Chapter 15
The next morning, frost clung to the edges of Amayah’s windows when she stepped into the living room. Not the picture window at the front of the house, of course. That was still covered in plywood.
She peered outside just in time to see Luke’s car pull to the curb. He’d texted that he’d be there at eight, and he was prompt.
When he got out of the car, something immediately struck her about his posture.
His shoulders were straighter, his expression more guarded.
He wore a faint, polite smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Gone was the easy warmth from the night before—the one that had made the whole world feel gentler for a few hours.
Her heartbeat flickered. Did something happen? Did I do something?
Flashbacks of Isaac hit her. He’d always been moody—punishing her with the cold shoulder if she did something he didn’t approve of.
Was Luke the same?
She shoved away those thoughts as she opened the door. Not every man was like Isaac.
“Morning.”
“Morning,” Luke echoed. But the word felt brisk, clipped. He didn’t even step inside, yet he was already pulling his notebook from his coat pocket. “Mind if we go over a few things before we start?”
Right. Work mode.
It all felt so . . . abrupt. What had changed since yesterday?
“Sure.” Amayah forced brightness into her voice. Maybe some distance between them was a good thing. “But can we talk while we drive? I need to film some content this morning.”
“That’s fine.” He flipped to a fresh page and frowned. “Actually . . . this first part is about finances. I hate to ask, but it’s kind of necessary.”
Her stomach tightened. Of course, he wants to talk about finances.
“Would you rather do that here since it’s personal and all?” Luke waited for her answer.
“I’m not sure.” She narrowed her eyes. “What kind of questions are you going to ask?”
“Just what you’d probably expect.”
“Okay then. Shoot.” She closed the front door, not wanting to get comfortable inside. If so, they might take entirely too much time.
He stiffened as he looked at his notebook, his recorder in hand. “I’m just curious: With your platform blowing up—new followers, sponsorship offers, maybe even TV deals—how has the sudden income changed things for you? Has it shifted how you see yourself? Your goals? Your lifestyle?”
She kept her expression neutral, even as her chest knotted.
She hated talking about money—how much she made, how much she gave away, how much she refused to spend. Really, it was no one’s business. But everyone seemed curious, and some even acted like it was their right to know what her paycheck was.
She knew one thing: She never in a million years thought she’d be making the amount she did. It truly perplexed her at times.
But she promised herself that in the same way God had blessed her, she would also bless others.
“On second thought, let’s talk on the way,” she said simply. “It’s too cold out here.”
Luke nodded, something flickering in his gaze. “It is chilly.”
“I’m driving.”
“Have it your way.”
Luke waited for Amayah’s response to his question, not ready to let it drop.
After his realization last night—and his talk with Harry—he’d decided to operate in professional mode. He needed to be objective.
Instead, he’d allowed himself to get too close.
So today, he’d told himself he would get to the truth—and then go from there.
Amayah had gotten in her car—a modest but well-kept Toyota crossover. She’d cranked the engine. Warmed it up.
Then she’d taken off without offering any kind of answer.
“So, about that question . . .” he prodded.
She gripped the steering wheel tighter, clearly not comfortable with this line of inquiry.
Honestly, he wasn’t comfortable asking these questions either. But as a journalist, he had no other choice. This was his job.
Finances were a part of Amayah’s story, whether she wanted to admit it or not.
Luke waited, trying not to press.
After a long moment, Amayah let out a slow breath. “All right, here’s the truth.”
She didn’t look at him. Her gaze stayed on the road. But her voice softened, steadied.
“When all of this started, I didn’t expect . . . any of it. Not the following. Not the partnerships. Not the income that came with it.” Her fingers eased on the steering wheel, just slightly. “Some days I still don’t know what to do with all of it.”
Luke didn’t interrupt.
She continued, “So I try to hold it loosely. I try to use it well. And I don’t talk about it much because . . . the moment money becomes the point, you lose sight of the purpose.” She gave a small, almost hesitant laugh. “And I don’t ever want to lose that.”
Her shoulders rose and fell with another breath—lighter this time, freer, like she’d just opened a window she normally kept shut.
“That’s my answer,” she finished. “Not dramatic. Not impressive. Just . . . honest.”
Luke felt the weight of her words settle somewhere deep in his chest.
Her response hadn’t been flashy or curated.
Just truth—simple and unpolished.
The kind of truth he wasn’t used to finding in his line of work.
And the kind that made him realize this story—her story—was already more complicated than the one he’d been sent to uncover.