Page 47
Yeah, he thought, watching her try not to melt under Hallie’s affection. I know the feeling.
SAGE
Sage saw him from the dressing room doorway.
She’d come out to show Hallie the long black duster — heavy canvas with silver snap buttons that she’d expected to hate and had been completely betrayed by — and then she’d simply… stopped.
There he was.
Seven feet plus of Cal Meridian, sitting cross-legged on the wide-plank floor like it was the most natural place in the world for him to be.
The store’s warm, expensive lighting caught on the polished wood, the thick wool rugs, the carefully curated displays of high-end Western gear that screamed “wealthy ski tourists who want to look rugged.” But right in the middle of all that curated luxury, Cal was surrounded by three small children like some kind of patient mountain god who’d decided to descend and play Legos.
One enormous scarred hand delicately picked up a tiny plastic piece and handed it to the six-year-old with the same focused seriousness he probably used when handling livestock or rifles. The boy said something. Cal answered, low and quiet, voice rumbling just enough that Sage felt it from across the store. The kid’s face lit up like the sunrise.
Something in Sage’s chest cracked wide open.
A sudden, overwhelming wave of grief and longing and an ache so old she’d buried it under years of concrete and survival. She thought of ceiling tiles. Of empty spaces where fathers were supposed to be. Of little girls who learned too early that for them big hands meant danger, not safety.
She pressed her lips together hard until they hurt. Breathed through her nose. Looked away before he could catch her staring.
That was when she made the mistake of glancing toward the outerwear section.
The two moms were watching Cal too. And they were not being subtle.
“—honestly, at this point, if Cal Meridian parked his airplane in my hangar I would not complain—”
“Jess! You’re married.”
“Dale knows. We’ve discussed it. Cal is in the exception column.”
“Mmm, yeah you’re right. But… he has a girl with him.”
A loaded pause.
“…Do you think she’s—”
“She came in wearing his coat.”
“No.”
“The sheepskin one.”
“Oh my God.”
Sage turned sharply back toward the dressing room before they could see the complicated mess happening on her face — a violent blush she couldn’t control, an almost-laugh she was choking down, and an entirely new, extremely dangerous line of thought about those big, careful hands that she was not going to follow.
She buried her burning face in the collar of the duster. The canvas smelled faintly of cedar and leather and expensive store perfume.
What am I doing here? Get it together, Sage.
But then, helplessly, she laughed — a small, startled sound muffled against the coat.
Sage was led up to the front of the store like a slightly shell-shocked prize.
“Alright,” Hallie declared at the counter, glowing with deep satisfaction like she had just won a small but important war. She began folding items with crisp, practiced speed—dark jeans, soft thermals, the black-and-red flannel, the laced vest, the long duster, two pairs of actually cute socks, and the risqué panties Sage had snuck in while Hallie pretended to be distracted. A sturdy canvas tote bag completed the pile. “I think that covers the essentials for now”
For now!?
