Page 171 of Micah

But because she chooses it.

Because she chooses me.

And if I have anything to say about it, she'll never wonder where she belongs again.

I already know I’ve got Benji’s and Sawyer’s support. The second she says yes, they’ll welcome her with open arms—metaphorically of course.

That thought is still buzzing inside my brain when the low rumble of engines drifts across the morning air.

I don't have to turn around to know who it is.

Speak of the devils.

Sawyer's black pickup rolls into the drive first.

He climbs out with the stiff stretch of a man who's spent too many years carrying a rucksack heavier than common sense.

Benji pulls in beside him a second later, slamming his truck door with entirely too much enthusiasm for this early in the morning.

One look at the matching grins on their faces tells me I'm about to regret every life choice that's brought me to this exact moment.

They both follow my gaze toward the cabin.

“Well,” Sawyer says, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Looks like our girls are getting along.”

“Yeah,” Benji agrees, sniffing dramatically. “And something smells incredible.”

He points toward the cabin.

“I smell bacon.”

He sniffs again.

“Bagels.”

Another exaggerated inhale.

“And French vanilla creamer.”

I blink.

“You can smell creamer?”

“I'm a married man,” he says solemnly. “I've evolved.”

Sawyer deadpans, “He's been domesticated.”

Benji grins.

“Damn right.”

“Bullshit! Your wife texted you what she bought.”

“Maybe,” he replies, and starts toward my front porch.

“Where the hell do you think you're going?” I call after him.

He doesn't even slow down.