Chapter 23-Sloane
The ladies are wonderful.
Breakfast somehow turns into an event instead of just a meal. There are bagels and bacon, fresh fruit, eggs, enough coffee to keep a small army awake, and more laughter than I've heard in one room in years.
Bit has a story for everything.
Esme laughs so hard at one of them she nearly snorts coffee out her nose.
I don't realize how much I needed this until I'm standing in Micah's kitchen, barefoot in his T-shirt, laughing with two women who somehow already feel like friends.
For the first time in a long time...
I don't feel alone. I feel accepted. Maybe even wanted.
I feel like family.
Then I hear it.
The deep rumble of a truck engine climbing the gravel drive.
My whole body reacts before my brain catches up.
It's him.
I know it is. I don't even have to look. It’s like my entire body is hardwired to tell when Micah’s nearby.
Christ.
My heart starts pounding so hard I'm sure the other women can hear it.
“You gonna get that?” Bit asks, grinning into her coffee mug.
“I...”
Should I get it?
This isn’t my cabin. We haven’t talked about labels or about what last night means.
But he washed my clothes.
And he asked me to wait.
Yeah, there is something about the way he made me feel last night that’s telling me Micah wouldn’t mind if I met him by the door.
I collect myself, and I look at Bit. I smooth my hands down the front of Micah's T-shirt, still nervous but determined.
“Yeah. Yes. I’m gonna get the door.”
Her grin is so wide, I roll my eyes at her. Then I count to three before walking over to open the heavy wood door.
I don't want to seem too eager.
Not that it matters.
The second the door swings open, every bit of composure I'd managed to gather disappears.
Sawyer and Benji are there. I register them.
Sort of.
But only because they're standing next to him.
Micah.
His beard is a little longer than yesterday.
His dark hair catches the morning sun, shining like polished chestnuts.
And those eyes...
Good Lord.
They're every bit as blue as the clear Jersey sky stretching over the ranch.
Sharp.
Steady.
Beautiful.
They're already on me.
Like they never left.
My heart gives one enormous thump inside my chest. I never really believed in love at first sight.
Not for me, anyway.
Honestly, I never thought about it much. Life had always been too busy for fairy tales.
Besides...
Can it even count as first sight? We've known each other for months. Or, well, we've certainly existed in each other's orbit for months.
He'd sit at the end of the bar with one beer that lasted half the night, quietly watching the game on television while somehow always noticing me. I'd catch him looking every now and then, and the second our eyes met, he'd glance away like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't.
Back then, I thought maybe I was imagining it.
Now I know I wasn't.
This is crazy.
Fast.
Ridiculous.
But maybe it didn't start last night. Maybe it started the first time he stood when I walked over to take his order.
Or the first absurd tip he tucked beneath his empty plate.
Or when he pretended to be my boyfriend without asking a single question.
Or when he started watching me without my knowing—hot by the way.
And yes, I’m aware that is a serious red flag. His or mine? Take your pick.
All I know is that it led him to doing things like changing the filters in my van because he'd noticed I was coughing more than usual. And to his possibly saving my life last night.
Who knows what those men had in mind? All I know is that I thank God for Micah.
The first time he kissed me? He made me feel like I was something worth waiting for.
And when he carried me to safety in his arms without making me feel too heavy or weak?
Wow. Just wow.
Last night, when we made love, he took me to heights I didn’t even know existed. Afterward, I slept in his arms all night, and it was perfect.
So, yeah, I didn’t stand a chance.
Somewhere between all those meetings and the quiet moments between, I fell.
Hard.
He's only a few feet away now, but it feels like the whole world narrows until there's nothing left except the space between us.
His eyes find mine immediately. Those impossible blue eyes—so clear and brilliant.
Steady.
Patient.
Like he's giving me all the time in the world to decide whether I want to walk toward him.
My pulse flutters.
I don't think he realizes what those eyes do to me.
Or maybe he does.
His gaze never rushes over me. Never makes me feel examined.
It lingers just long enough to make me feel seen.
Really seen.
My breath catches. I force myself to try again. And I do. I inhale.
He smells incredible.
Fresh soap.
Clean cotton.
A hint of hay from working around the ranch.
And underneath it all...
Those little alcohol screen wipes he always seems to keep tucked away in his truck or his toolbox.
It's such a uniquely Micah scent that I smile before I even realize I'm doing it.
God.
I love the way he smells.
It isn't expensive cologne.
It isn't some overpowering body spray trying too hard to make an impression.
It's just him.
Clean.
Steady.
Comforting.
The kind of scent that makes me want to step closer without even thinking about it.
The kind that already feels strangely familiar.
Dangerously familiar.
Like my body has decided it knows exactly where it belongs long before my heart has had the chance to catch up.
I don’t know how many seconds I’ve been standing there just staring back at him, but I know I have to say something.
“Morning,” I say softly.
He looks at me like I just said something extraordinary.
Like one simple word somehow made his whole day.
Neither of us moves. Not at first.
Then, he's crossing the porch in three long strides.
His hands come up to cradle my cheeks with a tenderness that steals my breath.
For just a heartbeat, he searches my face.
Almost like he's making sure I'm really here.
Then he kisses me.
Warm.
Gentle.
Certain.
The kind of kiss that says I missed you. The kind that makes my toes curl inside borrowed socks.
When he finally pulls back, we're both smiling.
“There,” he murmurs, resting his forehead against mine for a second. “That's better.”
Then he presses a quick kiss to my forehead.
The gesture is so unexpectedly sweet that I feel my heart melt all over again.
He slips an arm lightly around my back and guides me inside as naturally as if we've been doing this for years.
Inside, Bit lets out a loud wolf whistle.
“Woo! About damn time!”
“Oh my God,” I mumble, hiding my face against Micah's shoulder.
Esme is already laughing as she pours fresh coffee into three waiting mugs.
“Told you he'd figure it out, eventually.”
“Took him long enough,” Bit says.
Micah sighs dramatically.
“I can hear you both.”
“We know!” both women answer together.
Benji claps Micah on the shoulder hard enough to make him rock forward.
“My man!”
Micah shoots him a look.
“Don't.”
“What? I'm proud of you.”
“God, just don't.”
Sawyer chuckles as he walks over to Bit.
“Damn Lil Bit, does breakfast smell this good every morning?”
“It does if you marry the right woman,” she quips back.
“I did.”
He bends to kiss the top of her head before dropping a hand over the gentle swell of her stomach.
“And apparently breakfast comes with my favorite girls.”
Bit beams.
“It certainly does.”
I catch Micah watching them.
Not with jealousy.
With something softer.
Hopeful.
Like maybe he's imagining that kind of easy happiness for himself someday.
The thought sends another warm flutter through my chest.
We settle around the table.
Conversation bounces everywhere.
Alex's latest antics.
A stubborn bull that almost escaped yesterday.
Esme's newest vlog episode.
Sawyer teasing Benji about becoming insufferable since getting married.
Benji insisting he'd always been insufferable.
The room feels alive.
Comfortable.
Messy in the best possible way.
Nobody's pretending.
Nobody's performing.
They're just there for each other.
Family.
And somehow they've pulled up another chair without making me feel like I have to earn it.
I don't realize how much time has passed until my eyes drift toward the clock on the microwave.
The knot in my stomach returns instantly.
Reality crashing in.
The bar.
Work.
Patrick.
My smile fades.
I glance toward Micah.
“Um...”
His attention shifts to me immediately.
“Yeah, Princess?”
His hand settles against the small of my back beneath the table.
Not possessive.
Reassuring.
His expression softens the second he notices mine. Concern replaces the easy smile he'd been wearing all morning.
“I...”
I hate being the one to break this little bubble we've all been living in.
“I have to go to the bar.”
The words come out quieter than I'd intended.
“I don't even have my phone, and I should probably start cleaning up...”
“Shit.” Micah's eyebrows lift. “I forgot to tell you.”
He stands and crosses to the kitchen counter.
“I meant to give this to you last night.”
He returns holding my phone.
I take it from him.
The screen is cracked from one corner to the other.
I wince.
“Sorry, the store wasn’t open when I went to work this morning, but I already ordered you a new one.”
I blink and I look at my phone. It’s an older model. At least three or four years.
“What? I could just get the screen replaced. It’s no big deal.”
“Princess, your phone was done for.”
His thumb brushes lightly over the cracked screen before he hands it back to me.
“I already ordered you a new one. We can pick it up in town in a little while. It should be ready by then.”
“Micah...”
I just stare at him.
“But you—you really didn't have to do that.”
His brow furrows like the idea doesn't even make sense.
“Yeah, I did.”
“No, you—”
“You needed a phone, Sloane.”
The words come out in that calm, matter-of-fact way of his.
No grand gesture.
No expectation of praise.
Just a simple statement of fact.
“You couldn't exactly call anybody on that one.” He nods toward the spiderweb of cracks across the screen. “Besides, I’m a tech guy. I want my girl to have the best there is. I don't like the idea of you not being able to reach somebody if you need help.”
My chest tightens.