Page 94 of Click of Fate

My fingers tighten on his collar.

And just when it starts to feel like we might take this further, right here, right now, he pulls back.

Not far. Just enough to rest his forehead against mine.

“We should go,” he says, voice husky. “Before Ruth shows up with a camera crew and a confetti cannon.”

I laugh, breathless and a little wrecked. “She probably knows better than to come looking.”

Luke grins, but there’s a flicker of mischief in his eyes. “You say that like she hasn’t orchestrated this entire night.”

“Point taken.”

He kisses me again, softer this time. Like a promise.

Then he laces his fingers with mine and pulls me toward the exit, past rows of art and strangers and maybe fate itself.

Because this time, we’re not running.

We’re walking out together.

It’s late. Well past midnight when I wake, tangled in the sheets with Luke beside me. His hand is resting across my stomach, fingers loose, breathing steady. He’s here. Really here. And somehow, I didn’t run.

Carefully, I slide out of bed and pad down the hall. The house is dark except for the soft glow from the porch light bleeding in through the living room curtains. I make my way to the kitchen, barefoot, quiet, the floor cool beneath my toes.

The glass is cold in my hand as I sip, but it’s not the water that grounds me.

It’s the stillness.

The peace.

The faint echo of laughter in this hallway. The crooked art on the wall that Lilly made in preschool. The scuff on the linoleum where Harper dropped a skillet and nearly broke her toe.

This isn’t just a place I’ve been living in.

It’s a place I’m starting to belong to.

And for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like a girl passing through. A runner with her bag half-packed.

I feel like someone staying. Someone reclaiming her roots.

And in the quiet, I let myself want it all.

The house. The man. The life.

Chapter 22

FINAL INFINITY STONE

LUKE

The porch lightflicks on just as I’m stepping out of my truck. It’s that soft, warm kind of glow that makes everything look a little more golden than it is. Or maybe that’s just how I feel walking up to Stella’s door.

Maple’s the first to notice me. Her tail thumps against the wooden step like a tiny drum roll. Lilly’s sitting cross-legged beside her, bundled up in her coat, petting behind one floppy ear and whispering something serious like they’re mid-conversation.

When she spots me, she lights up.

“There he is!” she shouts, hopping to her feet. “I told Maple you’d come. Aunt Stella said maybe, but I knew.”

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