Page 86 of Freeing Savannah

Just music, beer, chaos, and family.

His family.

He looked at Savannah again. She was wearing one of his flannel shirts over a tank top, boots on her feet, and her blonde hair was loose around her shoulders. She didn’t look like a world-famous pianist tonight. She looked like a small-town girl who’d finally exhaled.

And God, he loved her.

With all the sharp edges, all the stubborn pride, all the found freedom, and all the brilliance.

She caught him staring and gave him a slow, knowing smile. The kind that saidshesaw it too.

“Hey,” she said, stepping into his chest, arms slipping around his waist. “You look like you’re thinking too much.”

“I was,” he admitted, brushing her hair back. “But then you looked at me like that and I forgot it all.”

She kissed him, soft and sure, and the world quieted.

Voodoo didn’t need fireworks or declarations to know he was right where he was supposed to be.

Here.

In Bell Creek.

With her.

And he’d never been happier.

**

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