Page 52 of Not Until I Found You

Dad no longer needs help getting around the homestead every minute of the day. Most evenings, after dinner, he waves me off and insists he can manage the rest of the night on his own. We’ve fallen into an easy routine of morning coffee on the porch and working side by side in the garden, and most days, that’s enough.

But there are still mornings when I’ll ask the wrong question that brushes too close to the years we lost—and he’ll go quiet. He’ll find something urgent to do with the garden, and I let it go because I don’t know yet if it’s his speech issues making the words hard to find, or if it’s him deciding I haven’t earned them yet. It could be both. I’m trying to be patient either way, and I hope things will get better over time.

He’s becoming himself again, and maybe, in some ways, so am I, which means the reasons I used to have for staying here are slowly disappearing. Somewhere along the way, something has shifted, and whatever it is, it’s new and too unsteady for me to hold onto. All I know is that I’m not ready to walk away from this place yet.

Raine shrugs her shoulders. “I think so, but all of that takes some time. I guess we should get used to these late nights for a while longer.”

Relief floods through me and I try to hide it, but Luke clocks it immediately. A slow grin hooks at the corner of his mouth, like he’s confirmed something he already suspected. He has that uncanny cop instinct. You know, the ability to read people and sense a change in them before they even speak.

“Where is your restroom?” I ask, suddenly needing a moment to myself.

“Down the hall, three doors to your left,” Raine replies with a smile before she dives into whatever conversation she and Olivia had started.

Once I have the bathroom door shut, I press my back against its chilled surface and inhale three deep breaths. I take my time, reapplying my mascara and lip gloss, lifting my hair into a low ponytail, and washing my hands. My phone buzzes from where it sits on the sink, and I see Mom’s name flash across the screen.

Mom

I spent the evening getting your old bedroom ready for you.

*Photo of bedroom*

Now you have fresh sheets and drawers ready to be filled anytime you’re ready.

I stare at the photo for a long time. The room looks exactly like it did when I left—same lavender walls, same photo collages on my vanity mirror, same string of lights over the headboard. Dread twists low in my stomach, as it’s been doing every time I get a phone call or message from her. She’s not wrong to miss me, because I miss her too, but I don’t know how to tell her that “anytime you’re ready” isn’t something I know the answer to yet, not when I’m still trying to figure out when I’ll be ready to leave.

I hear commotion happening in the living room and Annabelle’s high-pitched squeal as she yells, “Uncle Z!”

I’m enjoying my time getting to know some of Zane’s friends, and they’ve made sure that I’ve felt welcomed, but I’m thankful a familiar face is here. I dry my hands, readjust my rust-colored tank top, and open the door. As soon as I round the corner, I slam into someone.

The scent of sawdust, sweat, and faded cologne hits me all at once. Callused hands find my shoulders and pull me back until Zane’s face is lined up with mine. He smirks down at me, the bags under his eyes making an appearance, revealing how exhausted he must be.

“We have got to stop meeting like this,” he says, his voice raspy.

The hallway is narrow, causing our breaths to mingle together. We haven’t stood this close since he got stung by the wasp. Closing the distance between us shouldn’t even be something I’m thinking about, but in the back of my mind, there’s a voice, urging me forward.

Go to him, Maxinne.

Before I second-guess myself, I step into him. His smirk falters, surprise washing across his face as my arms loop around and pull him into a hug. What am I doing? I’m hugging Zane in the middle of a cramped hallway like I’ve waited all day for this moment. And maybe I have. The knowledge that I’ve missed him hits me hard, and this truth is spilling out faster than I can catch it.

He hesitates for only a second before his arms wrap around me and tug me closer to him. I soften at the contact, the tight coil in my gut easing as I settle against him. His solid presence, the soft rhythm of his breathing, steadies me in a way I didn’t realize I needed.

“I’m going to get some man-glitter on you,” he chuckles.

“I don’t care,” I admit, pressing my ear firmly against the sturdiness of his chest.

His arms flex as they wrap tighter around me, and a heat begins to spread from my chest, setting low in my belly, and it’s enough to knock some sense into me. We’ve passed the length of a friendly hug here. It’s turned into something more intimate. I quickly take a step back, rocking back on my heels nervously, and search his eyes to see if he’s weirded out by what I did. His hazel eyes fix on mine, a shade darker than normal, before they smooth briefly over me. His smile is sincere, the faint pink on his cheeks deepening into a rich, ruby red. His eyes reveal that whatever I’m feeling, he’s feeling it too, and I’m not sure what to do about that.

“I, uh—” The words tangle in my throat. What am I supposed to say to him right now? Heat floods my face and ears, and I can sense the exact second he notices, because that infuriating, knowing smirk curves back onto his lips.

“I guess…” I swallow, trying to steady my voice. “I guess I missed you a little bit.”

His expression softens. “Yeah. I guess I missed you a little bit too.”

He lifts a hand toward me, and for one ridiculous heartbeat, I think he’s going to touch my cheek, and my breath catches. Instead, his fingers brush my shoulder as he flicks something away. “You had some man-glitter stuck to you.”

The playfulness in his voice pulls a laugh out of me.

“I need to wash up.” He hikes a thumb over his shoulder toward the restroom.