi’s arms, the bottle nearly empty.
Naomi looked up and caught him watching. She smiled, small and tired and real.
Micah’s chest tightened. He was attached, he realized. As much as he’d tried to keep his distance, he hadn’t.
Any woman in a relationship with him was setting herself up for danger.
He couldn’t do that again to someone he cared about. He’d let this go on for entirely too long.
He should have known better.
“I should go,” he murmured.
Something shifted in Naomi’s expression. “You don’t have to—”
“I know. But it’s late, and you both need sleep. Besides, I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”
All true. None of it the real reason.
Naomi studied him, and he had a feeling she saw more than he wanted.
Finally, she said, “Thank you. For tonight. For handling Gio.”
“That’s what I do.” The words came out more clipped than he intended.
Her expression flickered. “Right.”
Micah paused at the doorway.
He should explain himself, his words. But an explanation would require honesty he wasn’t ready for, about feelings he hadn’t planned on having and walls he’d built for reasons that had seemed solid until about twenty minutes ago.
Instead, he murmured, “Lock up behind me.”
Then he left before he could change his mind.