Page 134 of Meet Me in the Valley
“Yes,” I breathe. “I trust you.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
LOGAN
A thin sliver of light spills from beneath Roy’s office door, the only glow on a nearly empty floor. Most of the team has gone home for the weekend, leaving the building draped in silence and bathed in the amber light of a winter sunset filtering through the expansive windows.
Christmas is days away, and the office looks like a holiday catalog exploded inside it. Tinsel drapes over door frames like silver vines. White string lights twist around cubicles and monitors, casting a soft, magical flicker across the space. Two Christmas trees—each more over-the-top than the last—stand proudly at opposite ends of the office, decked out in everything from vintage ornaments to company-branded baubles.
The place smells faintly of cinnamon and pine, like someone hung a bunch of holiday car fresheners in every corner.
I rap my knuckles lightly against Roy’s door frame.
“Come in,” he mutters without looking up.
As usual, his desk is buried in blueprints—sprawled, rolled, layered like architectural fossils. You’d never know there was wood under there. His glasses perch low on the bridge of his nose as he scans a set of documents, only lifting his gaze once I’m seated across from him.
“Harper, what can I do for you, Son?”
“I’ve made my choice.”
Roy stills, the papers in his hand pausing midair before he gently sets them down in the chaos of his desk.
I should feel bittersweet. Maybe guilty. But Roy’s known. He’s known from the very beginning, back when this idea was just a whisper. A loose sketch in the corner of a page.
I reach into my bag and pull out my tablet, placing it in front of him.
My final design. The one I’ve stayed late for, built in silence, refined over months of second-guessing and stubborn certainty.
He pushes his glasses up and studies the screen, his expression unreadable as always. He remains eerily calm, laser-focused, and surgically exact. The same way he’s looked at every project I’ve brought to him over the past six years.
But this time, I’m not waiting for a nod or a pat on the back. I already know it’s enough.
He finally lifts his eyes, pins me with that quiet, knowing stare. Then he hands the tablet back, and I slide it into my bag without a word.
Roy leans back in his chair and shakes his head—not in disappointment, but something closer to understanding.
“It’s beautiful, Logan,” he says. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
“When?”
“By New Year’s.”
A slow smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. He rises from his chair, walks around the desk, and pulls me into a firm hug. I stand with him, the finality settling in my chest. His hand claps once against my back.
“About the Mueller project, sir?—”
Roy cuts me off with a wave of his hand. “Don’t worry about it. The team can handle it. I’ll call a meeting after the holiday. First phase doesn’t kick off until February, anyway.”
A breath I didn’t realize I was holding escapes me. I didn’t want to leave anyone hanging, especially not the team. This building, this job—it’s been everything for so long.
Structure. Purpose. A place to hide behind plans and deadlines. I’ve been working quietly behind the scenes, and now I’ve got something bigger to build.
Tia asked me over a month ago when our time was coming. I told her to trust me.
Now I’m diving in blind, but all in. Even if the sky falls.
