26. Katie
KATIE
T he next morning light filters through the gauzy curtains, casting a golden glow across the bedroom I now share with Trace. Share is perhaps too generous a word. While we sleep under the same roof, in the same room even, there might as well be an ocean between us. I stare at the empty space beside me, the sheets cool to the touch where his body should be.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and pad to the window. Outside, I can see Trace working the cattle in the early morning light. His movements are confident, assured—everything I wish I felt right now. My fingers twist the gold band on my left hand, still unfamiliar against my skin.
"This isn't working," I whisper to myself.
An hour later, I'm driving toward town, the Montana landscape stretching endlessly around me. The colors paint the hills in fiery oranges and deep reds, but my mind is too clouded to fully appreciate their beauty. Before I know it, I'm parked outside Enchanted Pages.
The little bell above the door jingles as I enter. The familiar scent of paper and coffee wraps around me like a comforting blanket.
"Katie! What a lovely surprise," Charlene's warm voice calls from behind a shelf stacked with new releases. She appears a moment later, her kind face breaking into a genuine smile. At fifty-something, Charlene Mulberry has the sort of beauty that comes from joy rather than youth—laugh lines framing bright eyes and an easy smile.
"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," I say, suddenly feeling foolish for driving all this way without calling first. There's supposed to be a book club, but it looks like it was cancelled.
"Nonsense. I'm helping Marissa today while she has an errand to run. It's a slow morning, and I was just about to make some tea. Join me?" She gestures toward the small sitting area at the back of the store.
I nod gratefully and follow her. Unlike at the gala a few weeks ago, here in her domain, Charlene moves with unhurried grace. She sets a kettle to boil on the small hotplate and pulls out two mismatched mugs.
"So," she says, once we're settled with steaming cups of herbal tea, "what brings you into town on a Tuesday morning? Shouldn't you be busy playing rancher's wife?" There's no malice in her teasing, just friendly curiosity.
"I..." The words stick in my throat. How do I explain that my marriage exists only on paper? That my husband barely looks at me except when we're alone? That I'm terrified I've made the biggest mistake of my life?
Charlene reaches across the table and covers my hand with hers. "Oh, honey. Marriage troubles already?"
The kindness in her voice breaks something loose inside me. "Is it that obvious?"
"When you've been married as long as I have, you develop a sixth sense for these things." She sits back. "Tell me what's going on."
So I do. I tell her about the arrangement, about how Trace is charming and attentive at events like the gala but retreats behind a wall of politeness the moment we're alone. I tell her about sleeping in the same bed and touching, but never feeling, about the longing I feel watching him from afar, about my growing fear that while this may be a real marriage on paper, it might never be real in the ways that matter.
"I thought...I hoped after the gala, something had changed between us. The way he kissed me, the way he looked at me..." I stare down at my tea, now grown cold.
Charlene listens without interruption, nodding occasionally. When I finally run out of words, she gets up and flips the sign on the door to 'Closed,' then returns to our table.
"Marissa won't mind if I close the shop while we discuss this. First things first," she says, settling back into her chair. "Do you love him?"
The question is so direct it startles me. "I—yes. I think I do. I didn't expect to, but yes."
"And does he know this?"
I shake my head. "I've barely admitted it to myself."
Charlene smiles gently. "Men, especially men like Trace Miller, aren't mind readers, Katie. Particularly when it comes to matters of the heart."
"But what if he doesn't want this to be a real marriage? What if I push harder and he..." I can't finish the sentence.
"Rejects you?" Charlene supplies. When I nod, she continues. "That's always a risk in love. But let me ask you this—when you're alone, how does Trace respond?"
A blush warms my cheeks at the memories. "He kisses me, he holds me, and he uses my body exactly the way I want him to."
Charlene looks at me with knowing eyes. "Those aren't the actions of a man who's indifferent, Katie."
"Then why is he so distant when we're alone?"
She sighs, a sound weighted with wisdom. "Marriage is complicated, especially one that begins the way yours did. Pastor Mulberry and I—well, our beginnings weren't so different from yours."
This surprises me. "You and Pastor Mulberry had an arranged marriage?"
"Not arranged exactly, but let's say there were strong expectations from both families. We knew each other for six weeks before the wedding." She chuckles at my expression. "Hard to imagine, isn't it? The contented couple you see now began as practically strangers."
"How did you make it work?"
"With honesty, patience, and the courage to be vulnerable." She refills our cups. "And by remembering that intimacy isn't just physical. It's emotional, intellectual, spiritual."
"But how do I even start? Every time I try to talk to Trace about anything personal, he's not as open as I want him to be."
Charlene's eyes twinkle. "Sometimes you need to create a situation where he can't escape so easily."
"That sounds a bit like entrapment," I say with a nervous laugh.
"I prefer to think of it as creating an opportunity. The Miller men are notorious for burying their feelings under work and duty." She reaches across the little table and squeezes my hand. "Katie, from what I've seen, Trace looks at you the way my Henry looks at me after thirty years of marriage. That's not nothing."
"But what if I'm reading too much into things? What if he just sees me as part of the business arrangement?"
"Then you deserve to know that too," she says simply. "Living in limbo is no way to start a marriage."
The weight of her words settles over me. She's right, of course. One way or another, I need clarity.
"Do you have any practical advice?" I ask, feeling a new resolve strengthening inside me.
Charlene smiles. "As a matter of fact, I do. First, remember that vulnerability invites vulnerability. If you want him to open up, you might need to go first."
I nod, listening intently.
"Second, pay attention to his love language. How does he show care for others? Is it through acts of service? Physical touch? Words of affirmation? Once you know that, you can speak to him in a language he understands."
"And third?" I prompt, sensing there's more.
"Third," she says with a twinkle in her eye, "sometimes you need to be direct. Men like Trace—they're used to solving problems. Present your feelings as clearly as you would present any other issue that needs addressing."
"Just lay it all out?" The thought makes my stomach flip.
"It worked for me," she says with a shrug. "Thirty years ago, I cornered Henry in his study and told him I didn't marry him to live like a polite roommate. I told him I wanted a real marriage—all of it—and if he wasn't interested, he should tell me right then so we could figure out what to do."
"What did he say?"
Charlene's smile turns tender with memory. "He looked at me like I'd grown a second head, then said, 'I've been keeping my distance because I thought that's what you wanted.' Turns out he'd been half in love with me already but was trying to be 'respectful' by giving me space."
"You think Trace might be doing the same thing?"
"It wouldn't surprise me one bit. The Miller men have always had more honor than sense." She pats my hand. "Just remember, whatever happens, be honest about what you want. Marriage is too long a journey to start it with lies—even lies of omission."
I sit back, processing her words. The fear is still there, but something else too—hope, and a new determination.
"Thank you, Charlene."
"Anytime, dear. And Katie?" She waits until I meet her eyes. "When you go home tonight, remember something important."
"What's that?"
Her eyes are gentle but knowing. "You're not just his wife on paper. You're his wife in every way that matters. Own that truth when you face him."
I leave Enchanted Pages with my heart beating a different rhythm—steady, determined.